Епоха невинності

           ThroughtheirveilArchercaughttheglintoftheLimeRock,withitswhite-washedturretandthetinyhouseinwhichtheheroiclight-housekeeper,IdaLewis,waslivingherlastvenerableyears.BeyonditlaytheflatreachesanduglygovernmentchimneysofGoatIsland,thebayspreadingnorthwardinashimmerofgoldtoPrudenceIslandwithitslowgrowthofoaks,andtheshoresofConanicutfaintinthesunsethaze.Fromthewillowwalkprojectedaslightwoodenpierendinginasortofpagoda-likesummer-house;andinthepagodaaladystood,leaningagainsttherail,herbacktotheshore.Archerstoppedatthesightasifhehadwakedfromsleep.Thatvisionofthepastwasadream,andtherealitywaswhatawaitedhiminthehouseonthebankoverhead:wasMrs.Welland’spony-carriagecirclingaroundandaroundtheovalatthedoor,wasMaysittingundertheshamelessOlympiansandglowingwithsecrethopes,wastheWellandvillaatthefarendofBellevueAvenue,andMr.Welland,alreadydressedfordinner,andpacingthedrawing-roomfloor,watchinhand,withdyspepticimpatience—foritwasoneofthehousesinwhichonealwaysknewexactlywhatishappeningatagivenhour."WhatamI?Ason-in-law—"Archerthought.Thefigureattheendofthepierhadnotmoved.Foralongmomenttheyoungmanstoodhalfwaydownthebank,gazingatthebayfurrowedwiththecomingandgoingofsailboats,yacht-launches,fishing-craftandthetrailingblackcoal-bargeshauledbynoisytugs.Theladyinthesummer-houseseemedtobeheldbythesamesight.