_ Alone with her cousin's kiss, Gerty stared upon her thoughts. He
had kissed her before--but not with another woman on his lips. If
he had spared her that she could have drowned quietly, welcoming
the dark flood as it submerged her. But now the flood was shot
through with glory, and it was harder to drown at sunrise than in
darkness. Gerty hid her face from the light, but it pierced to
the crannies of her soul. She had been so contented, life had
seemed so simple and sufficient--why had he come to trouble her
with new hopes? And Lily--Lily, her best friend! Woman-like, she
accused the woman. Perhaps, had it not been for Lily, her fond
imagining might have become truth. Selden had always liked
her--had understood and sympathized with the modest independence
of her life. He, who had the reputation of weighing all things in
the nice balance of fastidious perceptions, had been uncritical
and simple in his view of her: his cleverness had never overawed
her because she had felt at home in his heart. And now she was
thrust out, and the door barred against her by Lily's hand! Lily,
for whose admission there she herself had pleaded! The situation
was lighted up by a dreary flash of irony. She knew Selden--she
saw how the force of her faith in Lily must have helped to dispel
his hesitations. She remembered, too, how Lily had talked of
him-she saw herself bringing the two together, making them known
to each other. On Selden's part, no doubt, the wound inflicted
was inconscient; he had never guessed her foolish secret; but
Lily--Lily must have known! When, in such matters, are a woman's
perceptions at fault? And if she knew, then she had deliberately
despoiled her friend, and in mere wantonness of power,
since, even to Gerty's suddenly flaming jealousy, it seemed
incredible that Lily should wish to be Selden's wife. Lily might
be incapable of marrying for money, but she was equally incapable
of living without it, and Selden's eager investigations into the
small economies of house-keeping made him appear to Gerty as
tragically duped as herself.
She remained long in her sitting-room, where the embers were
crumbling to cold grey, and the lamp paled under its gay shade.
Just beneath it stood the photograph of Lily Bart, looking out
imperially on the cheap gim-cracks, the cramped furniture of the
little room. Could Selden picture her in such an interior? Gerty
felt the poverty, the insignificance of her surroundings: she
beheld her life as it must appear to Lily. And the cruelty of
Lily's judgments smote upon her memory. She saw that she had
dressed her idol with attributes of her own making. When had Lily
ever really felt, or pitied, or understood? All she wanted was
the taste of new experiences: she seemed like some cruel creature
experimenting in a laboratory.
The pink-faced clock drummed out another hour, and Gerty rose
with a start. She had an appointment early the next morning with
a district visitor on the East side. She put out her lamp,
covered the fire, and went into her bedroom to undress. In the
little glass above her dressing-table she saw her face reflected
against the shadows of the room, and tears blotted the
reflection. What right had she to dream the dreams of loveliness?
A dull face invited a dull fate. She cried quietly as she
undressed, laying aside her clothes with her habitual precision,
setting everything in order for the next day, when the old life
must be taken up as though there had been no break in its
routine. Her servant did not come till eight o'clock, and she
prepared her own tea-tray and placed it beside the bed. Then she
locked the door of the flat, extinguished her light and lay down.
But on her bed sleep would not come, and she lay face to face
with the fact that she hated Lily Bart. It closed with her in the
darkness like some formless evil to be blindly grappled with.
Reason, judgment, renunciation, all the sane daylight forces,
were beaten back in the sharp struggle for self-preservation. She
wanted happiness--- wanted it as fiercely and
unscrupulously as Lily did, but without Lily's power of obtaining
it. And in her conscious impotence she lay shivering, and hated
her friend---
A ring at the door-bell caught her to her feet. She struck a
light and stood startled, listening. For a moment her heart beat
incoherently, then she felt the sobering touch of fact, and
remembered that such calls were not unknown in her charitable
work. She flung on her dressing-gown to answer the summons, and
unlocking her door, confronted the shining vision of Lily Bart.
Gerty's first movement was one of revulsion. She shrank back as
though Lily's presence flashed too sudden a light upon her
misery. Then she heard her name in a cry, had a glimpse of her
friend's face, and felt herself caught and clung to.
"Lily--what is it?" she exclaimed.
Miss Bart released her, and stood breathing brokenly, like one
who has gained shelter after a long flight.
"I was so cold--I couldn't go home. Have you a fire?"
Gerty's compassionate instincts, responding to the swift call of
habit, swept aside all her reluctances. Lily was simply some one
who needed help--for what reason, there was no time to pause and
conjecture: disciplined sympathy checked the wonder on Gerty's
lips, and made her draw her friend silently into the sitting-room
and seat her by the darkened hearth.
"There is kindling wood here: the fire will burn in a minute."
She knelt down, and the flame leapt under her rapid hands. It
flashed strangely through the tears which still blurred her eyes,
and smote on the white ruin of Lily's face. The girls looked at
each other in silence; then Lily repeated: "I couldn't go home."
"No--no--you came here, dear! You're cold and tired--sit quiet,
and I'll make you some tea."
Gerty had unconsciously adopted the soothing note of her trade:
all personal feeling was merged in the sense of ministry, and
experience had taught her that the bleeding must be stayed before
the wound is probed.
Lily sat quiet, leaning to the fire: the clatter of cups behind
her soothed her as familiar noises hush a child whom silence has
kept wakeful. But when Gerty stood at her side with the tea she
pushed it away, and turned an estranged eye on the familiar room.
"I came here because I couldn't bear to be alone," she said.
Gerty set down the cup and knelt beside her.
"Lily! Something has happened--can't you tell me?"
"I couldn't bear to lie awake in my room till morning. I hate my
room at Aunt Julia's--so I came here---"
She stirred suddenly, broke from her apathy, and dung to Gerty in
a fresh burst of fear.
"Oh, Gerty, the furies . . . you know the noise of their
wings--alone, at night, in the dark? But you don't know--there is
nothing to make the dark dreadful to you---"
The words, flashing back on Gerty's last hours, struck from her a
faint derisive murmur; but Lily, in the blaze of her own misery,
was blinded to everything outside it.
"You'll let me stay? I shan't mind when daylight comes--Is it
late? Is the night nearly over? It must be awful to be
sleepless--everything stands by the bed and stares---"
Miss Farish caught her straying hands. "Lily, look at me!
Something has happened--an accident? You have been
frightened--what has frightened you? Tell me if you can--a word
or two--so that I can help you."
Lily shook her head.
"I am not frightened: that's not the word. Can you imagine
looking into your glass some morning and seeing a
disfigurement--some hideous change that has come to you while you
slept? Well, I seem to myself like that--I can't bear to see
myself in my own thoughts--I hate ugliness, you know--I've always
turned from it--but I can't explain to you--you wouldn't
understand."
She lifted her head and her eyes fell on the clock.
"How long the night is! And I know I shan't sleep tomorrow. Some
one told me my father used to lie sleepless and think of horrors.
And he was not wicked, only unfortunate--and I see now how he
must have suffered, lying alone with his thoughts! But I am
bad--a bad girl--all my thoughts are bad--I have always had bad
people about me. Is that any excuse? I thought I could
manage my own life--I was proud--proud! but now I'm on their
level---"
Sobs shook her, and she bowed to them like a tree in a dry storm.
Gerty knelt beside her, waiting, with the patience born of
experience, till this gust of misery should loosen fresh speech.
She had first imagined some physical shock, some peril of the
crowded streets, since Lily was presumably on her way home from
Carry Fisher's; but she now saw that other nerve-centres were
smitten, and her mind trembled back from conjecture.
Lily's sobs ceased, and she lifted her head.
"There are bad girls in your slums. Tell me--do they ever pick
themselves up? Ever forget, and feel as they did before?"
"Lily! you mustn't speak so--you're dreaming."
"Don't they always go from bad to worse? There's no turning
back--your old self rejects you, and shuts you out."
She rose, stretching her arms as if in utter physical weariness.
"Go to bed, dear! You work hard and get up early. I'll watch here
by the fire, and you'll leave the light, and your door open. All
I want is to feel that you are near me." She laid both hands on
Gerty's shoulders, with a smile that was like sunrise on a sea
strewn with wreckage.
"I can't leave you, Lily. Come and lie on my bed. Your hands are
frozen--you must undress and be made warm." Gerty paused with
sudden compunction. "But Mrs. Peniston--it's past midnight! What
will she think?"
"She goes to bed. I have a latch-key. It doesn't matter--I can't
go back there."
"There's no need to: you shall stay here. But you must tell me
where you have been. Listen, Lily--it will help you to speak!"
She regained Miss Bart's hands, and pressed them against her.
"Try to tell me--it will clear your poor head. Listen--you were
dining at Carry Fisher's." Gerty paused and added with a flash of
heroism: "Lawrence Selden went from here to find you."
At the word, Lily's face melted from locked anguish to the open
misery of a child. Her lips trembled and her gaze widened with
tears.
"He went to find me? And I missed him! Oh, Gerty, he
tried to help me. He told me--he warned me long ago--he foresaw
that I should grow hateful to myself!" _