This should have been the happiest day of his life, but all Newland could think about was the last time he had seen Countess Olenska—his Ellen. Only a month ago, when he had visited Ellen at her quaint house and they had made love, he believed after he departed her company he would never be intimate with her again. She told him that she could not love him unless she gave him up, that he had changed her view of life. She had not realized how vile she was regarded by society, and she was thankful to him because he had changed all the ill cast down upon her with his good deeds and kindness. She said that she could not go back to her old ways of thinking. She had falsely believed that running to America to be with her own kind would allow her to be free, to be able to live the kind of life she wanted, but he made her realize that the divorce she sought would only create scandal. It would ruin not only her reputation, but also the reputation of her family and friends. In essence, he had saved her. When they parted that night, they bid each other a sad farewell.

Regret had plagued Newland ever since. He had never known a woman like the Countess. She had consumed him—mind, body, and soul. Not a minute passed that he did not think of her. The last night they were together, he had confessed his feelings and urged her to run away with him. But then, the letter came from May, explaining that she and Newland were to be married in only a month’s time, that the family had been persuaded by his recent visit to move the marriage ceremony forward to this earlier date rather than making the couple wait another year. Not for a moment had Newland believed this would happen. In fact, he had counted on the quite opposite so that he could untangle himself from May. But with the arrival of the letter, he had only become more entangled with May.

A week after Newland departed the intimate company of Ellen, he ventured out of his club and into the streets of New York City. The night was crisp without a breeze or a drop of moisture in the air. To clear his head, he decided that he would walk home. But as he passed the van der Luyden’s home, he saw the Countess descending the steps of their front stoop. He froze, considered turning, but the sight of Ellen was magnetic. He approached her.

“Good evening,” he said, trying to sound formal. He had longed to see her, but had chosen to remain at a distance.

“Newland,” she said, her voice filled with surprise. “I was just about to take a carriage.”

“It’s such a lovely evening. I thought I’d walk home.”

“Yes, it is quite lovely . . . shall we walk together?”

“Do you think . . .?” He wanted to walk with her. He wanted to be with her. But it pained his heart to be near her and not to be able to touch her. “I’m afraid I’m going in the opposite direction.”