“What a pity,” she said, “that you and Ellen will cross each other on the way!—Newland,” she added, turning to her mother and aunt, “is obliged to go to Washington about a patent law-suit that is coming up before the Supreme Court. I suppose Uncle Lovell will be back by tomorrow night, and with Granny improving so much it doesn’t seem right to ask Newland to give up an important engagement for the firm—does it?”

She paused, as if for an answer, and Mrs. Welland hastily declared: “Oh, of course not, darling. Your Granny would be the last person to wish it.” As Archer left the room with the telegram, he heard his mother-in- law add, presumably to Mrs. Lovell Mingott: “But why on earth she should make you telegraph for Ellen Olenska—” and May’s clear voice rejoin: “Perhaps it’s to urge on her again that after all her duty is with her husband.”

“I’m feeling rather worn out at the moment, I’m afraid I need a rest,” the ancestress said. “May, would you close the sliding doors as you leave. Your mother and I need a moment.”

May lifted the heavy yellow damask portieres and slipped into the hallway only to find Newland standing idly by the entrance table. She was surprised to see him there. “You’re still here? I thought you might have gone already.”

“No.” He paused, wondering if he should engage her in conversation, and then decided that he would. “I wonder why Ellen must be summoned?”

May’s face flushed. “She would want to be with Granny now, I’m sure.”

“But your Granny has disowned her, let her live penniless.”

“Ellen has made her choice in the matter.”

“Vile, May. It’s simply vile to expect your own cousin to return to a corrupt marriage, and then be penalized if she chooses not to.”

“Newland dear, come with me. This is not a conversation to be overheard.” She turned and entered a private drawing room. When he did not follow, she turned around to face him.

He stood rigid, not appreciating his wife’s chastisement.

“Come along, Newland. I insist.”

Newland hated his wife’s attitude about the Countess and the way the family was treating him. Why was it acceptable to allow him to venture off to Washington, but require the Countess to appear? Was he simply a dispensable family member? A fill-in? He had been called away from his work to attend to the needs of the family, and yet now their needs were not so urgent that he was required to remain in town. And then suddenly, like a brick smacking him on the side of the head, he understood—this was all May’s doing. His wife meant to keep him away from Ellen. This angered him. He felt the heat race up the back of his neck, and he promptly followed May into the drawing room to have it out with her.

Inside, May secured the latch, and then faced her husband. “You needn’t be distressed over Ellen,” she said. “We all care about her. And I’m certain Granny will look after her. Just as I will look after your needs.” She smiled at him in a manner that signaled the subject was closed.