Coming out of her tent to the tournament, "She has the same Diana-like aloofness as when she had entered the Beaufort ballroom on the night of her engagement" (228). May's "nymph-like ease" (229) makes her stand out from the other archers. We also see how Newland sees his soon-to-be wife as an angel watching Ellen Olenska suffer when May advocates that Ellen would be better-off with her husband in Europe rather than in New York; Newland criticizes her suggestion saying, "watching the contortions of the damned is supposed to be a favorite sport of the angels; but I believe even they don't think people happier in hell" (235). Finally, another one of May's godly traits is her tendency in not showing pain, "if May had spoken out her grievances (he suspected her of many) he might have laughed them away; but she was trained to conceal imaginary wounds under a Spartan smile" (310).
In stark contrast to May's immortality is Ellen Olenska's mortality. Unlike May, Ellen ages, cries and feels. The emphasis of her aging was introduced early on, as "it was generally agreed that Ellen had lost her looks" (78) and that her "early radiance is gone. The red cheeks have paled; she is thin, worn, a little older-looking than her age, which must have been nearly thirty" (80). It also important to note that other than Newland, Ellen is the only person who is shown to cry. Her first anguish occurs when she describes to Newland her frustration of "the real loneliness," which is "living among all these kind people who ask one to pretend" (97). Another trait of mortality we see in Ellen is the aspect of her humanism, which is told by Archer's friend, Ned Winsett, who recounts to Newland how Ellen rescued his son: "My little .
Mukhaelyan 3.
boy fell down chasing his kitten, and gave himself a nasty cut. She rushed in bareheaded, carrying him in her arms, with his knee all beautifully bandaged, and was so sympathetic and beautiful that my wife was too dazzled to ask her name" (140).