_ Suddenly her wild pacing brought her before the clock on the
chimney-piece. Its hands stood at half-past three, and she
remembered that Selden was to come to her at four. She had
meant to put him off with a word--but now her heart leaped at the
thought of seeing him. Was there not a promise of rescue in his
love? As she had lain at Gerty's side the night before, she had
thought of his coming, and of the sweetness of weeping out her
pain upon his breast. Of course she had meant to clear herself of
its consequences before she met him--she had never really doubted
that Mrs. Peniston would come to her aid. And she had felt, even
in the full storm of her misery, that Selden's love could not be
her ultimate refuge; only it would be so sweet to take a moment's
shelter there, while she gathered fresh strength to go on.
But now his love was her only hope, and as she sat alone with her
wretchedness the thought of confiding in him became as seductive
as the river's flow to the suicide. The first plunge would be
terrible--but afterward, what blessedness might come! She
remembered Gerty's words: "I know him--he will help you"; and her
mind clung to them as a sick person might cling to a healing
relic. Oh, if he really understood--if he would help her to
gather up her broken life, and put it together in some new
semblance in which no trace of the past should remain! He had
always made her feel that she was worthy of better things, and
she had never been in greater need of such solace. Once and again
she shrank at the thought of imperilling his love by her
confession: for love was what she needed--it would take the glow
of passion to weld together the shattered fragments of her
self-esteem. But she recurred to Gerty's words and held fast to
them. She was sure that Gerty knew Selden's feeling for her, and
it had never dawned upon her blindness that Gerty's own judgment
of him was coloured by emotions far more ardent than her own.
Four o'clock found her in the drawing-room: she was sure that
Selden would be punctual. But the hour came and passed--it moved
on feverishly, measured by her impatient heart-beats. She had
time to take a fresh survey of her wretchedness, and to fluctuate
anew between the impulse to confide in Selden and the dread of
destroying his illusions. But as the minutes passed the need of
throwing herself on his comprehension became more urgent: she
could not bear the weight of her misery alone. There would be a
perilous moment, perhaps: but could she not trust to her
beauty to bridge it over, to land her safe in the shelter of his
devotion?
But the hour sped on and Selden did not come. Doubtless he had
been detained, or had misread her hurriedly scrawled note, taking
the four for a five. The ringing of the door-bell a few minutes
after five confirmed this supposition, and made Lily hastily
resolve to write more legibly in future. The sound of steps in
the hall, and of the butler's voice preceding them, poured fresh
energy into her veins. She felt herself once more the alert and
competent moulder of emergencies, and the remembrance of her
power over Selden flushed her with sudden confidence. But when
the drawing-room door opened it was Rosedale who came in.
The reaction caused her a sharp pang, but after a passing
movement of irritation at the clumsiness of fate, and at her own
carelessness in not denying the door to all but Selden, she
controlled herself and greeted Rosedale amicably. It was annoying
that Selden, when he came, should find that particular visitor in
possession, but Lily was mistress of the art of ridding herself
of superfluous company, and to her present mood Rosedale seemed
distinctly negligible.
His own view of the situation forced itself upon her after a few
moments' conversation. She had caught at the Brys' entertainment
as an easy impersonal subject, likely to tide them over the
interval till Selden appeared, but Mr. Rosedale, tenaciously
planted beside the tea-table, his hands in his pockets, his legs
a little too freely extended, at once gave the topic a personal
turn.
"Pretty well done--well, yes, I suppose it was: Welly Bry's got
his back up and don't mean to let go till he's got the hang of
the thing. Of course, there were things here and there--things
Mrs. Fisher couldn't be expected to see to--the champagne wasn't
cold, and the coats got mixed in the coat-room. I would have
spent more money on the music. But that's my character: if I want
a thing I'm willing to pay: I don't go up to the counter, and
then wonder if the article's worth the price. I wouldn't be
satisfied to entertain like the Welly Brys; I'd want something
that would look more easy and natural, more as if I took it in my
stride. And it takes just two things to do that, Miss
Bart: money, and the right woman to spend it."
He paused, and examined her attentively while she affected to
rearrange the tea-cups.
"I've got the money," he continued, clearing his throat, "and
what I want is the woman--and I mean to have her too."
He leaned forward a little, resting his hands on the head of his
walking-stick. He had seen men of Ned Van Alstyne's type bring
their hats and sticks into a drawing-room, and he thought it
added a touch of elegant familiarity to their appearance.
Lily was silent, smiling faintly, with her eyes absently resting
on his face. She was in reality reflecting that a declaration
would take some time to make, and that Selden must surely appear
before the moment of refusal had been reached. Her brooding look,
as of a mind withdrawn yet not averted, seemed to Mr. Rosedale
full of a subtle encouragement. He would not have liked any
evidence of eagerness.
"I mean to have her too," he repeated, with a laugh intended to
strengthen his self-assurance. "I generally HAVE got what I
wanted in life, Miss Bart. I wanted money, and I've got more than
I know how to invest; and now the money doesn't seem to be of any
account unless I can spend it on the right woman. That's what I
want to do with it: I want my wife to make all the other women
feel small. I'd never grudge a dollar that was spent on that. But
it isn't every woman can do it, no matter how much you spend on
her. There was a girl in some history book who wanted gold
shields, or something, and the fellows threw 'em at her, and she
was crushed under 'em: they killed her. Well, that's true enough:
some women looked buried under their jewelry. What I want is a
woman who'll hold her head higher the more diamonds I put on it.
And when I looked at you the other night at the Brys', in that
plain white dress, looking as if you had a crown on, I said to
myself:'By gad, if she had one she'd wear it as if it grew on
her.'"
Still Lily did not speak, and he continued, warming with his
theme: "Tell you what it is, though, that kind of woman costs
more than all the rest of 'em put together. If a woman's
going to ignore her pearls, they want to be better than anybody
else's--and so it is with everything else. You know what I
mean--you know it's only the showy things that are cheap. Well, I
should want my wife to be able to take the earth for granted if
she wanted to. I know there's one thing vulgar about money, and
that's the thinking about it; and my wife would never have to
demean herself in that way." He paused, and then added, with an
unfortunate lapse to an earlier manner: "I guess you know the
lady I've got in view, Miss Bart."
Lily raised her head, brightening a little under the challenge.
Even through the dark tumult of her thoughts, the clink of Mr.
Rosedale's millions had a faintly seductive note. Oh, for enough
of them to cancel her one miserable debt! But the man behind them
grew increasingly repugnant in the light of Selden's expected
coming. The contrast was too grotesque: she could scarcely
suppress the smile it provoked. She decided that directness would
be best.
"If you mean me, Mr. Rosedale, I am very grateful--very much
flattered; but I don't know what I have ever done to make you
think--"
"Oh, if you mean you're not dead in love with me, I've got sense
enough left to see that. And I ain't talking to you as if you
were--I presume I know the kind of talk that's expected under
those circumstances. I'm confoundedly gone on you--that's about
the size of it--and I'm just giving you a plain business
statement of the consequences. You're not very fond of
me--YET--but you're fond of luxury, and style, and amusement, and
of not having to worry about cash. You like to have a good time,
and not have to settle for it; and what I propose to do is to
provide for the good time and do the settling."
He paused, and she returned with a chilling smile: "You are
mistaken in one point, Mr. Rosedale: whatever I enjoy I am
prepared to settle for."
She spoke with the intention of making him see that, if his words
implied a tentative allusion to her private affairs, she was
prepared to meet and repudiate it. But if he recognized her
meaning it failed to abash him, and he went on in the same tone:
"I didn't mean to give offence; excuse me if I've spoken too
plainly. But why ain't you straight with me--why do you
put up that kind of bluff? You know there've been times when you
were bothered--damned bothered--and as a girl gets older, and
things keep moving along, why, before she knows it, the things
she wants are liable to move past her and not come back. I don't
say it's anywhere near that with you yet; but you've had a taste
of bothers that a girl like yourself ought never to have known
about, and what I'm offering you is the chance to turn your back
on them once for all."
The colour burned in Lily's face as he ended; there was no
mistaking the point he meant to make, and to permit it to pass
unheeded was a fatal confession of weakness, while to resent it
too openly was to risk offending him at a perilous moment.
Indignation quivered on her lip; but it was quelled by the secret
voice which warned her that she must not quarrel with him. He
knew too much about her, and even at the moment when it was
essential that he should show himself at his best, he did not
scruple to let her see how much he knew. How then would he use
his power when her expression of contempt had dispelled his one
motive for restraint? Her whole future might hinge on her way
of answering him: she had to stop and consider that, in the
stress of her other anxieties, as a breathless fugitive may have
to pause at the cross-roads and try to decide coolly which turn
to take.
"You are quite right, Mr. Rosedale. I HAVE had bothers; and
I am grateful to you for wanting to relieve me of them. It is
not always easy to be quite independent and self-respecting
when one is poor and lives among rich people; I have been
careless about money, and have worried about my bills. But I
should be selfish and ungrateful if I made that a reason for
accepting all you offer, with no better return to make than
the desire to be free from my anxieties. You must give me
time--time to think of your kindness--and of what I could
give you in return for it---" _