Xingu

by Edith Wharton

Mrs. Ballinger is one of the ladies who pursue Culture in bands, asthough it were dangerous to meet alone. To this end she had founded theLunch Club, an association composed of herself and several otherindomitable huntresses of erudition. The Lunch Club, after three or fourwinters of lunching and debate, had acquired such local distinction thatthe entertainment of distinguished strangers became one of its acceptedfunctions; in recognition of which it duly extended to the celebrated"Osric Dane," on the day of her arrival in Hillbridge, an invitation tobe present at the next meeting.The Club was to meet at Mrs. Ballinger's. The other members, behindher back, were of one voice in deploring her unwillingness to cede herrights in favor of Mrs. Plinth, whose house made a more impressivesetting for the entertainment of celebrities; while, as Mrs. Leveretobserved, there was always the picture-gallery to fall back on.Mrs. Plinth made no secret of sharing this view. She had alwaysregarded it as one of her obligations to entertain the Lunch Club'sdistinguished guests. Mrs. Plinth was almost as proud of her obligationsas she was of her picture-gallery; she was in fact fond of implying thatthe one possession implied the other, and that only a woman of herwealth could afford to live up to a standard as high as that which shehad set herself. An all-round sense of duty, roughly adaptable tovarious ends, was, in her opinion, all that Providence exacted of themore humbly stationed; but the power which had predestined Mrs. Plinthto keep footmen clearly intended her to maintain an equally specializedstaff of responsibilities. It was the more to be regretted that Mrs.Ballinger, whose obligations to society were bounded by the narrow scopeof two parlour-maids, should have been so tenacious of the right toentertain Osric Dane.The question of that lady's reception had for a month pastprofoundly moved the members of the Lunch Club. It was not that theyfelt themselves unequal to the task, but that their sense of theopportunity plunged them into the agreeable uncertainty of the lady whoweighs the alternatives of a well-stocked wardrobe. If such subsidiarymembers as Mrs. Leveret were fluttered by the thought of exchangingideas with the author of "The Wings of Death," no forebodings of thekind disturbed the conscious adequacy of Mrs. Plinth, Mrs. Ballinger andMiss Van Vluyck. "The Wings of Death" had, in fact, at Miss Van Vluyck'ssuggestion, been chosen as the subject of discussion at the last clubmeeting, and each member had thus been enabled to express her ownopinion or to appropriate whatever seemed most likely to be of use inthe comments of the others. Mrs. Roby alone had abstained from profitingby the opportunity thus offered; but it was now openly recognised that,as a member of the Lunch Club, Mrs. Roby was a failure. "It all comes,"as Miss Van Vluyck put it, "of accepting a woman on a man's estimation."Mrs. Roby, returning to Hillbridge from a prolonged sojourn in exoticregions -- the other ladies no longer took the trouble to remember where-- had been emphatically commended by the distinguished biologist,Professor Foreland, as the most agreeable woman he had ever met; and themembers of the Lunch Club, awed by an encomium that carried the weightof a diploma, and rashly assuming that the Professor's social sympathieswould follow the line of his scientific bent, had seized the chance ofannexing a biological member. Their disillusionment was complete. AtMiss Van Vluyck's first off-hand mention of the pterodactyl Mrs. Robyhad confusedly murmured: "I know so little about metres --" and afterthat painful betrayal of incompetence she had prudently withdrawn fromfarther participation in the mental gymnastics of the club."I suppose she flattered him," Miss Van Vluyck summed up --"or elseit's the way she does her hair."The dimensions of Miss Van Vluyck's dining-room having restrictedthe membership of the club to six, the non-conductiveness of one memberwas a serious obstacle to the exchange of ideas, and some wonder hadalready been expressed that Mrs. Roby should care to live, as it were,on the intellectual bounty of the others. This feeling was augmented bythe discovery that she had not yet read "The Wings of Death." She ownedto having heard the name of Osric Dane; but that -- incredible as itappeared -- was the extent of her acquaintance with the celebratednovelist. The ladies could not conceal their surprise, but Mrs.Ballinger, whose pride in the club made her wish to put even Mrs. Robyin the best possible light, gently insinuated that, though she had nothad time to acquaint herself with "The Wings of Death," she must atleast be familiar with its equally remarkable predecessor, "The SupremeInstant."Mrs. Roby wrinkled her sunny brows in a conscientious effort ofmemory, as a result of which she recalled that, oh, yes, she had seenthe book at her brother's, when she was staying with him in Brazil, andhad even carried it off to read one day on a boating party; but they hadall got to shying things at each other in the boat, and the book hadgone overboard, so she had never had the chance --The picture evoked by this anecdote did not advance Mrs. Roby'scredit with the club, and there was a painful pause, which was broken byMrs. Plinth's remarking: "I can understand that, with all your otherpursuits, you should not find much time for reading; but I should havethought you might at least have got up 'The Wings of Death' beforeOsric Dane's arrival."Mrs. Roby took this rebuke good-humouredly. She had meant, sheowned to glance through the book; but she had been so absorbed in anovel of Trollope's that --"No one reads Trollope now," Mrs. Ballinger interrupted impatiently.Mrs. Roby looked pained. "I'm only just beginning," she confessed."And does he interest you?" Mrs. Plinth inquired."He amuses me.""Amusement," said Mrs. Plinth sententiously, "is hardly what I lookfor in my choice of books.""Oh, certainly, 'The Wings of Death' is not amusing," ventured Mrs.Leveret, whose manner of putting forth an opinion was like that of anobliging salesman with a variety of other styles to submit if his firstselection does not suit."Was it meant to be?" enquired Mrs. Plinth, who was fond ofasking questions that she permitted no one but herself to answer."Assuredly not.""Assuredly not -- that is what I was going to say," assented Mrs.Leveret, hastily rolling up her opinion and reaching for another. "Itwas meant to -- to elevate."Miss Van Vluyck adjusted her spectacles as though they were theblack cap of condemnation. "I hardly see," she interposed, "how a booksteeped in the bitterest pessimism can be said to elevate, however muchit may instruct.""I meant, of course, to instruct," said Mrs. Leveret, flurried bythe unexpected distinction between two terms which she had supposed tobe synonymous. Mrs. Leveret's enjoyment of the Lunch Club was frequentlymarred by such surprises; and not knowing her own value to the otherladies as a mirror for their mental complacency she was sometimestroubled by a doubt of her worthiness to join in their debates. It wasonly the fact of having a dull sister who thought her clever that savedher from a sense of hopeless inferiority."Do they get married in the end?" Mrs. Roby interposed."They -- who?" the Lunch Club collectively exclaimed."Why, the girl and man. It's a novel, isn't it? I always thinkthat's the one thing that matters. If they're parted it spoils my dinner."Mrs. Plinth and Mrs. Ballinger exchanged scandalised glances, andthe latter said: "I should hardly advise you to read 'The Wings ofDeath,' in that spirit. For my part, when there are so many books thatone has to read, I wonder how any one can find time for those that aremerely amusing.""The beautiful part of it," Laura Glyde murmured, "is surely justthis -- that no one can tell how 'The Wings of Death' ends. OsricDane, overcome by the dread significance of her own meaning, hasmercifully veiled it -- perhaps even from herself -- as Apelles, inrepresenting the sacrifice of Iphigenia, veiled the face of Agamemnon.""What's that? Is it poetry?" whispered Mrs. Leveret nervously toMrs. Plinth, who, disdaining a definite reply, said coldly: "You shouldlook it up. I always make it a point to look things up." Her tone added--"though I might easily have it done for me by the footman.""I was about to say," Miss Van Vluyck resumed, "that it must alwaysbe a question whether a book can instruct unless it elevates.""Oh --" murmured Mrs. Leveret, now feeling herself hopelessly astray."I don't know," said Mrs. Ballinger, scenting in Miss Van Vluyck'stone a tendency to depreciate the coveted distinction of entertainingOsric Dane; "I don't know that such a question can seriously be raisedas to a book which has attracted more attention among thoughtful peoplethan any novel since 'Robert Elsmere.'""Oh, but don't you see," exclaimed Laura Glyde, "that it's just thedark hopelessness of it all -- the wonderful tone-scheme of black onblack -- that makes it such an artistic achievement? It reminded me sowhen I read it of Prince Rupert's maniere noire . . . the book isetched, not painted, yet one feels the colour values so intensely . . .""Who is he?" Mrs. Leveret whispered to her neighbour. "Some oneshe's met abroad?""The wonderful part of the book," Mrs. Ballinger conceded, "is thatit may be looked at from so many points of view. I hear that as a studyof determinism Professor Lupton ranks it with 'The Data of Ethics.'""I'm told that Osric Dane spent ten years in preparatory studiesbefore beginning to write it," said Mrs. Plinth. "She looks upeverything -- verifies everything. It has always been my principle, asyou know. Nothing would induce me, now, to put aside a book before I'dfinished it, just because I can buy as many more as I want.""And what do you think of 'The Wings of Death'?" Mrs. Robyabruptly asked her.It was the kind of question that might be termed out of order, andthe ladies glanced at each other as though disclaiming any share in sucha breach of discipline. They all knew that there was nothing Mrs. Plinthso much disliked as being asked her opinion of a book. Books werewritten to read; if one read them what more could be expected? To bequestioned in detail regarding the contents of a volume seemed to her asgreat an outrage as being searched for smuggled laces at the CustomHouse. The club had always respected this idiosyncrasy of Mrs. Plinth's.Such opinions as she had were imposing and substantial: her mind, likeher house, was furnished with monumental "pieces" that were not meant tobe suddenly disarranged; and it was one of the unwritten rules of theLunch Club that, within her own province, each member's habits ofthought should be respected. The meeting therefore closed with anincreased sense, on the part of the other ladies, of Mrs. Roby'shopeless unfitness to be one of them.IIMrs. Leveret, on the eventful day, had arrived early at Mrs.Ballinger's, her volume of Appropriate Allusions in her pocket.It always flustered Mrs. Leveret to be late at the Lunch Club: sheliked to collect her thoughts and gather a hint, as the othersassembled, of the turn the conversation was likely to take. To-day,however, she felt herself completely at a loss; and even the familiarcontact of Appropriate Allusions, which stuck into her as she sat down,failed to give her any reassurance. It was an admirable little volume,compiled to meet all the social emergencies; so that, whether on theoccasion of Anniversaries, joyful or melancholy (as the classificationran), of Banquets, social or municipal, or of Baptisms, Church ofEngland or sectarian, its student need never be at a loss for apertinent reference. Mrs. Leveret, though she had for years devoutlyconned its pages, valued it, however, rather for its moral support thanfor its practical services; for though in the privacy of her own roomshe commanded an army of quotations, these invariably deserted her atthe critical moment, and the only line she retained -- Canst thou drawout Leviathan with a hook? -- was one she had never yet found theoccasion to apply.To-day she felt that even the complete mastery of the volume wouldhardly have insured her self-possession; for she thought it probable,even if she DID, in some miraculous way, remember an Allusion, it wouldbe only to find that Osric Dane used a different volume (Mrs. Leveretwas convinced that literary people always carried them), and wouldconsequently not recognise her quotations.Mrs. Leveret's sense of being adrift was intensified by theappearance of Mrs. Ballinger's drawing-room. To a careless eye itsaspect was unchanged; but those acquainted with Mrs. Ballinger's way ofarranging her books would instantly have detected the marks of recentperturbation. Mrs. Ballinger's province, as a member of the Lunch Club,was the Book of the Day. On that, whatever it was, from a novel to atreatise on experimental psychology, she was confidently,authoritatively "up." What became of last year's books, or last week'seven; what she did with the "subjects" she had previously professed withequal authority; no one had ever yet discovered. Her mind was an hotelwhere facts came and went like transient lodgers, without leaving theiraddress behind, and frequently without paying for their board. It wasMrs. Ballinger's boast that she was "abreast with the Thought of theDay," and her pride that this advanced position should be expressed bythe books on her drawing-room table. These volumes, frequently renewed,and almost always damp from the press, bore names generally unfamiliarto Mrs. Leveret, and giving her, as she furtively scanned them, adisheartening glimpse of new fields of knowledge to be breathlesslytraversed in Mrs. Ballinger's wake. But today a number ofmaturer-looking volumes were adroitly mingled with the primeurs of thepress -- Karl Marx jostled Professor Bergson, and the "Confessions ofSt. Augustine" lay beside the last work on "Mendelism"; so that even toMrs. Leveret's fluttered perceptions it was clear that Mrs. Ballingerdidn't in the least know what Osric Dane was likely to talk about, andhad taken measures to be prepared for anything. Mrs. Leveret felt like apassenger on an ocean steamer who is told that there is no immediatedanger, but that she had better put on her life-belt.It was a relief to be roused from these forebodings by Miss VanVluyck's arrival."Well, my dear," the new-comer briskly asked her hostess, "whatsubjects are we to discuss to-day?"Mrs. Ballinger was furtively replacing a volume of Wordsworth by acopy of Verlaine. "I hardly know," she said somewhat nervously. "Perhapswe had better leave that to circumstances.""Circumstances?" said Miss Van Vluyck drily. "That means, Isuppose, that Laura Glyde will take the floor as usual, and we shall bedeluged with literature."Philanthropy and statistics were Miss Van Vluyck's province, andshe naturally resented any tendency to divert their guest's attentionfrom these topics.Mrs. Plinth at this moment appeared."Literature?" she protested in a tone of remonstrance. "But this isperfectly unexpected. I understood we were to talk of Osric Dane's novel."Mrs. Ballinger winced at the discrimination, but let it pass. "Wecan hardly make that our chief subject -- at least not toointentionally," she suggested. "Of course we can let our talk drift inthat direction; but we ought to have some other topic as anintroduction, and that is what I wanted to consult you about. The factis, we know so little of Osric Dane's tastes and interests that it isdifficult to make any special preparation.""It may be difficult," said Mrs. Plinth with decision, "but it isabsolutely necessary. I know what that happy-go-lucky principle leadsto. As I told one of my nieces the other day, there are certainemergencies for which a lady should always be prepared. It's in shockingtaste to wear colours when one pays a visit of condolence, or a lastyear's dress when there are reports that one's husband is on the wrongside of the market; and so it is with conversation. All I ask is that Ishould know beforehand what is to be talked about; then I feel sure ofbeing able to say the proper thing.""I quite agree with you," Mrs. Ballinger anxiously assented; "but --"And at that instant, heralded by the fluttered parlour-maid, OsricDane appeared upon the threshold.Mrs. Leveret told her sister afterward that she had known at aglance what was coming. She saw that Osric Dane was not going to meetthem half way. That distinguished personage had indeed entered with anair of compulsion not calculated to promote the easy exercise ofhospitality. She looked as though she were about to be photographed fora new edition of her books.The desire to propitiate a divinity is generally in inverse ratioto its responsiveness, and the sense of discouragement produced by OsricDane's entrance visibly increased the Lunch Club's eagerness to pleaseher. Any lingering idea that she might consider herself under anobligation to her entertainers was at once dispelled by her manner: asMrs. Leveret said afterward to her sister, she had a way of looking atyou that made you feel as if there was something wrong with your hat.This evidence of greatness produced such an immediate impression on theladies that a shudder of awe ran through them when Mrs. Roby, as theirhostess led the great personage into the dining-room, turned back towhisper to the others: "What a brute she is!"The hour about the table did not tend to correct this verdict. Itwas passed by Osric Dane in the silent deglutition of Mrs. Ballinger'smenu, and by the members of the Club in the emission of tentativeplatitudes which their guest seemed to swallow as perfunctorily as thesuccessive courses of the luncheon.Mrs. Ballinger's deplorable delay in fixing a topic had thrown theClub into a mental disarray which increased with the return to thedrawing-room, where the actual business of discussion was to open. Eachlady waited for the other to speak; and there was a general shock ofdisappointment when their hostess opened the conversation by thepainfully commonplace inquiry: "Is this your first visit to Hillbridge?"Even Mrs. Leveret was conscious that this was a bad beginning; anda vague impulse of deprecation made Miss Glyde interject: "It is a verysmall place indeed."Mrs. Plinth bristled. "We have a great many representative people,"she said, in the tone of one who speaks for her order.Osric Dane turned to her thoughtfully. "What do they represent?"she asked.Mrs. Plinth's constitutional dislike to being questioned wasintensified by her sense of unpreparedness; and her reproachful glancepassed the question on to Mrs. Ballinger."Why," said that lady, glancing in turn at the other members, "as acommunity I hope it is not too much to say that we stand for culture.""For art --" Miss Glyde eagerly interjected."For art and literature," Mrs. Ballinger emended."And for sociology, I trust," snapped Miss Van Vluyck."We have a standard," said Mrs. Plinth, feeling herself suddenlysecure on the vast expanse of a generalisation: and Mrs. Leveret,thinking there must be room for more than one on so broad a statement,took courage to murmur: "Oh, certainly; we have a standard.""The object of our little club," Mrs. Ballinger continued, "is toconcentrate the highest tendencies of Hillbridge -- to centralise andfocus its complex intellectual effort."This was felt to be so happy that the ladies drew an almost audiblebreath of relief."We aspire," the President went on, "to stand for what is highestin art, literature and ethics."Osric Dane again turned to her. "What ethics?" she asked.A tremor of apprehension encircled the room. None of the ladiesrequired any preparation to pronounce on a question of morals; but whenthey were called ethics it was different. The club, when fresh from the"Encyclopaedia Britannica," the "Reader's Handbook" or Smith's"Classical Dictionary," could deal confidently with any subject; butwhen taken unawares it had been known to define agnosticism as a heresyof the Early Church and Professor Froude as a distinguished histologist;and such minor members as Mrs. Leveret still secretly regarded ethics assomething vaguely pagan.Even to Mrs. Ballinger, Osric Dane's question was unsettling, andthere was a general sense of gratitude when Laura Glyde leaned forwardto say, with her most sympathetic accent: "You must excuse us, Mrs.Dane, for not being able, just at present, to talk of anything but 'TheWings of Death.'""Yes," said Miss Van Vluyck, with a sudden resolve to carry the warinto the enemy's camp. "We are so anxious to know the exact purpose youhad in mind in writing your wonderful book.""You will find," Mrs. Plinth interposed, "that we are notsuperficial readers.""We are eager to hear from you," Miss Van Vluyck continued, "if thepessimistic tendency of the book is an expression of your ownconvictions or --""Or merely," Miss Glyde hastily thrust in, "a sombre backgroundbrushed in to throw your figures into more vivid relief. Are you notprimarily plastic?""I have always maintained," Mrs. Ballinger interposed, "that yourepresent the purely objective method --"Osric Dane helped herself critically to coffee. "How do you defineobjective?" she then inquired.There was a flurried pause before Laura Glyde intensely murmured:"In reading you we don't define, we feel."Osric Dane smiled. "The cerebellum," she remarked, "is notinfrequently the seat of the literary emotions." And she took a secondlump of sugar.The sting that this remark was vaguely felt to conceal was almostneutralised by the satisfaction of being addressed in such technicallanguage."Ah, the cerebellum," said Miss Van Vluyck complacently. "The Clubtook a course in psychology last winter.""Which psychology?" asked Osric Dane.There was an agonising pause, during which each member of the Clubsecretly deplored the distressing inefficiency of the others. Only Mrs.Roby went on placidly sipping her chartreuse. At last Mrs. Ballingersaid, with an attempt at a high tone: "Well, really, you know, it waslast year that we took psychology, and this winter we have been soabsorbed in --"She broke off, nervously trying to recall some of the Club'sdiscussions; but her faculties seemed to be paralysed by the petrifyingstare of Osric Dane. What had the club been absorbed in lately? Mrs.Ballinger, with a vague purpose of gaining time, repeated slowly: "We'vebeen so intensely absorbed in --"Mrs. Roby put down her liqueur glass and drew near the group with asmile."In Xingu?" she gently prompted.A thrill ran through the other members. They exchanged confusedglances, and then, with one accord, turned a gaze of mingled relief andinterrogation on their unexpected rescuer. The expression of eachdenoted a different phase of the same emotion. Mrs. Plinth was the firstto compose her features to an air of reassurance: after a moment's hastyadjustment her look almost implied that it was she who had given theword to Mrs. Ballinger."Xingu, of course!" exclaimed the latter with her accustomedpromptness, while Miss Van Vluyck and Laura Glyde seemed to be plumbingthe depths of memory, and Mrs. Leveret, feeling apprehensively forAppropriate Allusions, was somehow reassured by the uncomfortablepressure of its bulk against her person.Osric Dane's change of countenance was no less striking than thatof her entertainers. She too put down her coffee-cup, but with a look ofdistinct annoyance: she too wore, for a brief moment, what Mrs. Robyafterward described as the look of feeling for something in the back ofher head; and before she could dissemble these momentary signs ofweakness, Mrs. Roby, turning to her with a deferential smile, had said:"And we've been so hoping that to-day you would tell us just what youthink of it."Osric Dane received the homage of the smile as a matter of course;but the accompanying question obviously embarrassed her, and it becameclear to her observers that she was not quick at shifting her facialscenery. It was as though her countenance had so long been set in anexpression of unchallenged superiority that the muscles had stiffened,and refused to obey her orders."Xingu --" she murmured, as if seeking in her turn to gain time.Mrs. Roby continued to press her. "Knowing how engrossing thesubject is, you will understand how it happens that the Club has leteverything else go to the wall for the moment. Since we took up Xingu Imight almost say -- were it not for your books -- that nothing elseseems to us worth remembering."Osric Dane's stern features were darkened rather than lit up by anuneasy smile. "I am glad to hear there is one exception," she gave outbetween narrowed lips."Oh, of course," Mrs. Roby said prettily; "but as you have shown usthat -- so very naturally! -- you don't care to talk about your ownthings, we really can't let you off from telling us exactly what youthink about Xingu; especially," she added, with a persuasive smile, "assome people say that one of your last books was simply saturated with it."It was an it, then -- the assurance sped like fire through theparched minds of the other members. In their eagerness to gain the leastlittle clue to Xingu they almost forgot the joy of assisting at thediscomfiture of Mrs. Dane.The latter reddened nervously under her antagonist's directassault. "May I ask," she faltered out in an embarrassed tone, "to whichof my books you refer?"Mrs. Roby did not falter. "That's just what I want you to tell us;because, though I was present, I didn't actually take part.""Present at what?" Mrs. Dane took her up; and for an instant thetrembling members of the Lunch Club thought that the champion Providencehad raised up for them had lost a point. But Mrs. Roby explained herselfgaily: "At the discussion, of course. And so we're dreadfully anxious toknow just how it was that you went into the Xingu."There was a portentous pause, a silence so big with incalculabledangers that the members with one accord checked the words on theirlips, like soldiers dropping their arms to watch a single combat betweentheir leaders. Then Mrs. Dane gave expression to their inmost dread bysaying sharply: "Ah -- you say the Xingu, do you?"Mrs. Roby smiled undauntedly. "It is a shade pedantic, isn't it?Personally, I always drop the article; but I don't know how the othermembers feel about it."The other members looked as though they would willingly havedispensed with this deferential appeal to their opinion, and Mrs. Roby,after a bright glance about the group, went on: "They probably think, asI do, that nothing really matters except the thing itself -- except Xingu."No immediate reply seemed to occur to Mrs. Dane, and Mrs. Ballingergathered courage to say: "Surely every one must feel that about Xingu."Mrs. Plinth came to her support with a heavy murmur of assent, andLaura Glyde breathed emotionally: "I have known cases where it haschanged a whole life.""It has done me worlds of good," Mrs. Leveret interjected, seemingto herself to remember that she had either taken it or read it in thewinter before."Of course," Mrs. Roby admitted, "the difficulty is that one mustgive up so much time to it. It's very long.""I can't imagine," said Miss Van Vluyck tartly, "grudging the timegiven to such a subject.""And deep in places," Mrs. Roby pursued; (so then it was a book!)"And it isn't easy to skip.""I never skip," said Mrs. Plinth dogmatically."Ah, it's dangerous to, in Xingu. Even at the start there areplaces where one can't. One must just wade through.""I should hardly call it wading ," said Mrs. Ballingersarcastically.Mrs. Roby sent her a look of interest. "Ah -- you always found itwent swimmingly?"Mrs. Ballinger hesitated. "Of course there are difficult passages,"she conceded modestly."Yes; some are not at all clear -- even," Mrs. Roby added, "if oneis familiar with the original.""As I suppose you are?" Osric Dane interposed, suddenly fixing herwith a look of challenge.Mrs. Roby met it by a deprecating smile. "Oh, it's really notdifficult up to a certain point; though some of the branches are verylittle known, and it's almost impossible to get at the source.""Have you ever tried?" Mrs. Plinth enquired, still distrustful ofMrs. Roby's thoroughness.Mrs. Roby was silent for a moment; then she replied with loweredlids: "No -- but a friend of mine did; a very brilliant man; and he toldme it was best for women -- not to . . ."A shudder ran around the room. Mrs. Leveret coughed so that theparlour-maid, who was handing the cigarettes, should not hear; Miss VanVluyck's face took on a nauseated expression, and Mrs. Plinth looked asif she were passing some one she did not care to bow to. But the mostremarkable result of Mrs. Roby's words was the effect they produced onthe Lunch Club's distinguished guest. Osric Dane's impassive featuressuddenly melted to an expression of the warmest human sympathy, andedging her chair toward Mrs. Roby's she asked: "Did he really? And --did you find he was right?"Mrs. Ballinger, in whom annoyance at Mrs. Roby's unwontedassumption of prominence was beginning to displace gratitude for the aidshe had rendered, could not consent to her being allowed, by suchdubious means, to monopolise the attention of their guest. If Osric Danehad not enough self-respect to resent Mrs. Roby's flippancy, at leastthe Lunch Club would do so in the person of its President.Mrs. Ballinger laid her hand on Mrs. Roby's arm. "We must notforget," she said with a frigid amiability, "that absorbing as Xingu isto US, it may be less interesting to --""Oh, no, on the contrary, I assure you," Osric Dane energeticallyintervened." -- to others," Mrs. Ballinger finished firmly; "and we must notallow our little meeting to end without persuading Mrs. Dane to say afew words to us on a subject which, to-day, is much more present in allour thoughts. I refer, of course, to 'The Wings of Death.'"The other members, animated by various degrees of the samesentiment, and encouraged by the humanised mien of their redoubtableguest, repeated after Mrs. Ballinger: "Oh, yes, you really must talkto us a little about your book."Osric Dane's expression became as bored, though not as haughty, aswhen her work had been previously mentioned. But before she couldrespond to Mrs. Ballinger's request, Mrs. Roby had risen from her seat,and was pulling her veil down over her frivolous nose."I'm so sorry," she said, advancing toward her hostess withoutstretched hand, "but before Mrs. Dane begins I think I'd better runaway. Unluckily, as you know, I haven't read her books, so I should beat a terrible disadvantage among you all; and besides, I've anengagement to play bridge."If Mrs. Roby had simply pleaded her ignorance of Osric Dane's worksas a reason for withdrawing, the Lunch Club, in view of her recentprowess, might have approved such evidence of discretion; but to couplethis excuse with the brazen announcement that she was foregoing theprivilege for the purpose of joining a bridgeparty, was only one moreinstance of her deplorable lack of discrimination.The ladies were disposed, however, to feel that her departure-nowthat she had performed the sole service she was ever likely to renderthem -- would probably make for greater order and dignity in theimpending discussion, besides relieving them of the sense ofself-distrust which her presence always mysteriously produced. Mrs.Ballinger therefore restricted herself to a formal murmur of regret, andthe other members were just grouping themselves comfortably about OsricDane when the latter, to their dismay, started up from the sofa on whichshe had been deferentially enthroned."Oh wait -- do wait, and I'll go with you!" she called out to Mrs.Roby; and, seizing the hands of the disconcerted members, sheadministered a series of farewell pressures with the mechanical haste ofa railway-conductor punching tickets."I'm so sorry -- I'd quite forgotten --" she flung back at themfrom the threshold; and as she joined Mrs. Roby, who had turned insurprise at her appeal, the other ladies had the mortification ofhearing her say, in a voice which she did not take the pains to lower:"If you'll let me walk a little way with you, I should so like to askyou a few more questions about Xingu . . ."IIIThe incident had been so rapid that the door closed on the departingpair before the other members had had time to understand what washappening. Then a sense of the indignity put upon them by Osric Dane'sunceremonious desertion began to contend with the confused feeling thatthey had been cheated out of their due without exactly knowing how or why.There was an awkward silence, during which Mrs. Ballinger, with aperfunctory hand, rearranged the skilfully grouped literature at whichher distinguished guest had not so much as glanced; then Miss Van Vluycktartly pronounced: "Well, I can't say that I consider Osric Dane'sdeparture a great loss."This confession crystallised the fluid resentment of the othermembers, and Mrs. Leveret exclaimed: "I do believe she came on purposeto be nasty!"It was Mrs. Plinth's private opinion that Osric Dane's attitudetoward the Lunch Club might have been very different had it welcomed herin the majestic setting of the Plinth drawing-rooms; but not liking toreflect on the inadequacy of Mrs. Ballinger's establishment she sought around-about satisfaction in depreciating her savoir faire."I said from the first that we ought to have had a subject ready.It's what always happens when you're unprepared. Now if we'd only got upXingu --"The slowness of Mrs. Plinth's mental processes was always allowedfor by the Club; but this instance of it was too much for Mrs.Ballinger's equanimity."Xingu!" she scoffed. "Why, it was the fact of our knowing so muchmore about it than she did -- unprepared though we were -- that madeOsric Dane so furious. I should have thought that was plain enough toeverybody!"This retort impressed even Mrs. Plinth, and Laura Glyde, moved byan impulse of generosity, said: "Yes, we really ought to be grateful toMrs. Roby for introducing the topic. It may have made Osric Danefurious, but at least it made her civil.""I am glad we were able to show her," added Miss Van Vluyck, "thata broad and up-to-date culture is not confined to the great intellectualcentres."This increased the satisfaction of the other members, and theybegan to forget their wrath against Osric Dane in the pleasure of havingcontributed to her defeat.Miss Van Vluyck thoughtfully rubbed her spectacles. "What surprisedme most," she continued, "was that Fanny Roby should be so up on Xingu."This frank admission threw a slight chill on the company, but Mrs.Ballinger said with an air of indulgent irony: "Mrs. Roby always has theknack of making a little go a long way; still, we certainly owe her adebt for happening to remember that she'd heard of Xingu." And this wasfelt by the other members to be a graceful way of cancelling once forall the Club's obligation to Mrs. Roby.Even Mrs. Leveret took courage to speed a timid shaft of irony: "Ifancy Osric Dane hardly expected to take a lesson in Xingu at Hillbridge!"Mrs. Ballinger smiled. "When she asked me what we represented-doyou remember? -- I wish I'd simply said we represented Xingu!"All the ladies laughed appreciatively at this sally, except Mrs.Plinth, who said, after a moment's deliberation: "I'm not sure it wouldhave been wise to do so."Mrs. Ballinger, who was already beginning to feel as if she hadlaunched at Osric Dane the retort which had just occurred to her, lookedironically at Mrs. Plinth. "May I ask why?" she enquired.Mrs. Plinth looked grave. "Surely," she said, "I understood fromMrs. Roby herself that the subject was one it was as well not to go intotoo deeply?"Miss Van Vluyck rejoined with precision: "I think that applied onlyto an investigation of the origin of the -- of the --"; and suddenly shefound that her usually accurate memory had failed her. "It's a part ofthe subject I never studied myself," she concluded lamely."Nor I," said Mrs. Ballinger.Laura Glyde bent toward them with widened eyes. "And yet it seems-- doesn't it? -- the part that is fullest of an esoteric fascination?""I don't know on what you base that," said Miss Van Vluyckargumentatively."Well, didn't you notice how intensely interested Osric Dane becameas soon as she heard what the brilliant foreigner -- he was aforeigner, wasn't he? -- had told Mrs. Roby about the origin -- theorigin of the rite -- or whatever you call it?"Mrs. Plinth looked disapproving, and Mrs. Ballinger visiblywavered. Then she said in a decisive tone: "It may not be desirable totouch on the -- on that part of the subject in general conversation;but, from the importance it evidently has to a woman of Osric Dane'sdistinction, I feel as if we ought not to be afraid to discuss it amongourselves -- without gloves -- though with closed doors, if necessary.""I'm quite of your opinion," Miss Van Vluyck came briskly to hersupport; "on condition, that is, that all grossness of language isavoided.""Oh, I'm sure we shall understand without that," Mrs. Leverettittered; and Laura Glyde added significantly: "I fancy we can readbetween the lines," while Mrs. Ballinger rose to assure herself that thedoors were really closed.Mrs. Plinth had not yet given her adhesion. "I hardly see," shebegan, "what benefit is to be derived from investigating such peculiarcustoms --"But Mrs. Ballinger's patience had reached the extreme limit oftension. "This at least," she returned; "that we shall not be placedagain in the humiliating position of finding ourselves less up on ourown subjects than Fanny Roby!"Even to Mrs. Plinth this argument was conclusive. She peeredfurtively about the room and lowered her commanding tones to ask: "Haveyou got a copy?""A -- a copy?" stammered Mrs. Ballinger. She was aware that theother members were looking at her expectantly, and that this answer wasinadequate, so she supported it by asking another question. "A copy ofwhat?"Her companions bent their expectant gaze on Mrs. Plinth, who, inturn, appeared less sure of herself than usual. "Why, of -- of-thebook," she explained."What book?" snapped Miss Van Vluyck, almost as sharply as Osric Dane.Mrs. Ballinger looked at Laura Glyde, whose eyes wereinterrogatively fixed on Mrs. Leveret. The fact of being deferred to wasso new to the latter that it filled her with an insane temerity. "Why,Xingu, of course!" she exclaimed.A profound silence followed this direct challenge to the resourcesof Mrs. Ballinger's library, and the latter, after glancing nervouslytoward the Books of the Day, returned in a deprecating voice: "It's nota thing one cares to leave about.""I should think not!" exclaimed Mrs. Plinth."It is a book, then?" said Miss Van Vluyck.This again threw the company into disarray, and Mrs. Ballinger,with an impatient sigh, rejoined: "Why -- there is a book-naturally .. .""Then why did Miss Glyde call it a religion?"Laura Glyde started up. "A religion? I never --""Yes, you did," Miss Van Vluyck insisted; "you spoke of rites; andMrs. Plinth said it was a custom."Miss Glyde was evidently making a desperate effort to reinforce herstatement; but accuracy of detail was not her strongest point. At lengthshe began in a deep murmur: "Surely they used to do something of thekind at the Eleusinian mysteries --""Oh --" said Miss Van Vluyck, on the verge of disapproval; and Mrs.Plinth protested: "I understood there was to be no indelicacy!"Mrs. Ballinger could not control her irritation. "Really, it is toobad that we should not be able to talk the matter over quietly amongourselves. Personally, I think that if one goes into Xingu at all --""Oh, so do I!" cried Miss Glyde."And I don't see how one can avoid doing so, if one wishes to keepup with the Thought of the Day --"Mrs. Leveret uttered an exclamation of relief. "There -- that'sit!" she interposed."What's it?" the President curtly took her up."Why -- it's a -- a Thought: I mean a philosophy."This seemed to bring a certain relief to Mrs. Ballinger and LauraGlyde, but Miss Van Vluyck said dogmatically: "Excuse me if I tell youthat you're all mistaken. Xingu happens to be a language.""A language!" the Lunch Club cried."Certainly. Don't you remember Fanny Roby's saying that there wereseveral branches, and that some were hard to trace? What could thatapply to but dialects?"Mrs. Ballinger could no longer restrain a contemptuous laugh."Really, if the Lunch Club has reached such a pass that it has to go toFanny Roby for instruction on a subject like Xingu, it had almost bettercease to exist!""It's really her fault for not being clearer," Laura Glyde put in."Oh, clearness and Fanny Roby!" Mrs. Ballinger shrugged. "I daresaywe shall find she was mistaken on almost every point.""Why not look it up?" said Mrs. Plinth.As a rule this recurrent suggestion of Mrs. Plinth's was ignored inthe heat of discussion, and only resorted to afterward in the privacy ofeach member's home. But on the present occasion the desire to ascribetheir own confusion of thought to the vague and contradictory nature ofMrs. Roby's statements caused the members of the Lunch Club to utter acollective demand for a book of reference.At this point the production of her treasured volume gave Mrs.Leveret, for a moment, the unusual experience of occupying the centrefront; but she was not able to hold it long, for Appropriate Allusionscontained no mention of Xingu."Oh, that's not the kind of thing we want!" exclaimed Miss VanVluyck. She cast a disparaging glance over Mrs. Ballinger's assortmentof literature, and added impatiently: "Haven't you any useful books?""Of course I have," replied Mrs. Ballinger indignantly; "but I keepthem in my husband's dressing-room."From this region, after some difficulty and delay, the parlourmaidproduced the W-Z volume of an Encyclopaedia and, in deference to thefact that the demand for it had come from Miss Van Vluyck, laid theponderous tome before her.There was a moment of painful suspense while Miss Van Vluyck rubbedher spectacles, adjusted them, and turned to Z; and a murmur of surprisewhen she said: "It isn't here.""I suppose," said Mrs. Plinth, "it's not fit to be put in a book ofreference.""Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Ballinger. "Try X."Miss Van Vluyck turned back through the volume, peeringshortsightedly up and down the pages, till she came to a stop andremained motionless, like a dog on a point."Well, have you found it?" Mrs. Ballinger enquired, after aconsiderable delay."Yes. I've found it," said Miss Van Vluyck in a queer voice.Mrs. Plinth hastily interposed: "I beg you won't read it aloud ifthere's anything offensive."Miss Van Vluyck, without answering, continued her silent scrutiny."Well, what is it?" exclaimed Laura Glyde excitedly."DO tell us!" urged Mrs. Leveret, feeling that she would havesomething awful to tell her sister.Miss Van Vluyck pushed the volume aside and turned slowly towardthe expectant group."It's a river.""A RIVER?""Yes: in Brazil. Isn't that where she's been living?""Who? Fanny Roby? Oh, but you must be mistaken. You've been readingthe wrong thing," Mrs. Ballinger exclaimed, leaning over her to seizethe volume."It's the only Xingu in the Encyclopaedia; and she has beenliving in Brazil," Miss Van Vluyck persisted."Yes: her brother has a consulship there," Mrs. Leveret eagerlyinterposed."But it's too ridiculous! I -- we -- why we all remember studyingXingu last year -- or the year before last," Mrs. Ballinger stammered."I thought I did when you said so," Laura Glyde avowed."I said so?" cried Mrs. Ballinger."Yes. You said it had crowded everything else out of your mind.""Well, you said it had changed your whole life!""For that matter, Miss Van Vluyck said she had never grudged thetime she'd given it."Mrs. Plinth interposed: "I made it clear that I knew nothingwhatever of the original."Mrs. Ballinger broke off the dispute with a groan. "Oh, what doesit all matter if she's been making fools of us? I believe Miss VanVluyck's right -- she was talking of the river all the while!""How could she? It's too preposterous," Miss Glyde exclaimed."Listen." Miss Van Vluyck had repossessed herself of theEncyclopaedia, and restored her spectacles to a nose reddened byexcitement. "'The Xingu, one of the principal rivers of Brazil, rises onthe plateau of Mato Grosso, and flows in a northerly direction for alength of no less than one thousand one hundred and eighteen miles,entering the Amazon near the mouth of the latter river. The upper courseof the Xingu is auriferous and fed by numerous branches. Its source wasfirst discovered in 1884 by the German explorer von den Steinen, after adifficult and dangerous expedition through a region inhabited by tribesstill in the Stone Age of culture.'"The ladies received this communication in a state of stupefiedsilence from which Mrs. Leveret was the first to rally. "She certainlydid speak of its having branches."The word seemed to snap the last thread of their incredulity. "Andof its great length," gasped Mrs. Ballinger."She said it was awfully deep, and you couldn't skip -- you justhad to wade through," Miss Glyde subjoined.The idea worked its way more slowly through Mrs. Plinth's compactresistances. "How could there be anything improper about a river?" sheinquired."Improper?""Why, what she said about the source -- that it was corrupt?""Not corrupt, but hard to get at," Laura Glyde corrected. "Some onewho'd been there had told her so. I daresay it was the explorer himself-- doesn't it say the expedition was dangerous?""'Difficult and dangerous,'" read Miss Van Vluyck.Mrs. Ballinger pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. "There'snothing she said that wouldn't apply to a river -- to this river!" Sheswung about excitedly to the other members. "Why, do you remember hertelling us that she hadn't read 'The Supreme Instant' because she'dtaken it on a boating party while she was staying with her brother, andsome one had 'shied' it overboard-'shied' of course was her ownexpression?"The ladies breathlessly signified that the expression had notescaped them."Well -- and then didn't she tell Osric Dane that one of her bookswas simply saturated with Xingu? Of course it was, if some of Mrs.Roby's rowdy friends had thrown it into the river!"This surprising reconstruction of the scene in which they had justparticipated left the members of the Lunch Club inarticulate. At lengthMrs. Plinth, after visibly labouring with the problem, said in a heavytone: "Osric Dane was taken in too."Mrs. Leveret took courage at this. "Perhaps that's what Mrs. Robydid it for. She said Osric Dane was a brute, and she may have wanted togive her a lesson."Miss Van Vluyck frowned. "It was hardly worth while to do it at ourexpense.""At least," said Miss Glyde with a touch of bitterness, "shesucceeded in interesting her, which was more than we did.""What chance had we?" rejoined Mrs. Ballinger. "Mrs. Robymonopolised her from the first. And that, I've no doubt, was herpurpose -- to give Osric Dane a false impression of her own standing inthe Club. She would hesitate at nothing to attract attention: we allknow how she took in poor Professor Foreland.""She actually makes him give bridge-teas every Thursday," Mrs.Leveret piped up.Laura Glyde struck her hands together. "Why, this is Thursday, andit's there she's gone, of course; and taken Osric with her!""And they're shrieking over us at this moment," said Mrs. Ballingerbetween her teeth.This possibility seemed too preposterous to be admitted. "She wouldhardly dare," said Miss Van Vluyck, "confess the imposture to Osric Dane.""I'm not so sure: I thought I saw her make a sign as she left. Ifshe hadn't made a sign, why should Osric Dane have rushed out after her?""Well, you know, we'd all been telling her how wonderful Xingu was,and she said she wanted to find out more about it," Mrs. Leveret said,with a tardy impulse of justice to the absent.This reminder, far from mitigating the wrath of the other members,gave it a stronger impetus."Yes -- and that's exactly what they're both laughing over now,"said Laura Glyde ironically.Mrs. Plinth stood up and gathered her expensive furs about hermonumental form. "I have no wish to criticise," she said; "but unlessthe Lunch Club can protect its members against the recurrence of such --such unbecoming scenes, I for one --""Oh, so do I!" agreed Miss Glyde, rising also.Miss Van Vluyck closed the Encyclopaedia and proceeded to buttonherself into her jacket. "My time is really too valuable --" she began."I fancy we are all of one mind," said Mrs. Ballinger, lookingsearchingly at Mrs. Leveret, who looked at the others."I always deprecate anything like a scandal --" Mrs. Plinth continued."She has been the cause of one to-day!" exclaimed Miss Glyde.Mrs. Leveret moaned: "I don't see how she could!" and Miss VanVluyck said, picking up her note-book: "Some women stop at nothing."" -- but if," Mrs. Plinth took up her argument impressively,"anything of the kind had happened in my house" (it never would have,her tone implied), "I should have felt that I owed it to myself eitherto ask for Mrs. Roby's resignation -- or to offer mine.""Oh, Mrs. Plinth --" gasped the Lunch Club."Fortunately for me," Mrs. Plinth continued with an awfulmagnanimity, "the matter was taken out of my hands by our President'sdecision that the right to entertain distinguished guests was aprivilege vested in her office; and I think the other members will agreethat, as she was alone in this opinion, she ought to be alone indeciding on the best way of effacing its -- its really deplorableconsequences."A deep silence followed this unexpected outbreak of Mrs. Plinth'slong-stored resentment."I don't see why I should be expected to ask her to resign --" Mrs.Ballinger at length began; but Laura Glyde turned back to remind her:"You know she made you say that you'd got on swimmingly in Xingu."An ill-timed giggle escaped from Mrs. Leveret, and Mrs. Ballingerenergetically continued " -- but you needn't think for a moment that I'mafraid to!"The door of the drawing-room closed on the retreating backs of theLunch Club, and the President of that distinguished association, seatingherself at her writing-table, and pushing away a copy of "The Wings ofDeath" to make room for her elbow, drew forth a sheet of the club'snote-paper, on which she began to write: "My dear Mrs. Roby --"

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