A slight diversion was created by Walter Anthon’s arrival. His “serious news” to the effect that “he intends to apply for a divorce,” was received indifferently by his haughty sister. Young Walter had hoped to arrange diplomatically a “modus vivendi”; indeed the family had deputed him to bring his sister back to St. Louis. Mrs. Wilbur laughed at his solemnity. She even went so far as to say that it pleased her to know “Mr. Wilbur wishes a divorce. That means he has recovered from his blow, consoled himself. It has come so quickly that I doubt if he would be willing to make any other arrangements.” She had in mind the ample Mrs. Stevans. “If he has consoled himself he will get rid of me sooner or later. And it will be easier for him to get rid of me if I remain away. I can do that for him at least.” Nor would she be moved about her property. “I gave that to him long ago. I certainly hope he won’t give it up. He is right-minded and might have foolish scruples, but I shall do what I can to have him keep it.”
“The shocking scandal of it!” young Anthon moaned to Molly Parker. “Running off this way with Erard.”
“And with me, you forget. I hold the social smelling-salts.”
“Does she mean to marry him?”
“Perhaps Erard doesn’t believe in marriage. This arrangement saves him from any matrimonial monotony.”
“Can’t you take a stand, and bring her to her senses?”
“I am no good at evangelizing,” Miss Parker replied forlornly. “Adela must have a woman around to say commonplace things to when she’s on a strain. That’s all the good I am. She hasn’t had enough of the Erard dose yet. We’ll have to wait. There she goes now with the little Brown Rat.” They could see from the terrace where they were talking a cab rolling down the serpentine curves of the hill.
“Off to get a new sensation. Remember all your nagging is just fuel for the fire. She doesn’t, well, care for you, and anything you don’t want her to do must seem particularly nice.”
So the diplomat returned unsuccessful to his London rooms and advised the family to get what they could out of Wilbur without stirring Adela up.
Yet her brother’s news had affected her. Erard noted that she was difficile that afternoon. They had driven over to Santa Croce to examine a bit of sculpture in one of the chapels. The chill of the church or her own meditations depressed Mrs. Wilbur. Then Erard’s cold little epigrams about art were irritating. The precious intoxication of that first long look on beauty had faded rapidly. Erard had taught her to be ashamed of such savage satisfaction; but groping after the masculine play of intellect was painful. Yet her career was marked out for her: she was to be “a discriminator of fine pleasures.” Moments of regret, however, and of disappointment as to-day, intervened, when even the most pitiful creative effort seemed greater than profound discernment. Erard scoffingly said that when she had these moods she was trying to see “the beyond.”