_ A special appositeness was given to these reflections by the
discovery, in a neighbouring pew, of the serious profile and
neatly-trimmed beard of Mr. Percy Gryce. There was something
almost bridal in his own aspect: his large white gardenia had a
symbolic air that struck Lily as a good omen. After all, seen in
an assemblage of his kind he was not ridiculous-looking: a
friendly critic might have called his heaviness weighty, and he
was at his best in the attitude of vacant passivity which brings
out the oddities of the restless. She fancied he was the kind of
man whose sentimental associations would be stirred by the
conventional imagery of a wedding, and she pictured herself, in
the seclusion of the Van Osburgh conservatories, playing
skillfully upon sensibilities thus prepared for her touch. In
fact, when she looked at the other women about her, and recalled
the image she had brought away from her own glass, it did not
seem as though any special skill would be needed to repair her
blunder and bring him once more to her feet.
The sight of Selden's dark head, in a pew almost facing her,
disturbed for a moment the balance of her complacency. The rise
of her blood as their eyes met was succeeded by a contrary
motion, a wave of resistance and withdrawal. She did not wish to
see him again, not because she feared his influence, but because
his presence always had the effect of cheapening her aspirations,
of throwing her whole world out of focus. Besides, he was a
living reminder of the worst mistake in her career, and the fact
that he had been its cause did not soften her feelings toward
him. She could still imagine an ideal state of existence in
which, all else being superadded, intercourse with Selden might
be the last touch of luxury; but in the world as it was, such a
privilege was likely to cost more than it was worth.
"Lily, dear, I never saw you look so lovely! You look as if
something delightful had just happened to you!"
The young lady who thus formulated her admiration of her
brilliant friend did not, in her own person, suggest such
happy possibilities. Miss Gertrude Farish, in fact, typified the
mediocre and the ineffectual. If there were compensating
qualities in her wide frank glance and the freshness of her
smile, these were qualities which only the sympathetic observer
would perceive before noticing that her eyes were of a workaday
grey and her lips without haunting curves. Lily's own view of her
wavered between pity for her limitations and impatience at her
cheerful acceptance of them. To Miss Bart, as to her mother,
acquiescence in dinginess was evidence of stupidity; and there
were moments when, in the consciousness of her own power to look
and to be so exactly what the occasion required, she almost felt
that other girls were plain and inferior from choice. Certainly
no one need have confessed such acquiescence in her lot as was
revealed in the "useful" colour of Gerty Farish's gown and the
subdued lines of her hat: it is almost as stupid to let your
clothes betray that you know you are ugly as to have them
proclaim that you think you are beautiful.
Of course, being fatally poor and dingy, it was wise of Gerty to
have taken up philanthropy and symphony concerts; but there was
something irritating in her assumption that existence yielded no
higher pleasures, and that one might get as much interest and
excitement out of life in a cramped flat as in the splendours of
the Van Osburgh establishment. Today, however, her chirping
enthusiasms did not irritate Lily. They seemed only to throw her
own exceptionalness into becoming relief, and give a soaring
vastness to her scheme of life.
"Do let us go and take a peep at the presents before everyone
else leaves the dining-room!" suggested Miss Farish, linking her
arm in her friend's. It was characteristic of her to take a
sentimental and unenvious interest in all the details of a
wedding: she was the kind of person who always kept her
handkerchief out during the service, and departed clutching a box
of wedding-cake.
"Isn't everything beautifully done?" she pursued, as they entered
the distant drawing-room assigned to the display of Miss Van
Osburgh's bridal spoils. "I always say no one does things better
than cousin Grace! Did you ever taste anything more delicious
than that MOUSSE of lobster with champagne sauce? I made up my
mind weeks ago that I wouldn't miss this wedding, and just
fancy how delightfully it all came about. When Lawrence Selden
heard I was coming, he insisted on fetching me himself and
driving me to the station, and when we go back this evening I am
to dine with him at Sherry's. I really feel as excited as if I
were getting married myself!"
Lily smiled: she knew that Selden had always been kind to his
dull cousin, and she had sometimes wondered why he wasted so much
time in such an unremunerative manner; but now the thought gave
her a vague pleasure.
"Do you see him often?" she asked.
"Yes; he is very good about dropping in on Sundays. And now and
then we do a play together; but lately I haven't seen much of
him. He doesn't look well, and he seems nervous and unsettled.
The dear fellow! I do wish he would marry some nice girl. I told
him so today, but he said he didn't care for the really nice
ones, and the other kind didn't care for him--but that was just
his joke, of course. He could never marry a girl who WASN'T nice.
Oh, my dear, did you ever see such pearls?"
They had paused before the table on which the bride's jewels were
displayed, and Lily's heart gave an envious throb as she caught
the refraction of light from their surfaces--the milky gleam of
perfectly matched pearls, the flash of rubies relieved against
contrasting velvet, the intense blue rays of sapphires kindled
into light by surrounding diamonds: all these precious tints
enhanced and deepened by the varied art of their setting. The
glow of the stones warmed Lily's veins like wine. More completely
than any other expression of wealth they symbolized the life she
longed to lead, the life of fastidious aloofness and refinement
in which every detail should have the finish of a jewel, and the
whole form a harmonious setting to her own jewel-like rareness.
"Oh, Lily, do look at this diamond pendant--it's as big as a
dinner-plate! Who can have given it?" Miss Farish bent
short-sightedly over the accompanying card. "MR. SIMON ROSEDALE.
What, that horrid man? Oh, yes--I remember he's a friend of
Jack's, and I suppose cousin Grace had to ask him here today; but
she must rather hate having to let Gwen accept such a present
from him."
Lily smiled. She doubted Mrs. Van Osburgh's reluctance, but was
aware of Miss Farish's habit of ascribing her own delicacies of
feeling to the persons least likely to be encumbered by them.
"Well, if Gwen doesn't care to be seen wearing it she can always
exchange it for something else," she remarked.
"Ah, here is something so much prettier," Miss Farish continued.
"Do look at this exquisite white sapphire. I'm sure the person
who chose it must have taken particular pains. What is the name?
Percy Gryce? Ah, then I'm not surprised!" She smiled
significantly as she replaced the card. "Of course you've heard
that he's perfectly devoted to Evie Van Osburgh? Cousin Grace is
so pleased about it--it's quite a romance! He met her first at
the George Dorsets', only about six weeks ago, and it's just the
nicest possible marriage for dear Evie. Oh, I don't mean the
money--of course she has plenty of her own--but she's such a
quiet stay-at-home kind of girl, and it seems he has just the
same tastes; so they are exactly suited to each other."
Lily stood staring vacantly at the white sapphire on its velvet
bed. Evie Van Osburgh and Percy Gryce? The names rang derisively
through her brain. EVIE VAN OSBURGH? The youngest, dumpiest,
dullest of the four dull and dumpy daughters whom Mrs. Van
Osburgh, with unsurpassed astuteness, had "placed" one by one in
enviable niches of existence! Ah, lucky girls who grow up in the
shelter of a mother's love--a mother who knows how to contrive
opportunities without conceding favours, how to take advantage of
propinquity without allowing appetite to be dulled by habit! The
cleverest girl may miscalculate where her own interests are
concerned, may yield too much at one moment and withdraw too far
at the next: it takes a mother's unerring vigilance and foresight
to land her daughters safely in the arms of wealth and
suitability.
Lily's passing light-heartedness sank beneath a renewed sense of
failure. Life was too stupid, too blundering! Why should Percy
Gryce's millions be joined to another great fortune, why should
this clumsy girl be put in possession of powers she would never
know how to use?
She was roused from these speculations by a familiar touch
on her arm, and turning saw Gus Trenor beside her. She felt a
thrill of vexation: what right had he to touch her? Luckily Gerty
Farish had wandered off to the next table, and they were alone.
Trenor, looking stouter than ever in his tight frock-coat, and
unbecomingly flushed by the bridal libations, gazed at her with
undisguised approval.
"By Jove, Lily, you do look a stunner!" He had slipped insensibly
into the use of her Christian name, and she had never found the
right moment to correct him. Besides, in her set all the men and
women called each other by their Christian names; it was only on
Trenor's lips that the familiar address had an unpleasant
significance.
"Well," he continued, still jovially impervious to her annoyance,
"have you made up your mind which of these little trinkets you
mean to duplicate at Tiffany's tomorrow? I've got a cheque for
you in my pocket that will go a long way in that line!"
Lily gave him a startled look: his voice was louder than usual,
and the room was beginning to fill with people. But as her glance
assured her that they were still beyond ear-shot a sense of
pleasure replaced her apprehension.
"Another dividend?" she asked, smiling and drawing near him in
the desire not to be overheard.
"Well, not exactly: I sold out on the rise and I've pulled off
four thou' for you. Not so bad for a beginner, eh? I suppose
you'll begin to think you're a pretty knowing speculator. And
perhaps you won't think poor old Gus such an awful ass as some
people do."
"I think you the kindest of friends; but I can't thank you
properly now."
She let her eyes shine into his with a look that made up for the
hand-clasp he would have claimed if they had been alone--and how
glad she was that they were not! The news filled her with the
glow produced by a sudden cessation of physical pain. The world
was not so stupid and blundering after all: now and then a stroke
of luck came to the unluckiest. At the thought her spirits began
to rise: it was characteristic of her that one trifling piece of
good fortune should give wings to all her hopes. Instantly came
the reflection that Percy Gryce was not irretrievably
lost; and she smiled to think of the excitement of recapturing
him from Evie Van Osburgh. What chance could such a simpleton
have against her if she chose to exert herself? She glanced
about, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gryce; but her eyes lit
instead on the glossy countenance of Mr. Rosedale, who was
slipping through the crowd with an air half obsequious, half
obtrusive, as though, the moment his presence was recognized, it
would swell to the dimensions of the room.
Not wishing to be the means of effecting this enlargement, Lily
quickly transferred her glance to Trenor, to whom the expression
of her gratitude seemed not to have brought the complete
gratification she had meant it to give.
"Hang thanking me--I don't want to be thanked, but I SHOULD like
the chance to say two words to you now and then," he grumbled. "I
thought you were going to spend the whole autumn with us, and
I've hardly laid eyes on you for the last month. Why can't you
come back to Bellomont this evening? We're all alone, and Judy is
as cross as two sticks. Do come and cheer a fellow up. If you say
yes I'll run you over in the motor, and you can telephone your
maid to bring your traps from town by the next train."
Lily shook her head with a charming semblance of regret. "I wish
I could--but it's quite impossible. My aunt has come back to
town, and I must be with her for the next few days."
"Well, I've seen a good deal less of you since we've got to be
such pals than I used to when you were Judy's friend," he
continued with unconscious penetration.
"When I was Judy's friend? Am I not her friend still? Really, you
say the most absurd things! If I were always at Bellomont you
would tire of me much sooner than Judy--but come and see me at my
aunt's the next afternoon you are in town; then we can have a
nice quiet talk, and you can tell me how I had better invest my
fortune."
It was true that, during the last three or four weeks, she had
absented herself from Bellomont on the pretext of having other
visits to pay; but she now began to feel that the reckoning she
had thus contrived to evade had rolled up interest in the
interval.
The prospect of the nice quiet talk did not appear as all-sufficing to Trenor as she had hoped, and his brows continued
to lower as he said: "Oh, I don't know that I can promise you a
fresh tip every day. But there's one thing you might do for me;
and that is, just to be a little civil to Rosedale. Judy has
promised to ask him to dine when we get to town, but I can't
induce her to have him at Bellomont, and if you would let me
bring him up now it would make a lot of difference. I don't
believe two women have spoken to him this afternoon, and I can
tell you he's a chap it pays to be decent to."
Miss Bart made an impatient movement, but suppressed the words
which seemed about to accompany it. After all, this was an
unexpectedly easy way of acquitting her debt; and had she not
reasons of her own for wishing to be civil to Mr. Rosedale?
"Oh, bring him by all means," she said smiling; "perhaps I can
get a tip out of him on my own account."
Trenor paused abruptly, and his eyes fixed themselves on hers
with a look which made her change colour.
"I say, you know--you'll please remember he's a blooming
bounder," he said; and with a slight laugh she turned toward the
open window near which they had been standing.
The throng in the room had increased, and she felt a desire for
space and fresh air. Both of these she found on the terrace,
where only a few men were lingering over cigarettes and liqueur,
while scattered couples strolled across the lawn to the
autumn-tinted borders of the flower-garden.
As she emerged, a man moved toward her from the knot of smokers,
and she found herself face to face with Selden. The stir of the
pulses which his nearness always caused was increased by a slight
sense of constraint. They had not met since their Sunday
afternoon walk at Bellomont, and that episode was still so vivid
to her that she could hardly believe him to be less conscious of
it. But his greeting expressed no more than the satisfaction
which every pretty woman expects to see reflected in masculine
eyes; and the discovery, if distasteful to her vanity, was
reassuring to her nerves. Between the relief of her escape from
Trenor, and the vague apprehension of her meeting with Rosedale,
it was pleasant to rest a moment on the sense of complete
understanding which Lawrence Selden's manner always conveyed.
"This is luck," he said smiling. "I was wondering if I should be
able to have a word with you before the special snatches us away.
I came with Gerty Farish, and promised not to let her miss the
train, but I am sure she is still extracting sentimental solace
from the wedding presents. She appears to regard their number and
value as evidence of the disinterested affection of the
contracting parties."
There was not the least trace of embarrassment in his voice, and
as he spoke, leaning slightly against the jamb of the window, and
letting his eyes rest on her in the frank enjoyment of her grace,
she felt with a faint chill of regret that he had gone back
without an effort to the footing on which they had stood before
their last talk together. Her vanity was stung by the sight of
his unscathed smile. She longed to be to him something more than
a piece of sentient prettiness, a passing diversion to his eye
and brain; and the longing betrayed itself in her reply.
"Ah," she said, "I envy Gerty that power she has of dressing up
with romance all our ugly and prosaic arrangements! I have never
recovered my self-respect since you showed me how poor and
unimportant my ambitions were."
The words were hardly spoken when she realized their infelicity.
It seemed to be her fate to appear at her worst to Selden.
"I thought, on the contrary," he returned lightly, "that I had
been the means of proving they were more important to you than
anything else."
It was as if the eager current of her being had been checked by a
sudden obstacle which drove it back upon itself. She looked at
him helplessly, like a hurt or frightened child: this real self
of hers, which he had the faculty of drawing out of the depths,
was so little accustomed to go alone!
The appeal of her helplessness touched in him, as it always did,
a latent chord of inclination. It would have meant nothing to him
to discover that his nearness made her more brilliant, but this
glimpse of a twilight mood to which he alone had the clue seemed
once more to set him in a world apart with her.
"At least you can't think worse things of me than you say!" she
exclaimed with a trembling laugh; but before he could
answer, the flow of comprehension between them was abruptly
stayed by the reappearance of Gus Trenor, who advanced with Mr.
Rosedale in his wake.
"Hang it, Lily, I thought you'd given me the slip: Rosedale and I
have been hunting all over for you!"
His voice had a note of conjugal familiarity: Miss Bart fancied
she detected in Rosedale's eye a twinkling perception of the
fact, and the idea turned her dislike of him to repugnance. _