House of Mirth....................................................................................................................................................1

Edith Wharton ..........................................................................................................................................1

Selden paused in surprise. In the afternoon rush of the Grand Central Station his eyes had been refreshed by

It was a Monday in early September, and he was returning to his work from a hurried dip into the country;

but what was Miss Bart doing in town at that season? If she had appeared to be catching a train, he might

have inferred that he had come on her in the act of transition between one and another of the countryhouses

which disputed her presence after the close of the Newport season; but her desultory air perplexed him. She

stood apart from the crowd, letting it drift by her to the platform or the street, and wearing an air of

irresolution which might, as he surmised, be the mask of a very definite purpose. It struck him at once that

she was waiting for some one, but he hardly knew why the idea arrested him. There was nothing new about

Lily Bart, yet he could never see her without a faint movement of interest: it was characteristic of her that she

always roused speculation, that her simplest acts seemed the result of farreaching intentions.

An impulse of curiosity made him turn out of his direct line to the door, and stroll past her. He knew that if

she did not wish to be seen she would contrive to elude him; and it amused him to think of putting her skill to

She came forward smiling, eager almost, in her resolve to intercept him. One or two persons, in brushing past

them, lingered to look; for Miss Bart was a figure to arrest even the suburban traveller rushing to his last

Selden had never seen her more radiant. Her vivid head, relieved against the dull tints of the crowd, made her

more conspicuous than in a ballroom, and under her dark hat and veil she regained the girlish smoothness,

the purity of tint, that she was beginning to lose after eleven years of late hours and indefatigable dancing.

Was it really eleven years, Selden found himself wondering, and had she indeed reached the

He responded joyfully that to do so was his mission in life, and asked what form the rescue was to take.

"Oh, almost anyeven to sitting on a bench and talking to me. One sits out a cotillionwhy not sit out a

train? It isn't a bit hotter here than in Mrs. Van Osburgh's conservatoryand some of the women are not a bit

uglier." She broke off, laughing, to explain that she had come up to town from Tuxedo, on her way to the Gus

Trenors' at Bellomont, and had missed the threefifteen train to Rhinebeck. "And there isn't another till

halfpast five." She consulted the little jewelled watch among her laces. "Just two hours to wait. And I don't

know what to do with myself. My maid came up this morning to do some shopping for me, and was to go on

to Bellomont at one o'clock, and my aunt's house is closed, and I don't know a soul in town." She glanced

plaintively about the station. "It IS hotter than Mrs. Van Osburgh's, after all. If you can spare the time, do

He declared himself entirely at her disposal: the adventure struck him as diverting. As a spectator, he had

always enjoyed Lily Bart; and his course lay so far out of her orbit that it amused him to be drawn for a

"So many people come up to town on a Mondayone is sure to meet a lot of bores. I'm as old as the hills, of

course, and it ought not to make any difference; but if I'M old enough, you're not," she objected gaily. "I'm

He answered her smile, which rested on him vividly. Her discretions interested him almost as much as her

imprudences: he was so sure that both were part of the same carefullyelaborated plan. In judging Miss Bart,

"The resources of New York are rather meagre," he said; "but I'll find a hansom first, and then we'll invent

something."He led her through the throng of returning holidaymakers, past sallowfaced girls in

preposterous hats, and flatchested women struggling with paper bundles and palmleaf fans. Was it possible

that she belonged to the same race? The dinginess, the crudity of this average section of womanhood made

A rapid shower had cooled the air, and clouds still hung refreshingly over the moist street.

"How delicious! Let us walk a little," she said as they emerged from the station.

They turned into Madison Avenue and began to stroll northward. As she moved beside him, with her long

light step, Selden was conscious of taking a luxurious pleasure in her nearness: in the modelling of her little

ear, the crisp upward wave of her hairwas it ever so slightly brightened by art?and the thick planting of

her straight black lashes. Everything about her was at once vigorous and exquisite, at once strong and fine.

He had a confused sense that she must have cost a great deal to make, that a great many dull and ugly people

must, in some mysterious way, have been sacrificed to produce her. He was aware that the qualities

distinguishing her from the herd of her sex were chiefly external: as though a fine glaze of beauty and

fastidiousness had been applied to vulgar clay. Yet the analogy left him unsatisfied, for a coarse texture will

not take a high finish; and was it not possible that the material was fine, but that circumstance had fashioned

As he reached this point in his speculations the sun came out, and her lifted parasol cut off his enjoyment. A

"Oh, dear, I'm so hot and thirstyand what a hideous place New York is!" She looked despairingly up and

down the dreary thoroughfare. "Other cities put on their best clothes in summer, but New York seems to sit in

its shirtsleeves." Her eyes wandered down one of the sidestreets. "Someone has had the humanity to plant a

"I am glad my street meets with your approval," said Selden as they turned the corner.

She glanced with interest along the new brick and limestone housefronts, fantastically varied in obedience

to the American craving for novelty, but fresh and inviting with their awnings and flowerboxes.

"Ah, yesto be sure: THE BENEDICK. What a nicelooking building! I don't think I've ever seen it

before." She looked across at the flathouse with its marble porch and pseudoGeorgian facade. "Which are

He paused a moment. "Come up and see," he suggested. "I can give you a cup of tea in no timeand you

Her colour deepenedshe still had the art of blushing at the right timebut she took the suggestion as

"Oh, I'm not dangerous," he said in the same key. In truth, he had never liked her as well as at that moment.

He knew she had accepted without afterthought: he could never be a factor in her calculations, and there was

"There's no one here; but I have a servant who is supposed to come in the mornings, and it's just possible he

He ushered her into a slip of a hall hung with old prints. She noticed the letters and notes heaped on the table

among his gloves and sticks; then she found herself in a small library, dark but cheerful, with its walls of

books, a pleasantly faded Turkey rug, a littered desk and, as he had foretold, a teatray on a low table near

the window. A breeze had sprung up, swaying inward the muslin curtains, and bringing a fresh scent of

"How delicious to have a place like this all to one's self! What a miserable thing it is to be a woman." She

"Oh, governessesor widows. But not girlsnot poor, miserable, marriageable girls!"

"Oh, I knowyou mean Gerty Farish." She smiled a little unkindly. "But I said MARRIAGEABLEand

besides, she has a horrid little place, and no maid, and such queer things to eat. Her cook does the washing

They both laughed, and he knelt by the table to light the lamp under the kettle, while she measured out the tea

into a little teapot of green glaze. As he watched her hand, polished as a bit of old ivory, with its slender

pink nails, and the sapphire bracelet slipping over her wrist, he was struck with the irony of suggesting to her

such a life as his cousin Gertrude Farish had chosen. She was so evidently the victim of the civilization which

had produced her, that the links of her bracelet seemed like manacles chaining her to her fate.

She seemed to read his thought. "It was horrid of me to say that of Gerty," she said with charming

compunction. "I forgot she was your cousin. But we're so different, you know: she likes being good, and I

like being happy. And besides, she is free and I am not. If I were, I daresay I could manage to be happy even

in her flat. It must be pure bliss to arrange the furniture just as one likes, and give all the horrors to the

ashman. If I could only do over my aunt's drawingroom I know I should be a better woman."

"Nonsense," she said. "You don't come at alland yet we get on so well when we meet."

"Perhaps that's the reason," he answered promptly. "I'm afraid I haven't any cream, you knowshall you

"I shall like it better." She waited while he cut the lemon and dropped a thin disk into her cup. "But that is not

"For your never coming." She leaned forward with a shade of perplexity in her charming eyes. "I wish I

knewI wish I could make you out. Of course I know there are men who don't like meone can tell that at

a glance. And there are others who are afraid of me: they think I want to marry them." She smiled up at him

"But I don't think you dislike meand you can't possibly think I want to marry you."

He had carried his cup to the fireplace, and stood leaning against the chimneypiece and looking down on her

with an air of indolent amusement. The provocation in her eyes increased his amusementhe had not

supposed she would waste her powder on such small game; but perhaps she was only keeping her hand in; or

perhaps a girl of her type had no conversation but of the personal kind. At any rate, she was amazingly pretty,

"The fact that you don't want to marry me. Perhaps I don't regard it as such a strong inducement to go and see

you." He felt a slight shiver down his spine as he ventured this, but her laugh reassured him.

"Dear Mr. Selden, that wasn't worthy of you. It's stupid of you to make love to me, and it isn't like you to be

stupid." She leaned back, sipping her tea with an air so enchantingly judicial that, if they had been in her

"Don't you see," she continued, "that there are men enough to say pleasant things to me, and that what I want

is a friend who won't be afraid to say disagreeable ones when I need them? Sometimes I have fancied you

might be that friendI don't know why, except that you are neither a prig nor a bounder, and that I shouldn't

have to pretend with you or be on my guard against you." Her voice had dropped to a note of seriousness, and

"You don't know how much I need such a friend," she said. "My aunt is full of copybook axioms, but they

were all meant to apply to conduct in the early fifties. I always feel that to live up to them would include

wearing bookmuslin with gigot sleeves. And the other womenmy best friendswell, they use me or

abuse me; but they don't care a straw what happens to me. I've been about too longpeople are getting tired

There was a moment's pause, during which Selden meditated one or two replies calculated to add a

momentary zest to the situation; but he rejected them in favour of the simple question: "Well, why don't

She coloured and laughed. "Ah, I see you ARE a friend after all, and that is one of the disagreeable things I

"It wasn't meant to be disagreeable," he returned amicably. "Isn't marriage your vocation? Isn't it what you're

She shrugged her shoulders. "You speak as if I ought to marry the first man who came along."

"I didn't mean to imply that you are as hard put to it as that. But there must be some one with the requisite

She shook her head wearily. "I threw away one or two good chances when I first came outI suppose every

girl does; and you know I am horribly poorand very expensive. I must have a great deal of money."

"Oh, his mother was frightenedshe was afraid I should have all the family jewels reset. And she wanted me

He offered the box, and she took out three or four cigarettes, putting one between her lips and slipping the

"Have I time? Just a whiff, then." She leaned forward, holding the tip of her cigarette to his. As she did so, he

noted, with a purely impersonal enjoyment, how evenly the black lashes were set in her smooth white lids,

and how the purplish shade beneath them melted into the pure pallour of the cheek.

She began to saunter about the room, examining the bookshelves between the puffs of her cigarettesmoke.

Some of the volumes had the ripe tints of good tooling and old morocco, and her eyes lingered on them

caressingly, not with the appreciation of the expert, but with the pleasure in agreeable tones and textures that

was one of her inmost susceptibilities. Suddenly her expression changed from desultory enjoyment to active

"As much as a man may who has no money to spend. Now and then I pick up something in the rubbish heap;

She had again addressed herself to the shelves, but her eyes now swept them inattentively, and he saw that

"No, that's rather out of my line. I'm not really a collector, you see; I simply like to have good editions of the

"I should fancy soexcept to the historian. But your real collector values a thing for its rarity. I don't

suppose the buyers of Americana sit up reading them all nightold Jefferson Gryce certainly didn't."

She was listening with keen attention. "And yet they fetch fabulous prices, don't they? It seems so odd to

want to pay a lot for an ugly badlyprinted book that one is never going to read! And I suppose most of the

"No; very few of the historians can afford to buy them. They have to use those in the public libraries or in

private collections. It seems to be the mere rarity that attracts the average collector."

He had seated himself on an arm of the chair near which she was standing, and she continued to question

him, asking which were the rarest volumes, whether the Jefferson Gryce collection was really considered the

finest in the world, and what was the largest price ever fetched by a single volume.

It was so pleasant to sit there looking up at her, as she lifted now one book and then another from the shelves,

fluttering the pages between her fingers, while her drooping profile was outlined against the warm

background of old bindings, that he talked on without pausing to wonder at her sudden interest in so

unsuggestive a subject. But he could never be long with her without trying to find a reason for what she was

doing, and as she replaced his first edition of La Bruyere and turned away from the bookcases, he began to

ask himself what she had been driving at. Her next question was not of a nature to enlighten him. She paused

before him with a smile which seemed at once designed to admit him to her familiarity, and to remind him of

"Don't you ever mind," she asked suddenly, "not being rich enough to buy all the books you want?"

He followed her glance about the room, with its worn furniture and shabby walls.

"No; but the being tied down: the routinedon't you ever want to get away, to see new places and people?"

She drew a sympathetic breath. "But do you mind enoughto marry to get out of it?"

"Ah, there's the differencea girl must, a man may if he chooses." She surveyed him critically. "Your coat's

a little shabbybut who cares? It doesn't keep people from asking you to dine. If I were shabby no one

would have me: a woman is asked out as much for her clothes as for herself. The clothes are the background,

the frame, if you like: they don't make success, but they are a part of it. Who wants a dingy woman? We are

expected to be pretty and welldressed till we dropand if we can't keep it up alone, we have to go into

Selden glanced at her with amusement: it was impossible, even with her lovely eyes imploring him, to take a

"Ah, well, there must be plenty of capital on the lookout for such an investment. Perhaps you'll meet your

"I thought you might be going thereoh, not in that capacity! But there are to be a lot of your setGwen

She paused a moment before the last name, and shot a query through her lashes; but he remained

"Mrs. Trenor asked me; but I can't get away till the end of the week; and those big parties bore me."

"It's part of the businessyou forget! And besides, if I didn't, I should be playing bezique with my aunt at

"That's almost as bad as marrying Dillworth," he agreed, and they both laughed for pure pleasure in their

She paused before the mantelpiece, studying herself in the mirror while she adjusted her veil. The attitude

revealed the long slope of her slender sides, which gave a kind of wildwood grace to her outlineas though

she were a captured dryad subdued to the conventions of the drawingroom; and Selden reflected that it was

the same streak of sylvan freedom in her nature that lent such savour to her artificiality.

He followed her across the room to the entrancehall; but on the threshold she held out her hand with a

On the landing she paused to look about her. There were a thousand chances to one against her meeting

anybody, but one could never tell, and she always paid for her rare indiscretions by a violent reaction of

prudence. There was no one in sight, however, but a charwoman who was scrubbing the stairs. Her own

stout person and its surrounding implements took up so much room that Lily, to pass her, had to gather up her

skirts and brush against the wall. As she did so, the woman paused in her work and looked up curiously,

resting her clenched red fists on the wet cloth she had just drawn from her pail. She had a broad sallow face,

slightly pitted with smallpox, and thin strawcoloured hair through which her scalp shone unpleasantly.

"I beg your pardon," said Lily, intending by her politeness to convey a criticism of the other's manner.

The woman, without answering, pushed her pail aside, and continued to stare as Miss Bart swept by with a

murmur of silken linings. Lily felt herself flushing under the look. What did the creature suppose? Could one

never do the simplest, the most harmless thing, without subjecting one's self to some odious conjecture? Half

way down the next flight, she smiled to think that a charwoman's stare should so perturb her. The poor thing

was probably dazzled by such an unwonted apparition. But WERE such apparitions unwonted on Selden's

stairs? Miss Bart was not familiar with the moral code of bachelors' flathouses, and her colour rose again as

it occurred to her that the woman's persistent gaze implied a groping among past associations. But she put

aside the thought with a smile at her own fears, and hastened downward, wondering if she should find a cab

Under the Georgian porch she paused again, scanning the street for a hansom. None was in sight, but as she

reached the sidewalk she ran against a small glossylooking man with a gardenia in his coat, who raised his

"Miss Bart? Wellof all people! This IS luck," he declared; and she caught a twinkle of amused curiosity

"Oh, Mr. Rosedalehow are you?" she said, perceiving that the irrepressible annoyance on her face was

Mr. Rosedale stood scanning her with interest and approval. He was a plump rosy man of the blond Jewish

type, with smart London clothes fitting him like upholstery, and small sidelong eyes which gave him the air

of appraising people as if they were bricabrac. He glanced up interrogatively at the porch of the Benedick.

"Been up to town for a little shopping, I suppose?" he said, in a tone which had the familiarity of a touch.

Miss Bart shrank from it slightly, and then flung herself into precipitate explanations.

"YesI came up to see my dressmaker. I am just on my way to catch the train to the Trenors'."

"Ahyour dressmaker; just so," he said blandly. "I didn't know there were any dressmakers in the

"Yes, that's the name: I believe it's an old word for bachelor, isn't it? I happen to own the buildingthat's the

way I know." His smile deepened as he added with increasing assurance: "But you must let me take you to

the station. The Trenors are at Bellomont, of course? You've barely time to catch the fiveforty. The

"Oh, thanks," she stammered; and at that moment her eye caught a hansom drifting down Madison Avenue,

"You're very kind; but I couldn't think of troubling you," she said, extending her hand to Mr. Rosedale; and

heedless of his protestations, she sprang into the rescuing vehicle, and called out a breathless order to the

In the hansom she leaned back with a sigh. Why must a girl pay so dearly for her least escape from routine?

Why could one never do a natural thing without having to screen it behind a structure of artifice? She had

yielded to a passing impulse in going to Lawrence Selden's rooms, and it was so seldom that she could allow

herself the luxury of an impulse! This one, at any rate, was going to cost her rather more than she could

afford. She was vexed to see that, in spite of so many years of vigilance, she had blundered twice within five

minutes. That stupid story about her dressmaker was bad enoughit would have been so simple to tell

Rosedale that she had been taking tea with Selden! The mere statement of the fact would have rendered it

innocuous. But, after having let herself be surprised in a falsehood, it was doubly stupid to snub the witness

of her discomfiture. If she had had the presence of mind to let Rosedale drive her to the station, the

concession might have purchased his silence. He had his race's accuracy in the appraisal of values, and to be

seen walking down the platform at the crowded afternoon hour in the company of Miss Lily Bart would have

been money in his pocket, as he might himself have phrased it. He knew, of course, that there would be a

large houseparty at Bellomont, and the possibility of being taken for one of Mrs. Trenor's guests was

doubtless included in his calculations. Mr. Rosedale was still at a stage in his social ascent when it was of

The provoking part was that Lily knew all thisknew how easy it would have been to silence him on the

spot, and how difficult it might be to do so afterward. Mr. Simon Rosedale was a man who made it his

business to know everything about every one, whose idea of showing himself to be at home in society was to

display an inconvenient familiarity with the habits of those with whom he wished to be thought intimate. Lily

was sure that within twentyfour hours the story of her visiting her dressmaker at the Benedick would be in

active circulation among Mr. Rosedale's acquaintances. The worst of it was that she had always snubbed and

ignored him. On his first appearancewhen her improvident cousin, Jack Stepney, had obtained for him (in

return for favours too easily guessed) a card to one of the vast impersonal Van Osburgh

"crushes"Rosedale, with that mixture of artistic sensibility and business astuteness which characterizes his

race, had instantly gravitated toward Miss Bart. She understood his motives, for her own course was guided

by as nice calculations. Training and experience had taught her to be hospitable to newcomers, since the most

unpromising might be useful later on, and there were plenty of available OUBLIETTES to swallow them if

they were not. But some intuitive repugnance, getting the better of years of social discipline, had made her

push Mr. Rosedale into his OUBLIETTE without a trial. He had left behind only the ripple of amusement

which his speedy despatch had caused among her friends; and though later (to shift the metaphor) he

reappeared lower down the stream, it was only in fleeting glimpses, with long submergences between.

Hitherto Lily had been undisturbed by scruples. In her little set Mr. Rosedale had been pronounced

"impossible," and Jack Stepney roundly snubbed for his attempt to pay his debts in dinner invitations. Even

Mrs. Trenor, whose taste for variety had led her into some hazardous experiments, resisted Jack's attempts to

disguise Mr. Rosedale as a novelty, and declared that he was the same little Jew who had been served up and

rejected at the social board a dozen times within her memory; and while Judy Trenor was obdurate there was

small chance of Mr. Rosedale's penetrating beyond the outer limbo of the Van Osburgh crushes. Jack gave up

the contest with a laughing "You'll see," and, sticking manfully to his guns, showed himself with Rosedale at

the fashionable restaurants, in company with the personally vivid if socially obscure ladies who are available

for such purposes. But the attempt had hitherto been vain, and as Rosedale undoubtedly paid for the dinners,

Mr. Rosedale, it will be seen, was thus far not a factor to be fearedunless one put one's self in his power.

And this was precisely what Miss Bart had done. Her clumsy fib had let him see that she had something to

conceal; and she was sure he had a score to settle with her. Something in his smile told her he had not

forgotten. She turned from the thought with a little shiver, but it hung on her all the way to the station, and

She had just time to take her seat before the train started; but having arranged herself in her corner with the

instinctive feeling for effect which never forsook her, she glanced about in the hope of seeing some other

member of the Trenors' party. She wanted to get away from herself, and conversation was the only means of

Her search was rewarded by the discovery of a very blond young man with a soft reddish beard, who, at the

other end of the carriage, appeared to be dissembling himself behind an unfolded newspaper. Lily's eye

brightened, and a faint smile relaxed the drawn lines of her mouth. She had known that Mr. Percy Gryce was

to be at Bellomont, but she had not counted on the luck of having him to herself in the train; and the fact

banished all perturbing thoughts of Mr. Rosedale. Perhaps, after all, the day was to end more favourably than

She began to cut the pages of a novel, tranquilly studying her prey through downcast lashes while she

organized a method of attack. Something in his attitude of conscious absorption told her that he was aware of

her presence: no one had ever been quite so engrossed in an evening paper! She guessed that he was too shy

to come up to her, and that she would have to devise some means of approach which should not appear to be

an advance on her part. It amused her to think that any one as rich as Mr. Percy Gryce should be shy; but she

was gifted with treasures of indulgence for such idiosyncrasies, and besides, his timidity might serve her

purpose better than too much assurance. She had the art of giving selfconfidence to the embarrassed, but she

She waited till the train had emerged from the tunnel and was racing between the ragged edges of the

northern suburbs. Then, as it lowered its speed near Yonkers, she rose from her seat and drifted slowly down

the carriage. As she passed Mr. Gryce, the train gave a lurch, and he was aware of a slender hand gripping the

back of his chair. He rose with a start, his ingenuous face looking as though it had been dipped in crimson:

even the reddish tint in his beard seemed to deepen. The train swayed again, almost flinging Miss Bart into

She steadied herself with a laugh and drew back; but he was enveloped in the scent of her dress, and his

"Oh, Mr. Gryce, is it you? I'm so sorryI was trying to find the porter and get some tea."

She held out her hand as the train resumed its level rush, and they stood exchanging a few words in the aisle.

Yeshe was going to Bellomont. He had heard she was to be of the partyhe blushed again as he admitted

But at this point one or two belated passengers from the last station forced their way into the carriage, and

"The chair next to mine is emptydo take it," she said over her shoulder; and Mr. Gryce, with considerable

embarrassment, succeeded in effecting an exchange which enabled him to transport himself and his bags to

She signalled to that official, and in a moment, with the ease that seemed to attend the fulfilment of all her

wishes, a little table had been set up between the seats, and she had helped Mr. Gryce to bestow his

When the tea came he watched her in silent fascination while her hands flitted above the tray, looking

miraculously fine and slender in contrast to the coarse china and lumpy bread. It seemed wonderful to him

that any one should perform with such careless ease the difficult task of making tea in public in a lurching

train. He would never have dared to order it for himself, lest he should attract the notice of his

fellowpassengers; but, secure in the shelter of her conspicuousness, he sipped the inky draught with a

Lily, with the flavour of Selden's caravan tea on her lips, had no great fancy to drown it in the railway brew

which seemed such nectar to her companion; but, rightly judging that one of the charms of tea is the fact of

drinking it together, she proceeded to give the last touch to Mr. Gryce's enjoyment by smiling at him across

"Is it quite rightI haven't made it too strong?" she asked solicitously; and he replied with conviction that he

"I daresay it is true," she reflected; and her imagination was fired by the thought that Mr. Gryce, who might

have sounded the depths of the most complex selfindulgence, was perhaps actually taking his first journey

It struck her as providential that she should be the instrument of his initiation. Some girls would not have

known how to manage him. They would have overemphasized the novelty of the adventure, trying to make

him feel in it the zest of an escapade. But Lily's methods were more delicate. She remembered that her cousin

Jack Stepney had once defined Mr. Gryce as the young man who had promised his mother never to go out in

the rain without his overshoes; and acting on this hint, she resolved to impart a gently domestic air to the

scene, in the hope that her companion, instead of feeling that he was doing something reckless or unusual,

would merely be led to dwell on the advantage of always having a companion to make one's tea in the train.

But in spite of her efforts, conversation flagged after the tray had been removed, and she was driven to take a

fresh measurement of Mr. Gryce's limitations. It was not, after all, opportunity but imagination that he lacked:

he had a mental palate which would never learn to distinguish between railway tea and nectar. There was,

however, one topic she could rely on: one spring that she had only to touch to set his simple machinery in

motion. She had refrained from touching it because it was a last resource, and she had relied on other arts to

stimulate other sensations; but as a settled look of dulness began to creep over his candid features, she saw

His eye became a degree less opaque: it was as though an incipient film had been removed from it, and she

"I've got a few new things," he said, suffused with pleasure, but lowering his voice as though he feared his

fellowpassengers might be in league to despoil him. She returned a sympathetic enquiry, and gradually he

was drawn on to talk of his latest purchases. It was the one subject which enabled him to forget himself, or

allowed him, rather, to remember himself without constraint, because he was at home in it, and could assert a

superiority that there were few to dispute. Hardly any of his acquaintances cared for Americana, or knew

anything about them; and the consciousness of this ignorance threw Mr. Gryce's knowledge into agreeable

relief. The only difficulty was to introduce the topic and to keep it to the front; most people showed no desire

to have their ignorance dispelled, and Mr. Gryce was like a merchant whose warehouses are crammed with an

But Miss Bart, it appeared, really did want to know about Americana; and moreover, she was already

sufficiently informed to make the task of farther instruction as easy as it was agreeable. She questioned him

intelligently, she heard him submissively; and, prepared for the look of lassitude which usually crept over his

listeners' faces, he grew eloquent under her receptive gaze. The "points" she had had the presence of mind to

glean from Selden, in anticipation of this very contingency, were serving her to such good purpose that she

began to think her visit to him had been the luckiest incident of the day. She had once more shown her talent

for profiting by the unexpected, and dangerous theories as to the advisability of yielding to impulse were

germinating under the surface of smiling attention which she continued to present to her companion.

Mr. Gryce's sensations, if less definite, were equally agreeable. He felt the confused titillation with which the

lower organisms welcome the gratification of their needs, and all his senses floundered in a vague

wellbeing, through which Miss Bart's personality was dimly but pleasantly perceptible.

Mr. Gryce's interest in Americana had not originated with himself: it was impossible to think of him as

evolving any taste of his own. An uncle had left him a collection already noted among bibliophiles; the

existence of the collection was the only fact that had ever shed glory on the name of Gryce, and the nephew

took as much pride in his inheritance as though it had been his own work. Indeed, he gradually came to

regard it as such, and to feel a sense of personal complacency when he chanced on any reference to the Gryce

Americana. Anxious as he was to avoid personal notice, he took, in the printed mention of his name, a

pleasure so exquisite and excessive that it seemed a compensation for his shrinking from publicity.

To enjoy the sensation as often as possible, he subscribed to all the reviews dealing with bookcollecting in

general, and American history in particular, and as allusions to his library abounded in the pages of these

journals, which formed his only reading, he came to regard himself as figuring prominently in the public eye,

and to enjoy the thought of the interest which would be excited if the persons he met in the street, or sat

among in travelling, were suddenly to be told that he was the possessor of the Gryce Americana.

Most timidities have such secret compensations, and Miss Bart was discerning enough to know that the inner

vanity is generally in proportion to the outer selfdepreciation. With a more confident person she would not

have dared to dwell so long on one topic, or to show such exaggerated interest in it; but she had rightly

guessed that Mr. Gryce's egoism was a thirsty soil, requiring constant nurture from without. Miss Bart had the

gift of following an undercurrent of thought while she appeared to be sailing on the surface of conversation;

and in this case her mental excursion took the form of a rapid survey of Mr. Percy Gryce's future as combined

with her own. The Gryces were from Albany, and but lately introduced to the metropolis, where the mother

and son had come, after old Jefferson Gryce's death, to take possession of his house in Madison Avenuean

appalling house, all brown stone without and black walnut within, with the Gryce library in a fireproof

annex that looked like a mausoleum. Lily, however, knew all about them: young Mr. Gryce's arrival had

fluttered the maternal breasts of New York, and when a girl has no mother to palpitate for her she must needs

be on the alert for herself. Lily, therefore, had not only contrived to put herself in the young man's way, but

had made the acquaintance of Mrs. Gryce, a monumental woman with the voice of a pulpit orator and a mind

preoccupied with the iniquities of her servants, who came sometimes to sit with Mrs. Peniston and learn from

that lady how she managed to prevent the kitchenmaid's smuggling groceries out of the house. Mrs. Gryce

had a kind of impersonal benevolence: cases of individual need she regarded with suspicion, but she

subscribed to Institutions when their annual reports showed an impressive surplus. Her domestic duties were

manifold, for they extended from furtive inspections of the servants' bedrooms to unannounced descents to

the cellar; but she had never allowed herself many pleasures. Once, however, she had had a special edition of

the Sarum Rule printed in rubric and presented to every clergyman in the diocese; and the gilt album in which

their letters of thanks were pasted formed the chief ornament of her drawingroom table.

Percy had been brought up in the principles which so excellent a woman was sure to inculcate. Every form of

prudence and suspicion had been grafted on a nature originally reluctant and cautious, with the result that it

would have seemed hardly needful for Mrs. Gryce to extract his promise about the overshoes, so little likely

was he to hazard himself abroad in the rain. After attaining his majority, and coming into the fortune which

the late Mr. Gryce had made out of a patent device for excluding fresh air from hotels, the young man

continued to live with his mother in Albany; but on Jefferson Gryce's death, when another large property

passed into her son's hands, Mrs. Gryce thought that what she called his "interests" demanded his presence in

New York. She accordingly installed herself in the Madison Avenue house, and Percy, whose sense of duty

was not inferior to his mother's, spent all his week days in the handsome Broad Street office where a batch of

pale men on small salaries had grown grey in the management of the Gryce estate, and where he was initiated

As far as Lily could learn, this had hitherto been Mr. Gryce's only occupation, and she might have been

pardoned for thinking it not too hard a task to interest a young man who had been kept on such low diet. At

any rate, she felt herself so completely in command of the situation that she yielded to a sense of security in

which all fear of Mr. Rosedale, and of the difficulties on which that fear was contingent, vanished beyond the

The stopping of the train at Garrisons would not have distracted her from these thoughts, had she not caught a

sudden look of distress in her companion's eye. His seat faced toward the door, and she guessed that he had

been perturbed by the approach of an acquaintance; a fact confirmed by the turning of heads and general

sense of commotion which her own entrance into a railwaycarriage was apt to produce.

She knew the symptoms at once, and was not surprised to be hailed by the high notes of a pretty woman, who

entered the train accompanied by a maid, a bullterrier, and a footman staggering under a load of bags and

"Oh, Lilyare you going to Bellomont? Then you can't let me have your seat, I suppose? But I MUST have

a seat in this carriageporter, you must find me a place at once. Can't some one be put somewhere else? I

want to be with my friends. Oh, how do you do, Mr. Gryce? Do please make him understand that I must have

Mrs. George Dorset, regardless of the mild efforts of a traveller with a carpetbag, who was doing his best to

make room for her by getting out of the train, stood in the middle of the aisle, diffusing about her that general

sense of exasperation which a pretty woman on her travels not infrequently creates.

She was smaller and thinner than Lily Bart, with a restless pliability of pose, as if she could have been

crumpled up and run through a ring, like the sinuous draperies she affected. Her small pale face seemed the

mere setting of a pair of dark exaggerated eyes, of which the visionary gaze contrasted curiously with her

selfassertive tone and gestures; so that, as one of her friends observed, she was like a disembodied spirit

Having finally discovered that the seat adjoining Miss Bart's was at her disposal, she possessed herself of it

with a farther displacement of her surroundings, explaining meanwhile that she had come across from Mount

Kisco in her motorcar that morning, and had been kicking her heels for an hour at Garrisons, without even

the alleviation of a cigarette, her brute of a husband having neglected to replenish her case before they parted

"And at this hour of the day I don't suppose you've a single one left, have you, Lily?" she plaintively

Miss Bart caught the startled glance of Mr. Percy Gryce, whose own lips were never defiled by tobacco.

"What an absurd question, Bertha!" she exclaimed, blushing at the thought of the store she had laid in at

"Why, don't you smoke? Since when have you given it up? Whatyou neverAnd you don't either, Mr.

And Mrs. Dorset leaned back against her travelling cushions with a smile which made Lily wish there had

Bridge at Bellomont usually lasted till the small hours; and when Lily went to bed that night she had played

Feeling no desire for the selfcommunion which awaited her in her room, she lingered on the broad stairway,

looking down into the hall below, where the last cardplayers were grouped about the tray of tall glasses and

silvercollared decanters which the butler had just placed on a low table near the fire.

The hall was arcaded, with a gallery supported on columns of pale yellow marble. Tall clumps of flowering

plants were grouped against a background of dark foliage in the angles of the walls. On the crimson carpet a

deerhound and two or three spaniels dozed luxuriously before the fire, and the light from the great central

lantern overhead shed a brightness on the women's hair and struck sparks from their jewels as they moved.

There were moments when such scenes delighted Lily, when they gratified her sense of beauty and her

craving for the external finish of life; there were others when they gave a sharper edge to the meagreness of

her own opportunities. This was one of the moments when the sense of contrast was uppermost, and she

turned away impatiently as Mrs. George Dorset, glittering in serpentine spangles, drew Percy Gryce in her

It was not that Miss Bart was afraid of losing her newlyacquired hold over Mr. Gryce. Mrs. Dorset might

startle or dazzle him, but she had neither the skill nor the patience to effect his capture. She was too

selfengrossed to penetrate the recesses of his shyness, and besides, why should she care to give herself the

trouble? At most it might amuse her to make sport of his simplicity for an eveningafter that he would be

merely a burden to her, and knowing this, she was far too experienced to encourage him. But the mere

thought of that other woman, who could take a man up and toss him aside as she willed, without having to

regard him as a possible factor in her plans, filled Lily Bart with envy. She had been bored all the afternoon

by Percy Grycethe mere thought seemed to waken an echo of his droning voicebut she could not ignore

him on the morrow, she must follow up her success, must submit to more boredom, must be ready with fresh

compliances and adaptabilities, and all on the bare chance that he might ultimately decide to do her the

It was a hateful fatebut how escape from it? What choice had she? To be herself, or a Gerty Farish. As she

entered her bedroom, with its softlyshaded lights, her lace dressinggown lying across the silken bedspread,

her little embroidered slippers before the fire, a vase of carnations filling the air with perfume, and the last

novels and magazines lying uncut on a table beside the readinglamp, she had a vision of Miss Farish's

cramped flat, with its cheap conveniences and hideous wallpapers. No; she was not made for mean and

shabby surroundings, for the squalid compromises of poverty. Her whole being dilated in an atmosphere of

luxury; it was the background she required, the only climate she could breathe in. But the luxury of others

was not what she wanted. A few years ago it had sufficed her: she had taken her daily meed of pleasure

without caring who provided it. Now she was beginning to chafe at the obligations it imposed, to feel herself

a mere pensioner on the splendour which had once seemed to belong to her. There were even moments when

For a long time she had refused to play bridge. She knew she could not afford it, and she was afraid of

acquiring so expensive a taste. She had seen the danger exemplified in more than one of her associatesin

young Ned Silverton, for instance, the charming fair boy now seated in abject rapture at the elbow of Mrs.

Fisher, a striking divorcee with eyes and gowns as emphatic as the headlines of her "case." Lily could

remember when young Silverton had stumbled into their circle, with the air of a strayed Arcadian who has

published chamung sonnets in his college journal. Since then he had developed a taste for Mrs. Fisher and

bridge, and the latter at least had involved him in expenses from which he had been more than once rescued

by harassed maiden sisters, who treasured the sonnets, and went without sugar in their tea to keep their

darling afloat. Ned's case was familiar to Lily: she had seen his charming eyeswhich had a good deal more

poetry in them than the sonnetschange from surprise to amusement, and from amusement to anxiety, as he

passed under the spell of the terrible god of chance; and she was afraid of discovering the same symptoms in

For in the last year she had found that her hostesses expected her to take a place at the cardtable. It was one

of the taxes she had to pay for their prolonged hospitality, and for the dresses and trinkets which occasionally

replenished her insufficient wardrobe. And since she had played regularly the passion had grown on her.

Once or twice of late she had won a large sum, and instead of keeping it against future losses, had spent it in

dress or jewelry; and the desire to atone for this imprudence, combined with the increasing exhilaration of the

game, drove her to risk higher stakes at each fresh venture. She tried to excuse herself on the plea that, in the

Trenor set, if one played at all one must either play high or be set down as priggish or stingy; but she knew

that the gambling passion was upon her, and that in her present surroundings there was small hope of

Tonight the luck had been persistently bad, and the little gold purse which hung among her trinkets was

almost empty when she returned to her room. She unlocked the wardrobe, and taking out her jewelcase,

looked under the tray for the roll of bills from which she had replenished the purse before going down to

dinner. Only twenty dollars were left: the discovery was so startling that for a moment she fancied she must

have been robbed. Then she took paper and pencil, and seating herself at the writingtable, tried to reckon up

what she had spent during the day. Her head was throbbing with fatigue, and she had to go over the figures

again and again; but at last it became clear to her that she had lost three hundred dollars at cards. She took out

her chequebook to see if her balance was larger than she remembered, but found she had erred in the other

direction. Then she returned to her calculations; but figure as she would, she could not conjure back the

vanished three hundred dollars. It was the sum she had set aside to pacify her dressmakerunless she

should decide to use it as a sop to the jeweller. At any rate, she had so many uses for it that its very

insufficiency had caused her to play high in the hope of doubling it. But of course she had lostshe who

needed every penny, while Bertha Dorset, whose husband showered money on her, must have pocketed at

least five hundred, and Judy Trenor, who could have afforded to lose a thousand a night, had left the table

clutching such a heap of bills that she had been unable to shake hands with her guests when they bade her

A world in which such things could be seemed a miserable place to Lily Bart; but then she had never been

able to understand the laws of a universe which was so ready to leave her out of its calculations.

She began to undress without ringing for her maid, whom she had sent to bed. She had been long enough in

bondage to other people's pleasure to be considerate of those who depended on hers, and in her bitter moods

it sometimes struck her that she and her maid were in the same position, except that the latter received her

As she sat before the mirror brushing her hair, her face looked hollow and pale, and she was frightened by

"Oh, I must stop worrying!" she exclaimed. "Unless it's the electric light" she reflected, springing up

She turned out the walllights, and peered at herself between the candleflames. The white oval of her face

swam out waveringly from a background of shadows, the uncertain light blurring it like a haze; but the two

"It is only because I am tired and have such odious things to think about," she kept repeating; and it seemed

an added injustice that petty cares should leave a trace on the beauty which was her only defence against

But the odious things were there, and remained with her. She returned wearily to the thought of Percy Gryce,

as a wayfarer picks up a heavy load and toils on after a brief rest. She was almost sure she had "landed" him:

a few days' work and she would win her reward. But the reward itself seemed upalatable just then: she could

get no zest from the thought of victory. It would be a rest from worry, no moreand how little that would

have seemed to her a few years earlier! Her ambitions had shrunk gradually in the desiccating air of failure.

She remembered how her mother, after they had lost their money, used to say to her with a kind of fierce

vindictiveness: "But you'll get it all backyou'll get it all back, with your face." . . . The remembrance

roused a whole train of association, and she lay in the darkness reconstructing the past out of which her

A house in which no one ever dined at home unless there was "company"; a doorbell perpetually ringing; a

halltable showered with square envelopes which were opened in haste, and oblong envelopes which were

allowed to gather dust in the depths of a bronze jar; a series of French and English maids giving warning

amid a chaos of hurriedlyransacked wardrobes and dressclosets; an equally changing dynasty of nurses and

footmen; quarrels in the pantry, the kitchen and the drawingroom; precipitate trips to Europe, and returns

with gorged trunks and days of interminable unpacking; semiannual discussions as to where the summer

should be spent, grey interludes of economy and brilliant reactions of expensesuch was the setting of Lily

Ruling the turbulent element called home was the vigorous and determined figure of a mother still young

enough to dance her balldresses to rags, while the hazy outline of a neutraltinted father filled an

intermediate space between the butler and the man who came to wind the clocks. Even to the eyes of infancy,

Mrs. Hudson Bart had appeared young; but Lily could not recall the time when her father had not been bald

and slightly stooping, with streaks of grey in his hair, and a tired walk. It was a shock to her to learn

Lily seldom saw her father by daylight. All day he was "down town"; and in winter it was long after nightfall

when she heard his fagged step on the stairs and his hand on the schoolroom door. He would kiss her in

silence, and ask one or two questions of the nurse or the governess; then Mrs. Bart's maid would come to

remind him that he was dining out, and he would hurry away with a nod to Lily. In summer, when he joined

them for a Sunday at Newport or Southampton, he was even more effaced and silent than in winter. It seemed

to tire him to rest, and he would sit for hours staring at the sealine from a quiet corner of the verandah, while

the clatter of his wife's existence went on unheeded a few feet off. Generally, however, Mrs. Bart and Lily

went to Europe for the summer, and before the steamer was half way over Mr. Bart had dipped below the

horizon. Sometimes his daughter heard him denounced for having neglected to forward Mrs. Bart's

remittances; but for the most part he was never mentioned or thought of till his patient stooping figure

presented itself on the New York dock as a buffer between the magnitude of his wife's luggage and the

In this desultory yet agitated fashion life went on through Lily's teens: a zigzag broken course down which

the family craft glided on a rapid current of amusement, tugged at by the underflow of a perpetual needthe

need of more money. Lily could not recall the time when there had been money enough, and in some vague

way her father seemed always to blame for the deficiency. It could certainly not be the fault of Mrs. Bart,

who was spoken of by her friends as a "wonderful manager." Mrs. Bart was famous for the unlimited effect

she produced on limited means; and to the lady and her acquaintances there was something heroic in living as

Lily was naturally proud of her mother's aptitude in this line: she had been brought up in the faith that,

whatever it cost, one must have a good cook, and be what Mrs. Bart called "decently dressed." Mrs. Bart's

worst reproach to her husband was to ask him if he expected her to "live like a pig"; and his replying in the

negative was always regarded as a justification for cabling to Paris for an extra dress or two, and telephoning

to the jeweller that he might, after all, send home the turquoise bracelet which Mrs. Bart had looked at that

Lily knew people who "lived like pigs," and their appearance and surroundings justified her mother's

repugnance to that form of existence. They were mostly cousins, who inhabited dingy houses with engravings

from Cole's Voyage of Life on the drawingroom walls, and slatternly parlourmaids who said "I'll go and

see" to visitors calling at an hour when all rightminded persons are conventionally if not actually out. The

disgusting part of it was that many of these cousins were rich, so that Lily imbibed the idea that if people

lived like pigs it was from choice, and through the lack of any proper standard of conduct. This gave her a

sense of reflected superiority, and she did not need Mrs. Bart's comments on the family frumps and misers to

Lily was nineteen when circumstances caused her to revise her view of the universe.

The previous year she had made a dazzling debut fringed by a heavy thundercloud of bills. The light of the

debut still lingered on the horizon, but the cloud had thickened; and suddenly it broke. The suddenness added

to the horror; and there were still times when Lily relived with painful vividness every detail of the day on

which the blow fell. She and her mother had been seated at the luncheontable, over the CHAUFROIX and

cold salmon of the previous night's dinner: it was one of Mrs. Bart's few economies to consume in private the

expensive remnants of her hospitality. Lily was feeling the pleasant languor which is youth's penalty for

dancing till dawn; but her mother, in spite of a few lines about the mouth, and under the yellow waves on her

temples, was as alert, determined and high in colour as if she had risen from an untroubled sleep.

In the centre of the table, between the melting MARRONS GLACES and candied cherries, a pyramid of

American Beauties lifted their vigorous stems; they held their heads as high as Mrs. Bart, but their

rosecolour had turned to a dissipated purple, and Lily's sense of fitness was disturbed by their reappearance

"I really think, mother," she said reproachfully, "we might afford a few fresh flowers for luncheon. Just some

Mrs. Bart stared. Her own fastidiousness had its eye fixed on the world, and she did not care how the

luncheontable looked when there was no one present at it but the family. But she smiled at her daughter's

"Liliesofthevalley," she said calmly, "cost two dollars a dozen at this season."

The two women looked up in surprise; though it was a Saturday, the sight of Mr. Bart at luncheon was an

unwonted one. But neither his wife nor his daughter was sufficiently interested to ask an explanation.

Mr. Bart dropped into a chair, and sat gazing absently at the fragment of jellied salmon which the butler had

"I was only saying," Lily began, "that I hate to see faded flowers at luncheon; and mother says a bunch of

liliesofthe valley would not cost more than twelve dollars. Mayn't I tell the florist to send a few every

She leaned confidently toward her father: he seldom refused her anything, and Mrs. Bart had taught her to

Mr. Bart sat motionless, his gaze still fixed on the salmon, and his lower jaw dropped; he looked even paler

than usual, and his thin hair lay in untidy streaks on his forehead. Suddenly he looked at his daughter and

laughed. The laugh was so strange that Lily coloured under it: she disliked being ridiculed, and her father

seemed to see something ridiculous in the request. Perhaps he thought it foolish that she should trouble him

"Twelve dollarstwelve dollars a day for flowers? Oh, certainly, my deargive him an order for twelve

The butler withdrew with an air of silent disapproval, leaving the remains of the CHAUFROIX on the

She had no tolerance for scenes which were not of her own making, and it was odious to her that her husband

"Ruined?" she cried; but controlling herself instantly, she turned a calm face to Lily.

Lily obeyed, and when she turned back into the room her father was sitting with both elbows on the table, the

Mrs. Bart stood over him with a white face which made her hair unnaturally yellow. She looked at Lily as the

latter approached: her look was terrible, but her voice was modulated to a ghastly cheerfulness.

"Your father is not wellhe doesn't know what he is saying. It is nothingbut you had better go upstairs;

Lily obeyed; she always obeyed when her mother spoke in that voice. She had not been deceived by Mrs.

Bart's words: she knew at once that they were ruined. In the dark hours which followed, that awful fact

overshadowed even her father's slow and difficult dying. To his wife he no longer counted: he had become

extinct when he ceased to fulfil his purpose, and she sat at his side with the provisional air of a traveller who

waits for a belated train to start. Lily's feelings were softer: she pitied him in a frightened ineffectual way. But

the fact that he was for the most part unconscious, and that his attention, when she stole into the room, drifted

away from her after a moment, made him even more of a stranger than in the nursery days when he had never

come home till after dark. She seemed always to have seen him through a blurfirst of sleepiness, then of

distance and indifference and now the fog had thickened till he was almost indistinguishable. If she could

have performed any little services for him, or have exchanged with him a few of those affecting words which

an extensive perusal of fiction had led her to connect with such occasions, the filial instinct might have stirred

in her; but her pity, finding no active expression, remained in a state of spectatorship, overshadowed by her

mother's grim unflagging resentment. Every look and act of Mrs. Bart's seemed to say: "You are sorry for

Then a long winter set in. There was a little money left, but to Mrs. Bart it seemed worse than nothingthe

mere mockery of what she was entitled to. What was the use of living if one had to live like a pig? She sank

into a kind of furious apathy, a state of inert anger against fate. Her faculty for "managing" deserted her, or

she no longer took sufficient pride in it to exert it. It was well enough to "manage" when by so doing one

could keep one's own carriage; but when one's best contrivance did not conceal the fact that one had to go on

Lily and her mother wandered from place to place, now paying long visits to relations whose housekeeping

Mrs. Bart criticized, and who deplored the fact that she let Lily breakfast in bed when the girl had no

prospects before her, and now vegetating in cheap continental refuges, where Mrs. Bart held herself fiercely

aloof from the frugal teatables of her companions in misfortune. She was especially careful to avoid her old

friends and the scenes of her former successes. To be poor seemed to her such a confession of failure that it

amounted to disgrace; and she detected a note of condescension in the friendliest advances.

Only one thought consoled her, and that was the contemplation of Lily's beauty. She studied it with a kind of

passion, as though it were some weapon she had slowly fashioned for her vengeance. It was the last asset in

their fortunes, the nucleus around which their life was to be rebuilt. She watched it jealously, as though it

were her own property and Lily its mere custodian; and she tried to instil into the latter a sense of the

responsibility that such a charge involved. She followed in imagination the career of other beauties, pointing

out to her daughter what might be achieved through such a gift, and dwelling on the awful warning of those

who, in spite of it, had failed to get what they wanted: to Mrs. Bart, only stupidity could explain the

lamentable denouement of some of her examples. She was not above the inconsistency of charging fate,

rather than herself, with her own misfortunes; but she inveighed so acrimoniously against lovematches that

Lily would have fancied her own marriage had been of that nature, had not Mrs. Bart frequently assured her

Lily was duly impressed by the magnitude of her opportunities. The dinginess of her present life threw into

enchanting relief the existence to which she felt herself entitled. To a less illuminated intelligence Mrs. Bart's

counsels might have been dangerous; but Lily understood that beauty is only the raw material of conquest,

and that to convert it into success other arts are required. She knew that to betray any sense of superiority was

a subtler form of the stupidity her mother denounced, and it did not take her long to learn that a beauty needs

Her ambitions were not as crude as Mrs. Bart's. It had been among that lady's grievances that her

husbandin the early days, before he was too tiredhad wasted his evenings in what she vaguely described

as "reading poetry"; and among the effects packed off to auction after his death were a score or two of dingy

volumes which had struggled for existence among the boots and medicine bottles of his dressingroom

shelves. There was in Lily a vein of sentiment, perhaps transmitted from this source, which gave an idealizing

touch to her most prosaic purposes. She liked to think of her beauty as a power for good, as giving her the

opportunity to attain a position where she should make her influence felt in the vague diffusion of refinement

and good taste. She was fond of pictures and flowers, and of sentimental fiction, and she could not help

thinking that the possession of such tastes ennobled her desire for worldly advantages. She would not indeed

have cared to marry a man who was merely rich: she was secretly ashamed of her mother's crude passion for

money. Lily's preference would have been for an English nobleman with political ambitions and vast estates;

or, for second choice, an Italian prince with a castle in the Apennines and an hereditary office in the Vatican.

Lost causes had a romantic charm for her, and she liked to picture herself as standing aloof from the vulgar

press of the Quirinal, and sacrificing her pleasure to the claims of an immemorial tradition. . . .

How long ago and how far off it all seemed! Those ambitions were hardly more futile and childish than the

earlier ones which had centred about the possession of a French jointed doll with real hair. Was it only ten

years since she had wavered in imagination between the English earl and the Italian prince? Relentlessly her

After two years of hungry roaming Mrs. Bart had dieddied of a deep disgust. She had hated dinginess,

and it was her fate to be dingy. Her visions of a brilliant marriage for Lily had faded after the first year.

"People can't marry you if they don't see youand how can they see you in these holes where we're stuck?"

That was the burden of her lament; and her last adjuration to her daughter was to escape from dinginess if she

"Don't let it creep up on you and drag you down. Fight your way out of it somehowyou're young and can

She had died during one of their brief visits to New York, and there Lily at once became the centre of a

family council composed of the wealthy relatives whom she had been taught to despise for living like pigs. It

may be that they had an inkling of the sentiments in which she had been brought up, for none of them

manifested a very lively desire for her company; indeed, the question threatened to remain unsolved till Mrs.

Every one was surprised, but one and all concealed their surprise, lest Mrs. Peniston should be alarmed by it

Mrs. Peniston was Mr. Bart's widowed sister, and if she was by no means the richest of the family group, its

other members nevertheless abounded in reasons why she was clearly destined by Providence to assume the

charge of Lily. In the first place she was alone, and it would be charming for her to have a young companion.

Then she sometimes travelled, and Lily's familiarity with foreign customsdeplored as a misfortune by her

more conservative relativeswould at least enable her to act as a kind of courier. But as a matter of fact Mrs.

Peniston had not been affected by these considerations. She had taken the girl simply because no one else

would have her, and because she had the kind of moral MAUVAISE HONTE which makes the public display

of selfishness difficult, though it does not interfere with its private indulgence. It would have been impossible

for Mrs. Peniston to be heroic on a desert island, but with the eyes of her little world upon her she took a

She reaped the reward to which disinterestedness is entitled, and found an agreeable companion in her niece.

She had expected to find Lily headstrong, critical and "foreign"for even Mrs. Peniston, though she

occasionally went abroad, had the family dread of foreignnessbut the girl showed a pliancy, which, to a

more penetrating mind than her aunt's, might have been less reassuring than the open selfishness of youth.

Misfortune had made Lily supple instead of hardening her, and a pliable substance is less easy to break than a

Mrs. Peniston, however, did not suffer from her niece's adaptability. Lily had no intention of taking

advantage of her aunt's good nature. She was in truth grateful for the refuge offered her: Mrs. Peniston's

opulent interior was at least not externally dingy. But dinginess is a quality which assumes all manner of

disguises; and Lily soon found that it was as latent in the expensive routine of her aunt's life as in the

Mrs. Peniston was one of the episodical persons who form the padding of life. It was impossible to believe

that she had herself ever been a focus of activities. The most vivid thing about her was the fact that her

grandmother had been a Van Alstyne. This connection with the wellfed and industrious stock of early New

York revealed itself in the glacial neatness of Mrs. Peniston's drawingroom and in the excellence of her

cuisine. She belonged to the class of old New Yorkers who have always lived well, dressed expensively, and

done little else; and to these inherited obligations Mrs. Peniston faitfully conformed. She had always been a

lookeron at life, and her mind resembled one of those little mirrors which her Dutch ancestors were

accustomed to affix to their upper windows, so that from the depths of an impenetrable domesticity they

Mrs. Peniston was the owner of a countryplace in New Jersey, but she had never lived there since her

husband's deatha remote event, which appeared to dwell in her memory chiefly as a dividing point in the

personal reminiscences that formed the staple of her conversation. She was a woman who remembered dates

with intensity, and could tell at a moment's notice whether the drawingroom curtains had been renewed

Mrs. Peniston thought the country lonely and trees damp, and cherished a vague fear of meeting a bull. To

guard against such contingencies she frequented the more populous wateringplaces, where she installed

herself impersonally in a hired house and looked on at life through the matting screen of her verandah. In the

care of such a guardian, it soon became clear to Lily that she was to enjoy only the material advantages of

good food and expensive clothing; and, though far from underrating these, she would gladly have exchanged

them for what Mrs. Bart had taught her to regard as opportunities. She sighed to think what her mother's

fierce energies would have accomplished, had they been coupled with Mrs. Peniston's resources. Lily had

abundant energy of her own, but it was restricted by the necessity of adapting herself to her aunt's habits. She

saw that at all costs she must keep Mrs. Peniston's favour till, as Mrs. Bart would have phrased it, she could

stand on her own legs. Lily had no mind for the vagabond life of the poor relation, and to adapt herself to

Mrs. Peniston she had, to some degree, to assume that lady's passive attitude. She had fancied at first that it

would be easy to draw her aunt into the whirl of her own activities, but there was a static force in Mrs.

Peniston against which her niece's efforts spent themselves in vain. To attempt to bring her into active

relation with life was like tugging at a piece of furniture which has been screwed to the floor. She did not,

indeed, expect Lily to remain equally immovable: she had all the American guardian's indulgence for the

She had indulgence also for certain other habits of her niece's. It seemed to her natural that Lily should spend

all her money on dress, and she supplemented the girl's scanty income by occasional "handsome presents"

meant to be applied to the same purpose. Lily, who was intensely practical, would have preferred a fixed

allowance; but Mrs. Peniston liked the periodical recurrence of gratitude evoked by unexpected cheques, and

was perhaps shrewd enough to perceive that such a method of giving kept alive in her niece a salutary sense

Beyond this, Mrs. Peniston had not felt called upon to do anything for her charge: she had simply stood aside

and let her take the field. Lily had taken it, at first with the confidence of assured possessorship, then with

gradually narrowing demands, till now she found herself actually struggling for a foothold on the broad space

which had once seemed her own for the asking. How it happened she did not yet know. Sometimes she

thought it was because Mrs. Peniston had been too passive, and again she feared it was because she herself

had not been passive enough. Had she shown an undue eagerness for victory? Had she lacked patience,

pliancy and dissimulation? Whether she charged herself with these faults or absolved herself from them,

made no difference in the sumtotal of her failure. Younger and plainer girls had been married off by dozens,

She was beginning to have fits of angry rebellion against fate, when she longed to drop out of the race and

make an independent life for herself. But what manner of life would it be? She had barely enough money to

pay her dressmakers' bills and her gambling debts; and none of the desultory interests which she dignified

with the name of tastes was pronounced enough to enable her to live contentedly in obscurity. Ah, noshe

was too intelligent not to be honest with herself. She knew that she hated dinginess as much as her mother

had hated it, and to her last breath she meant to fight against it, dragging herself up again and again above its

flood till she gained the bright pinnacles of success which presented such a slippery surface to her clutch.

The next morning, on her breakfast tray, Miss Bart found a note from her hostess.

"Dearest Lily," it ran, "if it is not too much of a bore to be down by ten, will you come to my sittingroom to

Lily tossed aside the note and subsided on her pillows with a sigh. It WAS a bore to be down by tenan

hour regarded at Bellomont as vaguely synchronous with sunriseand she knew too well the nature of the

tiresome things in question. Miss Pragg, the secretary, had been called away, and there would be notes and

dinnercards to write, lost addresses to hunt up, and other social drudgery to perform. It was understood that

Miss Bart should fill the gap in such emergencies, and she usually recognized the obligation without a

Today, however, it renewed the sense of servitude which the previous night's review of her chequebook had

produced. Everything in her surroundings ministered to feelings of ease and amenity. The windows stood

open to the sparkling freshness of the September morning, and between the yellow boughs she caught a

perspective of hedges and parterres leading by degrees of lessening formality to the free undulations of the

park. Her maid had kindled a little fire on the hearth, and it contended cheerfully with the sunlight which

slanted across the mossgreen carpet and caressed the curved sides of an old marquetry desk. Near the bed

stood a table holding her breakfast tray, with its harmonious porcelain and silver, a handful of violets in a

slender glass, and the morning paper folded beneath her letters. There was nothing new to Lily in these

tokens of a studied luxury; but, though they formed a part of her atmosphere, she never lost her sensitiveness

to their charm. Mere display left her with a sense of superior distinction; but she felt an affinity to all the

Mrs. Trenor's summons, however, suddenly recalled her state of dependence, and she rose and dressed in a

mood of irritability that she was usually too prudent to indulge. She knew that such emotions leave lines on

the face as well as in the character, and she had meant to take warning by the little creases which her

The matterofcourse tone of Mrs. Trenor's greeting deepened her irritation. If one did drag one's self out of

bed at such an hour, and come down fresh and radiant to the monotony of notewriting, some special

recognition of the sacrifice seemed fitting. But Mrs. Trenor's tone showed no consciousness of the fact.

"Oh, Lily, that's nice of you," she merely sighed across the chaos of letters, bills and other domestic

documents which gave an incongruously commercial touch to the slender elegance of her writingtable.

"There are such lots of horrors this morning," she added, clearing a space in the centre of the confusion and

Mrs. Trenor was a tall fair woman, whose height just saved her from redundancy. Her rosy blondness had

survived some forty years of futile activity without showing much trace of illusage except in a diminished

play of feature. It was difficult to define her beyond saying that she seemed to exist only as a hostess, not so

much from any exaggerated instinct of hospitality as because she could not sustain life except in a crowd. The

collective nature of her interests exempted her from the ordinary rivalries of her sex, and she knew no more

personal emotion than that of hatred for the woman who presumed to give bigger dinners or have more

amusing houseparties than herself. As her social talents, backed by Mr. Trenor's bankaccount, almost

always assured her ultimate triumph in such competitions, success had developed in her an unscrupulous

good nature toward the rest of her sex, and in Miss Bart's utilitarian classification of her friends, Mrs. Trenor

"It was simply inhuman of Pragg to go off now," Mrs. Trenor declared, as her friend seated herself at the

desk. "She says her sister is going to have a babyas if that were anything to having a houseparty! I'm sure

I shall get most horribly mixed up and there will be some awful rows. When I was down at Tuxedo I asked a

lot of people for next week, and I've mislaid the list and can't remember who is coming. And this week is

going to be a horrid failure tooand Gwen Van Osburgh will go back and tell her mother how bored people

were. I did mean to ask the Wetherallsthat was a blunder of Gus's. They disapprove of Carry Fisher, you

know. As if one could help having Carry Fisher! It WAS foolish of her to get that second divorceCarry

always overdoes thingsbut she said the only way to get a penny out of Fisher was to divorce him and make

him pay alimony. And poor Carry has to consider every dollar. It's really absurd of Alice Wetherall to make

such a fuss about meeting her, when one thinks of what society is coming to. Some one said the other day

that there was a divorce and a case of appendicitis in every family one knows. Besides, Carry is the only

person who can keep Gus in a good humour when we have bores in the house. Have you noticed that ALL

the husbands like her? All, I mean, except her own. It's rather clever of her to have made a specialty of

devoting herself to dull peoplethe field is such a large one, and she has it practically to herself. She finds

compensations, no doubtI know she borrows money of Gusbut then I'd PAY her to keep him in a good

"Mrs. Trenor paused to enjoy the spectacle of Miss Bart's efforts to unravel her tangled correspondence.

"But it is only the Wetheralls and Carry," she resumed, with a fresh note of lament. "The truth is, I'm awfully

"Mercy, nonever saw her till yesterday. Lady Skiddaw sent her over with letters to the Van Osburghs, and

I heard that Maria Van Osburgh was asking a big party to meet her this week, so I thought it would be fun to

get her away, and Jack Stepney, who knew her in India, managed it for me. Maria was furious, and actually

had the impudence to make Gwen invite herself here, so that they shouldn't be QUITE out of itif I'd known

what Lady Cressida was like, they could have had her and welcome! But I thought any friend of the

Skiddaws' was sure to be amusing. You remember what fun Lady Skiddaw was? There were times when I

simply had to send the girls out of the room. Besides, Lady Cressida is the Duchess of Beltshire's sister, and I

naturally supposed she was the same sort; but you never can tell in those English families. They are so big

that there's room for all kinds, and it turns out that Lady Cressida is the moral onemarried a clergyman

and does missionary work in the East End. Think of my taking such a lot of trouble about a clergyman's wife,

who wears Indian jewelry and botanizes! She made Gus take her all through the glasshouses yesterday, and

bothered him to death by asking him the names of the plants. Fancy treating Gus as if he were the gardener!

"Oh, well, perhaps Lady Cressida will reconcile the Wetheralls to meeting Carry Fisher," said Miss Bart

"I'm sure I hope so! But she is boring all the men horribly, and if she takes to distributing tracts, as I hear she

does, it will be too depressing. The worst of it is that she would have been so useful at the right time. You

know we have to have the Bishop once a year, and she would have given just the right tone to things. I

always have horrid luck about the Bishop's visits," added Mrs. Trenor, whose present misery was being fed

by a rapidly rising tide of reminiscence; "last year, when he came, Gus forgot all about his being here, and

brought home the Ned Wintons and the Farleysfive divorces and six sets of children between them!"

Mrs. Trenor cast up her eyes in despair. "My dear, if one only knew! I was in such a hurry to get her away

from Maria that I actually forgot to name a date, and Gus says she told some one she meant to stop here all

"Don't be sillyin America. But if no one else asks heryou know they NEVER go to hotels."

"NoI heard her tell Bertha Dorset that she had six months to put in while her husband was taking the cure

in the Engadine. You should have seen Bertha look vacant! But it's no joke, you knowif she stays here all

"At this affecting vision Mrs. Trenor's voice trembled with selfpity."Oh, Judyas if any one were ever

bored at Bellomont!" Miss Bart tactfully protested. "You know perfectly well that, if Mrs. Van Osburgh were

to get all the right people and leave you with all the wrong ones, you'd manage to make things go off, and she

Such an assurance would usually have restored Mrs. Trenor's complacency; but on this occasion it did not

"It isn't only Lady Cressida," she lamented. "Everything has gone wrong this week. I can see that Bertha

"Because I told her that Lawrence Selden was coming; but he wouldn't, after all, and she's quite unreasonable

"So it is, on his side. And of course Bertha has been idle since. But I fancy she's out of a job just at

presentand some one gave me a hint that I had better ask Lawrence. Well, I DID ask himbut I couldn't

make him come; and now I suppose she'll take it out of me by being perfectly nasty to every one else."

"Mrs. Trenor shook her head dolefully. "She knows he wouldn't mind. And who else is there? Alice

Wetherall won't let Lucius out of her sight. Ned Silverton can't take his eyes off Carry Fisherpoor boy!

Gus is bored by Bertha, Jack Stepney knows her too wellandwell, to be sure, there's Percy Gryce!"

"You mean that she'd shock him and he'd bore her? Well, that's not such a bad beginning, you know. But I

hope she won't take it into her head to be nice to him, for I asked him here on purpose for you."

Lily laughed. "MERCI DU COMPLIMENT! I should certainly have no show against Bertha."

"Do you think I am uncomplimentary? I'm not really, you know. Every one knows you're a thousand times

handsomer and cleverer than Bertha; but then you're not nasty. And for always getting what she wants in the

"Oh, I amit's much safer to be fond of dangerous people. But she IS dangerousand if I ever saw her up

to mischief it's now. I can tell by poor George's manner. That man is a perfect barometerhe always knows

"Don't be shocking! You know he believes in her still. And of course I don't say there's any real harm in

Bertha. Only she delights in making people miserable, and especially poor George."

"Well, he seems cut out for the partI don't wonder she likes more cheerful companionship."

"Oh, George is not as dismal as you think. If Bertha did worry him he would be quite different. Or if she'd

leave him alone, and let him arrange his life as he pleases. But she doesn't dare lose her hold of him on

Miss Bart went on writing in silence, and her hostess sat following her train of thought with frowning

"Do you know," she exclaimed after a long pause, "I believe I'll call up Lawrence on the telephone and tell

"Oh, don't," said Lily, with a quick suffusion of colour. The blush surprised her almost as much as it did her

hostess, who, though not commonly observant of facial changes, sat staring at her with puzzled eyes.

"Not at all; I like him. But if you are actuated by the benevolent intention of protecting me from BerthaI

"Mrs. Trenor sat up with an exclamation. "Lily!PERCY? Do you mean to say you've actually done it?"

Miss Bart smiled. "I only mean to say that Mr. Gryce and I are getting to be very good friends."

"H'mI see." Mrs. Trenor fixed a rapt eye upon her. "You know they say he has eight hundred thousand a

yearand spends nothing, except on some rubbishy old books. And his mother has heartdisease and will

Miss Bart continued to smile without annoyance. "I shouldn't, for instance," she remarked, "be in any haste to

"No, of course not; I know you're wonderful about getting up people's subjects. But he's horribly shy, and

"Why don't you say it, Judy? I have the reputation of being on the hunt for a rich husband?"

"Oh, I don't mean that; he wouldn't believe it of youat first," said Mrs. Trenor, with candid shrewdness.

"But you know things are rather lively here at timesI must give Jack and Gus a hintand if he thought

you were what his mother would call fastoh, well, you know what I mean. Don't wear your scarlet

Lily pushed aside her finished work with a dry smile."You're very kind, Judy: I'll lock up my cigarettes and

wear that last year's dress you sent me this morning. And if you are really interested in my career, perhaps

"Bridge? Does he mind bridge, too? Oh, Lily, what an awful life you'll lead! But of course I won'twhy

didn't you give me a hint last night? There's nothing I wouldn't do, you poor duck, to see you happy!"

And Mrs. Trenor, glowing with her sex's eagerness to smooth the course of true love, enveloped Lily in a

"You're quite sure," she added solicitously, as the latter extricated herself, "that you wouldn't like me to

The next three days demonstrated to her own complete satifaction Miss Bart's ability to manage her affairs

As she sat, on the Saturday afternoon, on the terrace at Bellomont, she smiled at Mrs. Trenor's fear that she

might go too fast. If such a warning had ever been needful, the years had taught her a salutary lesson, and she

flattered herself that she now knew how to adapt her pace to the object of pursuit. In the case of Mr. Gryce

she had found it well to flutter ahead, losing herself elusively and luring him on from depth to depth of

unconscious intimacy. The surrounding atmosphere was propitious to this scheme of courtship. Mrs. Trenor,

true to her word, had shown no signs of expecting Lily at the bridgetable, and had even hinted to the other

cardplayers that they were to betray no surprise at her unwonted defection. In consequence of this hint, Lily

found herself the centre of that feminine solicitude which envelops a young woman in the mating season. A

solitude was tacitly created for her in the crowded existence of Bellomont, and her friends could not have

shown a greater readiness for selfeffacement had her wooing been adorned with all the attributes of

romance. In Lily's set this conduct implied a sympathetic comprehension of her motives, and Mr. Gryce rose

The terrace at Bellomont on a September afternoon was a spot propitious to sentimental musings, and as Miss

Bart stood leaning against the balustrade above the sunken garden, at a little distance from the animated

group about the teatable, she might have been lost in the mazes of an inarticulate happiness. In reality, her

thoughts were finding definite utterance in the tranquil recapitulation of the blessings in store for her. From

where she stood she could see them embodied in the form of Mr. Gryce, who, in a light overcoat and muffler,

sat somewhat nervously on the edge of his chair, while Carry Fisher, with all the energy of eye and gesture

with which nature and art had combined to endow her, pressed on him the duty of taking part in the task of

Mrs. Fisher's latest hobby was municipal reform. It had been preceded by an equal zeal for socialism, which

had in turn replaced an energetic advocacy of Christian Science. Mrs. Fisher was small, fiery and dramatic;

and her hands and eyes were admirable instruments in the service of whatever causes he happened to

espouse. She had, however, the fault common to enthusiasts of ignoring any slackness of response on the part

of her hearers, and Lily was amused by her unconsciousness of the resistance displayed in every angle of Mr.

Gryce's attitude. Lily herself knew that his mind was divided between the dread of catching cold if he

remained out of doors too long at that hour, and the fear that, if he retreated to the house, Mrs. Fisher might

follow him up with a paper to be signed. Mr. Gryce had a constitutional dislike to what he called "committing

himself," and tenderly as he cherished his health, he evidently concluded that it was safer to stay out of reach

of pen and ink till chance released him from Mrs. Fisher's toils. Meanwhile he cast agonized glances in the

direction of Miss Bart, whose only response was to sink into an attitude of more graceful abstraction. She had

learned the value of contrast in throwing her charms into relief, and was fully aware of the extent to which

She was roused from her musings by the approach of her cousin Jack Stepney who, at Gwen Van Osburgh's

The couple in question were engaged in the same kind of romance in which Lily figured, and the latter felt a

certain annoyance in contemplating what seemed to her a caricature of her own situation. Miss Van Osburgh

was a large girl with flat surfaces and no high lights: Jack Stepney had once said of her that she was as

reliable as roast mutton. His own taste was in the line of less solid and more highlyseasoned diet; but hunger

makes any fare palatable, and there had been times when Mr. Stepney had been reduced to a crust.

Lily considered with interest the expression of their faces: the girl's turned toward her companion's like an

empty plate held up to be filled, while the man lounging at her side already betrayed the encroaching

"How impatient men are!" Lily reflected. "All Jack has to do to get everything he wants is to keep quiet and

let that girl marry him; whereas I have to calculate and contrive, and retreat and advance, as if I were going

through an intricate dance, where one misstep would throw me hopelessly out of time."

As they drew nearer she was whimsically struck by a kind of family likeness between Miss Van Osburgh and

Percy Gryce. There was no resemblance of feature. Gryce was handsome in a didactic wayhe looked like a

clever pupil's drawing from a plastercastwhile Gwen's countenance had no more modelling than a face

painted on a toy balloon. But the deeper affinity was unmistakable: the two had the same prejudices and

ideals, and the same quality of making other standards nonexistent by ignoring them. This attribute was

common to most of Lily's set: they had a force of negation which eliminated everything beyond their own

range of perception. Gryce and Miss Van Osburgh were, in short, made for each other by every law of moral

and physical correspondence"Yet they wouldn't look at each other," Lily mused, "they never do. Each of

them wants a creature of a different race, of Jack's race and mine, with all sorts of intuitions, sensations and

perceptions that they don't even guess the existence of. And they always get what they want."

She stood talking with her cousin and Miss Van Osburgh, till a slight cloud on the latter's brow advised her

that even cousinly amenities were subject to suspicion, and Miss Bart, mindful of the necessity of not

exciting enmities at this crucial point of her career, dropped aside while the happy couple proceeded toward

Seating herself on the upper step of the terrace, Lily leaned her head against the honeysuckles wreathing the

balustrade. The fragrance of the late blossoms seemed an emanation of the tranquil scene, a landscape tutored

to the last degree of rural elegance. In the foreground glowed the warm tints of the gardens. Beyond the lawn,

with its pyramidal palegold maples and velvety firs, sloped pastures dotted with cattle; and through a long

glade the river widened like a lake under the silver light of September. Lily did not want to join the circle

about the teatable. They represented the future she had chosen, and she was content with it, but in no haste

to anticipate its joys. The certainty that she could marry Percy Gryce when she pleased had lifted a heavy

load from her mind, and her money troubles were too recent for their removal not to leave a sense of relief

which a less discerning intelligence might have taken for happiness. Her vulgar cares were at an end. She

would be able to arrange her life as she pleased, to soar into that empyrean of security where creditors cannot

penetrate. She would have smarter gowns than Judy Trenor, and far, far more jewels than Bertha Dorset. She

would be free forever from the shifts, the expedients, the humiliations of the relatively poor. Instead of

having to flatter, she would be flattered; instead of being grateful, she would receive thanks. There were old

scores she could pay off as well as old benefits she could return. And she had no doubts as to the extent of her

power. She knew that Mr. Gryce was of the small chary type most inaccessible to impulses and emotions. He

had the kind of character in which prudence is a vice, and good advice the most dangerous nourishment. But

Lily had known the species before: she was aware that such a guarded nature must find one huge outlet of

egoism, and she determined to be to him what his Americana had hitherto been: the one possession in which

he took sufficient pride to spend money on it. She knew that this generosity to self is one of the forms of

meanness, and she resolved so to identify herself with her husband's vanity that to gratify her wishes would

be to him the most exquisite form of selfindulgence. The system might at first necessitate a resort to some of

the very shifts and expedients from which she intended it should free her; but she felt sure that in a short time

she would be able to play the game in her own way. How should she have distrusted her powers? Her beauty

itself was not the mere ephemeral possession it might have been in the hands of inexperience: her skill in

enhancing it, the care she took of it, the use she made of it, seemed to give it a kind of permanence. She felt

And the end, on the whole, was worthwhile. Life was not the mockery she had thought it three days ago.

There was room for her, after all, in this crowded selfish world of pleasure whence, so short a time since, her

poverty had seemed to exclude her. These people whom she had ridiculed and yet envied were glad to make a

place for her in the charmed circle about which all her desires revolved. They were not as brutal and

selfengrossed as she had fanciedor rather, since it would no longer be necessary to flatter and humour

them, that side of their nature became less conspicuous. Society is a revolving body which is apt to be judged

according to its place in each man's heaven; and at present it was turning its illuminated face to Lily.

In the rosy glow it diffused her companions seemed full of amiable qualities. She liked their elegance, their

lightness, their lack of emphasis: even the selfassurance which at times was so like obtuseness now seemed

the natural sign of social ascendency. They were lords of the only world she cared for, and they were ready to

admit her to their ranks and let her lord it with them. Already she felt within her a stealing allegiance to their

standards, an acceptance of their limitations, a disbelief in the things they did not believe in, a contemptuous

The early sunset was slanting across the park. Through the boughs of the long avenue beyond the gardens she

caught the flash of wheels, and divined that more visitors were approaching. There was a movement behind

her, a scattering of steps and voices: it was evident that the party about the teatable was breaking up.

Presently she heard a tread behind her on the terrace. She supposed that Mr. Gryce had at last found means to

escape from his predicament, and she smiled at the significance of his coming to join her instead of beating

She turned to give him the welcome which such gallantry deserved; but her greeting wavered into a blush of

"You see I came after all," he said; but before she had time to answer, Mrs. Dorset, breaking away from a

lifeless colloquy with her host, had stepped between them with a little gesture of appropriation.

The observance of Sunday at Bellomont was chiefly marked by the punctual appearance of the smart

omnibus destined to convey the household to the little church at the gates. Whether any one got into the

omnibus or not was a matter of secondary importance, since by standing there it not only bore witness to the

orthodox intentions of the family, but made Mrs. Trenor feel, when she finally heard it drive away, that she

It was Mrs. Trenor's theory that her daughters actually did go to church every Sunday; but their French

governess's convictions calling her to the rival fane, and the fatigues of the week keeping their mother in her

room till luncheon, there was seldom any one present to verify the fact. Now and then, in a spasmodic burst

of virtuewhen the house had been too uproarious over nightGus Trenor forced his genial bulk into a

tight frockcoat and routed his daughters from their slumbers; but habitually, as Lily explained to Mr. Gryce,

this parental duty was forgotten till the church bells were ringing across the park, and the omnibus had driven

Lily had hinted to Mr. Gryce that this neglect of religious observances was repugnant to her early traditions,

and that during her visits to Bellomont she regularly accompanied Muriel and Hilda to church. This tallied

with the assurance, also confidentially imparted, that, never having played bridge before, she had been

"dragged into it" on the night of her arrival, and had lost an appalling amount of money in consequence of her

ignorance of the game and of the rules of betting. Mr. Gryce was undoubtedly enjoying Bellomont. He liked

the ease and glitter of the life, and the lustre conferred on him by being a member of this group of rich and

conspicuous people. But he thought it a very materialistic society; there were times when he was frightened

by the talk of the men and the looks of the ladies, and he was glad to find that Miss Bart, for all her ease and

selfpossession, was not at home in so ambiguous an atmosphere. For this reason he had been especially

pleased to learn that she would, as usual, attend the young Trenors to church on Sunday morning; and as he

paced the gravel sweep before the door, his light overcoat on his arm and his prayerbook in one

carefullygloved hand, he reflected agreeably on the strength of character which kept her true to her early

For a long time Mr. Gryce and the omnibus had the gravel sweep to themselves; but, far from regretting this

deplorable indifference on the part of the other guests, he found himself nourishing the hope that Miss Bart

might be unaccompanied. The precious minutes were flying, however; the big chestnuts pawed the ground

and flecked their impatient sides with foam; the coachman seemed to be slowly petrifying on the box, and the

groom on the doorstep; and still the lady did not come. Suddenly, however, there was a sound of voices and a

rustle of skirts in the doorway, and Mr. Gryce, restoring his watch to his pocket, turned with a nervous start;

The Wetheralls always went to church. They belonged to the vast group of human automata who go through

life without neglecting to perform a single one of the gestures executed by the surrounding puppets. It is true

that the Bellomont puppets did not go to church; but others equally important didand Mr. and Mrs.

Wetherall's circle was so large that God was included in their visitinglist. They appeared, therefore, punctual

and resigned, with the air of people bound for a dull "At Home," and after them Hilda and Muriel straggled,

yawning and pinning each other's veils and ribbons as they came. They had promised Lily to go to church

with her, they declared, and Lily was such a dear old duck that they didn't mind doing it to please her, though

they couldn't fancy what had put the idea in her head, and though for their own part they would much rather

have played lawn tennis with Jack and Gwen, if she hadn't told them she was coming. The Misses Trenor

were followed by Lady Cressida Raith, a weatherbeaten person in Liberty silk and ethnological trinkets,

who, on seeing the omnibus, expressed her surprise that they were not to walk across the park; but at Mrs.

Wetherall's horrified protest that the church was a mile away, her ladyship, after a glance at the height of the

other's heels, acquiesced in the necessity of driving, and poor Mr. Gryce found himself rolling off between

It might have afforded him some consolation could he have known that Miss Bart had really meant to go to

church. She had even risen earlier than usual in the execution of her purpose. She had an idea that the sight of

her in a grey gown of devotional cut, with her famous lashes drooped above a prayerbook, would put the

finishing touch to Mr. Gryce's subjugation, and render inevitable a certain incident which she had resolved

should form a part of the walk they were to take together after luncheon. Her intentions in short had never

been more definite; but poor Lily, for all the hard glaze of her exterior, was inwardly as malleable as wax.

Her faculty for adapting herself, for entering into other people's feelings, if it served her now and then in

small contingencies, hampered her in the decisive moments of life. She was like a waterplant in the flux of

the tides, and today the whole current of her mood was carrying her toward Lawrence Selden. Why had he

come? Was it to see herself or Bertha Dorset? It was the last question which, at that moment, should have

engaged her. She might better have contented herself with thinking that he had simply responded to the

despairing summons of his hostess, anxious to interpose him between herself and the illhumour of Mrs.

Dorset. But Lily had not rested till she learned from Mrs. Trenor that Selden had come of his own accord.

"He didn't even wire mehe just happened to find the trap at the station. Perhaps it's not over with Bertha

after all," Mrs. Trenor musingly concluded; and went away to arrange her dinnercards accordingly.

Perhaps it was not, Lily reflected; but it should be soon, unless she had lost her cunning. If Selden had come

at Mrs. Dorset's call, it was at her own that he would stay. So much the previous evening had told her. Mrs.

Trenor, true to her simple principle of making her married friends happy, had placed Selden and Mrs. Dorset

next to each other at dinner; but, in obedience to the timehonoured traditions of the matchmaker, she had

separated Lily and Mr. Gryce, sending in the former with George Dorset, while Mr. Gryce was coupled with

George Dorset's talk did not interfere with the range of his neighbour's thoughts. He was a mournful

dyspeptic, intent on finding out the deleterious ingredients of every dish and diverted from this care only by

the sound of his wife's voice. On this occasion, however, Mrs. Dorset took no part in the general

conversation. She sat talking in low murmurs with Selden, and turning a contemptuous and denuded shoulder

toward her host, who, far from resenting his exclusion, plunged into the excesses of the MENU with the

joyous irresponsibility of a free man. To Mr. Dorset, however, his wife's attitude was a subject of such

evident concern that, when he was not scraping the sauce from his fish, or scooping the moist breadcrumbs

from the interior of his roll, he sat straining his thin neck for a glimpse of her between the lights.

Mrs. Trenor, as it chanced, had placed the husband and wife on opposite sides of the table, and Lily was

therefore able to observe Mrs. Dorset also, and by carrying her glance a few feet farther, to set up a rapid

comparison between Lawrence Selden and Mr. Gryce. It was that comparison which was her undoing. Why

else had she suddenly grown interested in Selden? She had known him for eight years or more: ever since her

return to America he had formed a part of her background. She had always been glad to sit next to him at

dinner, had found him more agreeable than most men, and had vaguely wished that he possessed the other

qualities needful to fix her attention; but till now she had been too busy with her own affairs to regard him as

more than one of the pleasant accessories of life. Miss Bart was a keen reader of her own heart, and she saw

that her sudden preoccupation with Selden was due to the fact that his presence shed a new light on her

surroundings. Not that he was notably brilliant or exceptional; in his own profession he was surpassed by

more than one man who had bored Lily through many a weary dinner. It was rather that he had preserved a

certain social detachment, a happy air of viewing the show objectively, of having points of contact outside the

great gilt cage in which they were all huddled for the mob to gape at. How alluring the world outside the cage

appeared to Lily, as she heard its door clang on her! In reality, as she knew, the door never clanged: it stood

always open; but most of the captives were like flies in a bottle, and having once flown in, could never regain

their freedom. It was Selden's distinction that he had never forgotten the way out.

That was the secret of his way of readjusting her vision. Lily, turning her eyes from him, found herself

scanning her little world through his retina: it was as though the pink lamps had been shut off and the dusty

daylight let in. She looked down the long table, studying its occupants one by one, from Gus Trenor, with his

heavy carnivorous head sunk between his shoulders, as he preyed on a jellied plover, to his wife, at the

opposite end of the long bank of orchids, suggestive, with her glaring goodlooks, of a jeweller's window lit

by electricity. And between the two, what a long stretch of vacuity! How dreary and trivial these people

were! Lily reviewed them with a scornful impatience: Carry Fisher, with her shoulders, her eyes, her

divorces, her general air of embodying a "spicy paragraph"; young Silverton, who had meant to live on

proofreading and write an epic, and who now lived on his friends and had become critical of truffles; Alice

Wetherall, an animated visitinglist, whose most fervid convictions turned on the wording of invitations and

the engraving of dinnercards; Wetherall, with his perpetual nervous nod of acquiescence, his air of agreeing

with people before he knew what they were saying; Jack Stepney, with his confident smile and anxious eyes,

half way between the sheriff and an heiress; Gwen Van Osburgh, with all the guileless confidence of a young

Lily smiled at her classification of her friends. How different they had seemed to her a few hours ago! Then

they had symbolized what she was gaining, now they stood for what she was giving up. That very afternoon

they had seemed full of brilliant qualities; now she saw that they were merely dull in a loud way. Under the

glitter of their opportunities she saw the poverty of their achievement. It was not that she wanted them to be

more disinterested; but she would have liked them to be more picturesque. And she had a shamed recollection

of the way in which, a few hours since, she had felt the centripetal force of their standards. She closed her

eyes an instant, and the vacuous routine of the life she had chosen stretched before her like a long white road

without dip or turning: it was true she was to roll over it in a carriage instead of trudging it on foot, but

sometimes the pedestrian enjoys the diversion of a short cut which is denied to those on wheels.

She was roused by a chuckle which Mr. Dorset seemed to eject from the depths of his lean throat.

"I say, do look at her," he exclaimed, turning to Miss Bart with lugubrious merriment"I beg your pardon,

but do just look at my wife making a fool of that poor devil over there! One would really suppose she was

Thus adjured, Lily turned her eyes on the spectacle which was affording Mr. Dorset such legitimate mirth. It

certainly appeared, as he said, that Mrs. Dorset was the more active participant in the scene: her neighbour

seemed to receive her advances with a temperate zest which did not distract him from his dinner. The sight

restored Lily's good humour, and knowing the peculiar disguise which Mr. Dorset's marital fears assumed,

Dorset greeted the sally with delight. "Oh, abominablyyou've just hit itkeeps me awake at night. The

doctors tell me that's what has knocked my digestion outbeing so infernally jealous of her.I can't eat a

mouthful of this stuff, you know," he added suddenly, pushing back his plate with a clouded countenance;

and Lily, unfailingly adaptable, accorded her radiant attention to his prolonged denunciation of other people's

It was not often that he found so ready an ear; and, being a man as well as a dyspeptic, it may be that as he

poured his grievances into it he was not insensible to its rosy symmetry. At any rate he engaged Lily so long

that the sweets were being handed when she caught a phrase on her other side, where Miss Corby, the comic

woman of the company, was bantering Jack Stepney on his approaching engagement. Miss Corby's role was

"And of course you'll have Sim Rosedale as best man!" Lily heard her fling out as the climax of her

prognostications; and Stepney responded, as if struck: "Jove, that's an idea. What a thumping present I'd get

SIM ROSEDALE! The name, made more odious by its diminutive, obtruded itself on Lily's thoughts like a

leer. It stood for one of the many hated possibilities hovering on the edge of life. If she did not marry Percy

Gryce, the day might come when she would have to be civil to such men as Rosedale. IF SHE DID NOT

MARRY HIM? But she meant to marry himshe was sure of him and sure of herself. She drew back with a

shiver from the pleasant paths in which her thoughts had been straying, and set her feet once more in the

middle of the long white road.... When she went upstairs that night she found that the late post had brought

her a fresh batch of bills. Mrs. Peniston, who was a conscientious woman, had forwarded them all to

Miss Bart, accordingly, rose the next morning with the most earnest conviction that it was her duty to go to

church. She tore herself betimes from the lingering enjoyment of her breakfasttray, rang to have her grey

But her course was too purely reasonable not to contain the germs of rebellion. No sooner were her

preparations made than they roused a smothered sense of resistance. A small spark was enough to kindle

Lily's imagination, and the sight of the grey dress and the borrowed prayerbook flashed a long light down

the years. She would have to go to church with Percy Gryce every Sunday. They would have a front pew in

the most expensive church in New York, and his name would figure handsomely in the list of parish charities.

In a few years, when he grew stouter, he would be made a warden. Once in the winter the rector would come

to dine, and her husband would beg her to go over the list and see that no DIVORCEES were included,

except those who had showed signs of penitence by being remarried to the very wealthy. There was nothing

especially arduous in this round of relgious obligations; but it stood for a fraction of that great bulk of

boredom which loomed across her path. And who could consent to be bored on such a morning? Lily had

slept well, and her bath had filled her with a pleasant glow, which was becomingly reflected in the clear curve

of her cheek. No lines were visible this morning, or else the glass was at a happier angle.

And the day was the accomplice of her mood: it was a day for impulse and truancy. The light air seemed full

of powdered gold; below the dewy bloom of the lawns the woodlands blushed and smouldered, and the hills

across the river swam in molten blue. Every drop of blood in Lily's veins invited her to happiness.

The sound of wheels roused her from these musings, and leaning behind her shutters she saw the omnibus

take up its freight. She was too late, thenbut the fact did not alarm her. A glimpse of Mr. Gryce's

crestfallen face even suggested that she had done wisely in absenting herself, since the disappointment he so

candidly betrayed would surely whet his appetite for the afternoon walk. That walk she did not mean to miss;

one glance at the bills on her writingtable was enough to recall its necessity. But meanwhile she had the

morning to herself, and could muse pleasantly on the disposal of its hours. She was familiar enough with the

habits of Bellomont to know that she was likely to have a free field till luncheon. She had seen the

Wetheralls, the Trenor girls and Lady Cressida packed safely into the omnibus; Judy Trenor was sure to be

having her hair shampooed; Carry Fisher had doubtless carried off her host for a drive; Ned Silverton was

probably smoking the cigarette of young despair in his bedroom; and Kate Corby was certain to be playing

tennis with Jack Stepney and Miss Van Osburgh. Of the ladies, this left only Mrs. Dorset unaccounted for,

and Mrs. Dorset never came down till luncheon: her doctors, she averred, had forbidden her to expose herself

To the remaining members of the party Lily gave no special thought; wherever they were, they were not

likely to interfere with her plans. These, for the moment, took the shape of assuming a dress somewhat more

rustic and summerlike in style than the garment she had first selected, and rustling downstairs, sunshade in

hand, with the disengaged air of a lady in quest of exercise. The great hall was empty but for the knot of dogs

by the fire, who, taking in at a glance the outdoor aspect of Miss Bart, were upon her at once with lavish

offers of companionship. She put aside the ramming paws which conveyed these offers, and assuring the

joyous volunteers that she might presently have a use for their company, sauntered on through the empty

drawingroom to the library at the end of the house. The library was almost the only surviving portion of the

old manorhouse of Bellomont: a long spacious room, revealing the traditions of the mothercountry in its

classicallycased doors, the Dutch tiles of the chimney, and the elaborate hobgrate with its shining brass

urns. A few family portraits of lanternjawed gentlemen in tiewigs, and ladies with large headdresses and

small bodies, hung between the shelves lined with pleasantlyshabby books: books mostly contemporaneous

with the ancestors in question, and to which the subsequent Trenors had made no perceptible additions. The

library at Bellomont was in fact never used for reading, though it had a certain popularity as a smokingroom

or a quiet retreat for flirtation. It had occurred to Lily, however, that it might on this occasion have been

resorted to by the only member of the party in the least likely to put it to its original use. She advanced

noiselessly over the dense old rug scattered with easychairs, and before she reached the middle of the room

she saw that she had not been mistaken. Lawrence Selden was in fact seated at its farther end; but though a

book lay on his knee, his attention was not engaged with it, but directed to a lady whose lacedad figure, as

she leaned back in an adjoining chair, detached itself with exaggerated slimness against the dusky leather

Lily paused as she caught sight of the group; for a moment she seemed about to withdraw, but thinking better

of this, she announced her approach by a slight shake of her skirts which made the couple raise their heads,

Mrs. Dorset with a look of frank displeasure, and Selden with his usual quiet smile. The sight of his

composure had a disturbing effect on Lily; but to be disturbed was in her case to make a more brilliant effort

"Dear me, am I late?" she asked, putting a hand in his as he advanced to greet her.

"Late for what?" enquired Mrs. Dorset tartly. "Not for luncheon, certainlybut perhaps you had an earlier

"Really? Perhaps I am in the way, then? But Mr. Selden is entirely at your disposal." Mrs. Dorset was pale

with temper, and her antagonist felt a certain pleasure in prolonging her distress.

"Oh, dear, nodo stay," she said goodhumouredly. "I don't in the least want to drive you away."

"You're awfully good, dear, but I never interfere with Mr. Selden's engagements."

The remark was uttered with a little air of proprietorship not lost on its object, who concealed a faint blush of

annoyance by stooping to pick up the book he had dropped at Lily's approach. The latter's eyes widened

"But I have no engagement with Mr. Selden! My engagement was to go to church; and I'm afraid the

She turned to Selden, who replied that he had heard it drive away some time since.

"Ah, then I shall have to walk; I promised Hilda and Muriel to go to church with them. It's too late to walk

there, you say? Well, I shall have the credit of trying, at any rateand the advantage of escaping part of the

And with a bright nod to the couple on whom she had intruded, Miss Bart strolled through the glass doors

She was taking her way churchward, but at no very quick pace; a fact not lost on one of her observers, who

stood in the doorway looking after her with an air of puzzled amusement. The truth is that she was conscious

of a somewhat keen shock of disappointment. All her plans for the day had been built on the assumption that

it was to see her that Selden had come to Bellomont. She had expected, when she came downstairs, to find

him on the watch for her; and she had found him, instead, in a situation which might well denote that he had

been on the watch for another lady. Was it possible, after all, that he had come for Bertha Dorset? The latter

had acted on the assumption to the extent of appearing at an hour when she never showed herself to ordinary

mortals, and Lily, for the moment, saw no way of putting her in the wrong. It did not occur to her that Selden

might have been actuated merely by the desire to spend a Sunday out of town: women never learn to dispense

with the sentimental motive in their judgments of men. But Lily was not easily disconcerted; competition put

her on her mettle, and she reflected that Selden's coming, if it did not declare him to be still in Mrs. Dorset's

toils, showed him to be so completely free from them that he was not afraid of her proximity.

These thoughts so engaged her that she fell into a gait hardly likely to carry her to church before the sermon,

and at length, having passed from the gardens to the woodpath beyond, so far forgot her intention as to sink

into a rustic seat at a bend of the walk. The spot was charming, and Lily was not insensible to the charm, or to

the fact that her presence enhanced it; but she was not accustomed to taste the joys of solitude except in

company, and the combination of a handsome girl and a romantic scene struck her as too good to be wasted.

No one, however, appeared to profit by the opportunity; and after a half hour of fruitless waiting she rose and

wandered on. She felt a stealing sense of fatigue as she walked; the sparkle had died out of her, and the taste

of life was stale on her lips. She hardly knew what she had been seeking, or why the failure to find it had so

blotted the light from her sky: she was only aware of a vague sense of failure, of an inner isolation deeper

Her footsteps flagged, and she stood gazing listlessly ahead, digging the ferny edge of the path with the tip of

her sunshade. As she did so a step sounded behind her, and she saw Selden at her side.

She answered gaily: "You must be quite breathless! I've been sitting under that tree for an hour."

"I seize the distinction, but I don't mind it, since doing the one involved doing the other. But weren't you sure

"If I waited long enoughbut you see I had only a limited time to give to the experiment."

"Ah, I see; I might have known you were fully provided with alternatives. And is the other person coming

Lily laughed again. "That's just what I don't know; and to find out, it is my business to get to church before

"Exactly; and it is my business to prevent your doing so; in which case the other person, piqued by your

Lily received this with fresh appreciation; his nonsense was like the bubbling of her inner mood. "Is that what

Selden looked at her with solemnity. "I am here to prove to you," he cried, "what I am capable of doing in an

They looked at each other with the same luxury of enjoyment that they had felt in exchanging absurdities

over his teatable; but suddenly Lily's face changed, and she said: "Well, if it is, he has succeeded."

Selden, following her glance, perceived a party of people advancing toward them from the farther bend of the

path. Lady Cressida had evidently insisted on walking home, and the rest of the churchgoers had thought it

their duty to accompany her. Lily's companion looked rapidly from one to the other of the two men of the

party; Wetherall walking respectfully at Lady Cressida's side with his little sidelong look of nervous

attention, and Percy Gryce bringing up the rear with Mrs. Wetherall and the Trenors.

"Ahnow I see why you were getting up your Americana!" Selden exclaimed with a note of the freest

admiration but the blush with which the sally was received checked whatever amplifications he had meant to

That Lily Bart should object to being bantered about her suitors, or even about her means of attracting them,

was so new to Selden that he had a momentary flash of surprise, which lit up a number of possibilities; but

she rose gallantly to the defence of her confusion, by saying, as its object approached: "That was why I was

"Ah, you can hardly do justice to the subject in such a short time," said Selden, as the Trenor girls caught

sight of Miss Bart; and while she signalled a response to their boisterous greeting, he added quickly: "Won't

you devote your afternoon to it? You know I must be off tomorrow morning. We'll take a walk, and you can

The afternoon was perfect. A deeper stillness possessed the air, and the glitter of the American autumn was

In the woody hollows of the park there was already a faint chill; but as the ground rose the air grew lighter,

and ascending the long slopes beyond the highroad, Lily and her companion reached a zone of lingering

summer. The path wound across a meadow with scattered trees; then it dipped into a lane plumed with asters

and purpling sprays of bramble, whence, through the light quiver of ashleaves, the country unrolled itself in

Higher up, the lane showed thickening tufts of fern and of the creeping glossy verdure of shaded slopes; trees

began to overhang it, and the shade deepened to the checkered dusk of a beechgrove. The boles of the trees

stood well apart, with only a light feathering of undergrowth; the path wound along the edge of the wood,

now and then looking out on a sunlit pasture or on an orchard spangled with fruit.

Lily had no real intimacy with nature, but she had a passion for the appropriate and could be keenly sensitive

to a scene which was the fitting background of her own sensations. The landscape outspread below her

seemed an enlargement of her present mood, and she found something of herself in its calmness, its breadth,

its long free reaches. On the nearer slopes the sugarmaples wavered like pyres of light; lower down was a

massing of grey orchards, and here and there the lingering green of an oakgrove. Two or three red

farmhouses dozed under the appletrees, and the white wooden spire of a village church showed beyond the

shoulder of the hill; while far below, in a haze of dust, the highroad ran between the fields.

"Let us sit here," Selden suggested, as they reached an open ledge of rock above which the beeches rose

Lily dropped down on the rock, glowing with her long climb. She sat quiet, her lips parted by the stress of the

ascent, her eyes wandering peacefully over the broken ranges of the landscape. Selden stretched himself on

the grass at her feet, tilting his hat against the level sunrays, and clasping his hands behind his head, which

rested against the side of the rock. He had no wish to make her talk; her quickbreathing silence seemed a

part of the general hush and harmony of things. In his own mind there was only a lazy sense of pleasure,

veiling the sharp edges of sensation as the September haze veiled the scene at their feet. But Lily, though her

attitude was as calm as his, was throbbing inwardly with a rush of thoughts. There were in her at the moment

two beings, one drawing deep breaths of freedom and exhilaration, the other gasping for air in a little black

prisonhouse of fears. But gradually the captive's gasps grew fainter, or the other paid less heed to them: the

horizon expanded, the air grew stronger, and the free spirit quivered for flight.

She could not herself have explained the sense of buoyancy which seemed to lift and swing her above the

sunsuffused world at her feet. Was it love, she wondered, or a mere fortuitous combination of happy

thoughts and sensations? How much of it was owing to the spell of the perfect afternoon, the scent of the

fading woods, the thought of the dulness she had fled from? Lily had no definite experience by which to test

the quality of her feelings. She had several times been in love with fortunes or careers, but only once with a

man. That was years ago, when she first came out, and had been smitten with a romantic passion for a young

gentleman named Herbert Melson, who had blue eyes and a little wave in his hair. Mr. Melson, who was

possessed of no other negotiable securities, had hastened to employ these in capturing the eldest Miss Van

Osburgh: since then he had grown stout and wheezy, and was given to telling anecdotes about his children. If

Lily recalled this early emotion it was not to compare it with that which now possessed her; the only point of

comparison was the sense of lightness, of emancipation, which she remembered feeling, in the whirl of a

waltz or the seclusion of a conservatory, during the brief course of her youthful romance. She had not known

again till today that lightness, that glow of freedom; but now it was something more than a blind groping of

the blood. The peculiar charm of her feeling for Selden was that she understood it; she could put her finger on

every link of the chain that was drawing them together. Though his popularity was of the quiet kind, felt

rather than actively expressed among his friends, she had never mistaken his inconspicuousness for obscurity.

His reputed cultivation was generally regarded as a slight obstacle to easy intercourse, but Lily, who prided

herself on her broadminded recognition of literature, and always carried an Omar Khayam in her

travellingbag, was attracted by this attribute, which she felt would have had its distinction in an older

society. It was, moreover, one of his gifts to look his part; to have a height which lifted his head above the

crowd, and the keenlymodelled dark features which, in a land of amorphous types, gave him the air of

belonging to a more specialized race, of carrying the impress of a concentrated past. Expansive persons found

him a little dry, and very young girls thought him sarcastic; but this air of friendly aloofness, as far removed

as possible from any assertion of personal advantage, was the quality which piqued Lily's interest. Everything

about him accorded with the fastidious element in her taste, even to the light irony with which he surveyed

what seemed to her most sacred. She admired him most of all, perhaps, for being able to convey as distinct a

It was the unconscious prolongation of this thought which led her to say presently, with a laugh: "I have

Her look deepened meditatively. "Why?" she murmured, with an accent which took all tinge of coquetry

"Because you're such a wonderful spectacle: I always like to see what you are doing."

Selden smiled. "I don't flatter myself that my coming has deflected your course of action by a hair's breadth."

"That's absurdsince, if you were not here, I could obviously not be taking a walk with you."

"No; but your taking a walk with me is only another way of making use of your material. You are an artist

and I happen to be the bit of colour you are using today. It's a part of your cleverness to be able to produce

Lily smiled also: his words were too acute not to strike her sense of humour. It was true that she meant to use

the accident of his presence as part of a very definite effect; or that, at least, was the secret pretext she had

found for breaking her promise to walk with Mr. Gryce. She had sometimes been accused of being too

eagereven Judy Trenor had warned her to go slowly. Well, she would not be too eager in this case; she

would give her suitor a longer taste of suspense. Where duty and inclination jumped together, it was not in

Lily's nature to hold them asunder. She had excused herself from the walk on the plea of a headache: the

horrid headache which, in the morning, had prevented her venturing to church. Her appearance at luncheon

justified the excuse. She looked languid, full of a suffering sweetness; she carried a scentbottle in her hand.

Mr. Gryce was new to such manifestations; he wondered rather nervously if she were delicate, having

farreaching fears about the future of his progeny. But sympathy won the day, and he besought her not to

Lily had received his sympathy with languid gratitude, urging him, since she should be such poor company,

to join the rest of the party who, after luncheon, were starting in automobiles on a visit to the Van Osburghs

at Peekskill. Mr. Gryce was touched by her disinterestedness, and, to escape from the threatened vacuity of

the afternoon, had taken her advice and departed mournfully, in a dusthood and goggles: as the motorcar

plunged down the avenue she smiled at his resemblance to a baffled beetle. Selden had watched her

manoeuvres with lazy amusement. She had made no reply to his suggestion that they should spend the

afternoon together, but as her plan unfolded itself he felt fairly confident of being included in it. The house

was empty when at length he heard her step on the stair and strolled out of the billiardroom to join her.

"I thought, after all, the air might do me good," she explained; and he agreed that so simple a remedy was

The excursionists would be gone at least four hours; Lily and Selden had the whole afternoon before them,

and the sense of leisure and safety gave the last touch of lightness to her spirit. With so much time to talk, and

no definite object to be led up to, she could taste the rare joys of mental vagrancy.

She felt so free from ulterior motives that she took up his charge with a touch of resentment.

"I thought you confessed to it: you told me the other day that you had to follow a certain lineand if one

"If you mean that a girl who has no one to think for her is obliged to think for herself, I am quite willing to

accept the imputation. But you must find me a dismal kind of person if you suppose that I never yield to an

"Ah, but I don't suppose that: haven't I told you that your genius lies in converting impulses into intentions?"

"My genius?" she echoed with a sudden note of weariness. "Is there any final test of genius but success? And

Selden pushed his hat back and took a sideglance at her. "Successwhat is success? I shall be interested to

"Success?" She hesitated. "Why, to get as much as one can out of life, I suppose. It's a relative quality, after

"My idea of it? God forbid!" He sat up with sudden energy, resting his elbows on his knees and staring out

"From everythingfrom money, from poverty, from ease and anxiety, from all the material accidents. To

She leaned forward with a responsive flash. "I knowI knowit's strange; but that's just what I've been

He met her eyes with the latent sweetness of his. "Is the feeling so rare with you?" he said.

She blushed a little under his gaze. "You think me horribly sordid, don't you? But perhaps it's rather that I

never had any choice. There was no one, I mean, to tell me about the republic of the spirit."

"Well, I have known, I have known!" she cried with a glow of eagerness. "Whenever I see you, I find myself

spelling out a letter of the signand yesterdaylast evening at dinnerI suddenly saw a little way into

Selden was still looking at her, but with a changed eye. Hitherto he had found, in her presence and her talk,

the aesthetic amusement which a reflective man is apt to seek in desultory intercourse with pretty women. His

attitude had been one of admiring spectatorship, and he would have been almost sorry to detect in her any

emotional weakness which should interfere with the fulfilment of her aims. But now the hint of this weakness

had become the most interesting thing about her. He had come on her that morning in a moment of disarray;

her face had been pale and altered, and the diminution of her beauty had lent her a poignant charm. THAT IS

HOW SHE LOOKS WHEN SHE IS ALONE! had been his first thought; and the second was to note in her

the change which his coming produced. It was the dangerpoint of their intercourse that he could not doubt

the spontaneity of her liking. From whatever angle he viewed their dawning intimacy, he could not see it as

part of her scheme of life; and to be the unforeseen element in a career so accurately planned was stimulating

"Well," he said, "did it make you want to see more? Are you going to become one of us?"

He had drawn out his cigarettes as he spoke, and she reached her hand toward the case.

"Yesbut it is not considered becoming in a JEUNE FILLE A MARIER; and at the present moment I am a

"Not in the least, though I'm bound to say there are not many married people in it. But you will marry some

one very rich, and it's as hard for rich people to get into as the kingdom of heaven."

"That's unjust, I think, because, as I understand it, one of the conditions of citizenship is not to think too

much about money, and the only way not to think about money is to have a great deal of it."

"You might as well say that the only way not to think about air is to have enough to breathe. That is true

enough in a sense; but your lungs are thinking about the air, if you are not. And so it is with your rich

peoplethey may not be thinking of money, but they're breathing it all the while; take them into another

"It seems to me," she said at length, "that you spend a good deal of your time in the element you disapprove

Selden received this thrust without discomposure. "Yes; but I have tried to remain amphibious: it's all right as

long as one's lungs can work in another air. The real alchemy consists in being able to turn gold back again

into something else; and that's the secret that most of your friends have lost."

Lily mused. "Don't you think," she rejoined after a moment, "that the people who find fault with society are

too apt to regard it as an end and not a means, just as the people who despise money speak as if its only use

were to be kept in bags and gloated over? Isn't it fairer to look at them both as opportunities, which may be

"That is certainly the sane view; but the queer thing about society is that the people who regard it as an end

are those who are in it, and not the critics on the fence. It's just the other way with most showsthe audience

may be under the illusion, but the actors know that real life is on the other side of the footlights. The people

who take society as an escape from work are putting it to its proper use; but when it becomes the thing

worked for it distorts all the relations of life." Selden raised himself on his elbow. "Good heavens!" he went

on, "I don't underrate the decorative side of life. It seems to me the sense of splendour has justified itself by

what it has produced. The worst of it is that so much human nature is used up in the process. If we're all the

raw stuff of the cosmic effects, one would rather be the fire that tempers a sword than the fish that dyes a

purple cloak. And a society like ours wastes such good material in producing its little patch of purple! Look

at a boy like Ned Silvertonhe's really too good to be used to refurbish anybody's social shabbiness. There's

a lad just setting out to discover the universe: isn't it a pity he should end by finding it in Mrs. Fisher's

"Ned is a dear boy, and I hope he will keep his illusions long enough to write some nice poetry about them;

Selden answered her with a shrug. "Why do we call all our generous ideas illusions, and the mean ones

truths? Isn't it a sufficient condemnation of society to find one's self accepting such phraseology? I very

nearly acquired the jargon at Silverton's age, and I know how names can alter the colour of beliefs."

She had never heard him speak with such energy of affirmation. His habitual touch was that of the eclectic,

who lightly turns over and compares; and she was moved by this sudden glimpse into the laboratory where

"Ah, you are as bad as the other sectarians," she exclaimed; "why do you call your republic a republic? It is a

closed corporation, and you create arbitrary objections in order to keep people out."

"It is not MY republic; if it were, I should have a COUP D'ETAT and seat you on the throne."

"Whereas, in reality, you think I can never even get my foot across the threshold? Oh, I understand what you

Selden smiled, but not ironically. "Well, isn't that a tribute? I think them quite worthy of most of the people

She had turned to gaze on him gravely. "But isn't it possible that, if I had the opportunities of these people, I

might make a better use of them? Money stands for all kinds of thingsits purchasing quality isn't limited to

"Not in the least: you might expiate your enjoyment of them by founding a hospital."

"But if you think they are what I should really enjoy, you must think my ambitions are good enough for me."

Selden met this appeal with a laugh. "Ah, my dear Miss Bart, I am not divine Providence, to guarantee your

"Then the best you can say for me is, that after struggling to get them I probably shan't like them?" She drew

"Wellhave you never foreseen it for yourself?" The slow colour rose to her cheek, not a blush of

excitement but drawn from the deep wells of feeling; it was as if the effort of her spirit had produced it.

"Often and often," she said. "But it looks so much darker when you show it to me!"

He made no answer to this exclamation, and for a while they sat silent, while something throbbed between

But suddenly she turned on him with a kind of vehemence. "Why do you do this to me?" she cried. "Why do

you make the things I have chosen seem hateful to me, if you have nothing to give me instead?"

The words roused Selden from the musing fit into which he had fallen. He himself did not know why he had

led their talk along such lines; it was the last use he would have imagined himself making of an afternoon's

solitude with Miss Bart. But it was one of those moments when neither seemed to speak deliberately, when

an indwelling voice in each called to the other across unsounded depths of feeling.

"No, I have nothing to give you instead," he said, sitting up and turning so that he faced her. "If I had, it

She received this abrupt declaration in a way even stranger than the manner of its making: she dropped her

It was for a moment only, however; for when he leaned nearer and drew down her hands with a gesture less

passionate than grave, she turned on him a face softened but not disfigured by emotion, and he said to

The reflection steadied his voice as he asked, between pity and irony: "Isn't it natural that I should try to

Her face brightened at this, but she drew her hand away, not with a gesture of coquetry, but as though

"But you belittle ME, don't you," she returned gently, "in being so sure they are the only things I care for?"

Selden felt an inner start; but it was only the last quiver of his egoism. Almost at once he answered quite

simply: "But you do care for them, don't you? And no wishing of mine can alter that."

He had so completely ceased to consider how far this might carry him, that he had a distinct sense of

"Ah," she cried, "for all your fine phrases you're really as great a coward as I am, for you wouldn't have made

The shock of this retort had the effect of crystallizing Selden's wavering intentions.

"I am not so sure of your answer," he said quietly. "And I do you the justice to believe that you are not

It was her turn to look at him with surprise; and after a moment"Do you want to marry me?" she asked.

"That's what I told youyou're so sure of me that you can amuse yourself with experiments." She drew back

"I am not making experiments," he returned. "Or if I am, it is not on you but on myself. I don't know what

effect they are going to have on mebut if marrying you is one of them, I will take the risk."

She smiled faintly. "It would be a great risk, certainlyI have never concealed from you how great."

She had risen, and he stood facing her with his eyes on hers. The soft isolation of the falling day enveloped

them: they seemed lifted into a finer air. All the exquisite influences of the hour trembled in their veins, and

She leaned on him for a moment, as if with a drop of tired wings: he felt as though her heart were beating

rather with the stress of a long flight than the thrill of new distances. Then, drawing back with a little smile of

warning"I shall look hideous in dowdy clothes; but I can trim my own hats," she declared.

They stood silent for a while after this, smiling at each other like adventurous children who have climbed to a

forbidden height from which they discover a new world. The actual world at their feet was veiling itself in

Suddenly they heard a remote sound, like the hum of a giant insect, and following the highroad, which

wound whiter through the surrounding twilight, a black object rushed across their vision.

Lily started from her attitude of absorption; her smile faded and she began to move toward the lane.

"I had no idea it was so late! We shall not be back till after dark," she said, almost impatiently.

Selden was looking at her with surprise: it took him a moment to regain his usual view of her; then he said,

with an uncontrollable note of dryness: "That was not one of our party; the motor was going the other way."

"I knowI know" She paused, and he saw her redden through the twilight. "But I told them I was not

Selden continued to look at her; then he drew his cigarettecase from his pocket and slowly lit a cigarette. It

seemed to him necessary, at that moment, to proclaim, by some habitual gesture of this sort, his recovered

hold on the actual: he had an almost puerile wish to let his companion see that, their flight over, he had

She waited while the spark flickered under his curved palm; then he held out the cigarettes to her.

She took one with an unsteady hand, and putting it to her lips, leaned forward to draw her light from his. In

the indistinctness the little red gleam lit up the lower part of her face, and he saw her mouth tremble into a

"Were you serious?" she asked, with an odd thrill of gaiety which she might have caught up, in haste, from a

heap of stock inflections, without having time to select the just note. Selden's voice was under better control.

"Why not?" he returned. "You see I took no risks in being so." And as she continued to stand before him, a

It spoke much for the depth of Mrs. Trenor's friendship that her voice, in admonishing Miss Bart, took the

same note of personal despair as if she had been lamenting the collapse of a houseparty.

"All I can say is, Lily, that I can't make you out!" She leaned back, sighing, in the morning abandon of lace

and muslin, turning an indifferent shoulder to the heapedup importunities of her desk, while she considered,

with the eye of a physician who has given up the case, the erect exterior of the patient confronting her.

"If you hadn't told me you were going in for him seriouslybut I'm sure you made that plain enough from

the beginning! Why else did you ask me to let you off bridge, and to keep away Carry and Kate Corby? I

don't suppose you did it because he amused you; we could none of us imagine your putting up with him for a

moment unless you meant to marry him. And I'm sure everybody played fair! They all wanted to help it

along. Even Bertha kept her hands offI will say thattill Lawrence came down and you dragged him

away from her. After that she had a right to retaliatewhy on earth did you interfere with her? You've

known Lawrence Selden for yearswhy did you behave as if you had just discovered him? If you had a

grudge against Bertha it was a stupid time to show ityou could have paid her back just as well after you

were married! I told you Bertha was dangerous. She was in an odious mood when she came here, but

Lawrence's turning up put her in a good humour, and if you'd only let her think he came for HER it would

have never occurred to her to play you this trick. Oh, Lily, you'll never do anything if you're not serious!"

Miss Bart accepted this exhortation in a spirit of the purest impartiality. Why should she have been angry? It

was the voice of her own conscience which spoke to her through Mrs. Trenor's reproachful accents. But even

to her own conscience she must trump up a semblance of defence. "I only took a day offI thought he meant

"He did mean to staythat's the worst of it. It shows that he's run away from you; that Bertha's done her

Miss Bart received the warning with a smile. "I don't mean, literally, to take the next train. There are

Mrs. Trenor sharply corrected the tense. "There WERE waysplenty of them! I didn't suppose you needed

to have them pointed out. But don't deceive yourselfhe's thoroughly frightened. He has run straight home

"How you can LAUGH" her friend rebuked her; and she dropped back to a soberer perception of things

"Don't ask mehorrors! She seemed to have raked up everything. Oh, you know what I meanof course

there isn't anything, REALLY; but I suppose she brought in Prince Variglianoand Lord Hubertand there

was some story of your having borrowed money of old Ned Van Alstyne: did you ever?"

"Well, of course she left THAT out. It seems Ned told Carry Fisher; and she told Bertha, naturally. They're

all alike, you know: they hold their tongues for years, and you think you're safe, but when their opportunity

Lily had grown pale: her voice had a harsh note in it. "It was some money I lost at bridge at the Van

"Ah, well, they wouldn't remember that; besides, it was the idea of the gambling debt that frightened Percy.

In this strain Mrs. Trenor continued for nearly an hour to admonish her friend. Miss Bart listened with

admirable equanimity. Her naturally good temper had been disciplined by years of enforced compliance,

since she had almost always had to attain her ends by the circuitous path of other people's; and, being

naturally inclined to face unpleasant facts as soon as they presented themselves, she was not sorry to hear an

impartial statement of what her folly was likely to cost, the more so as her own thoughts were still insisting

on the other side of the case. Presented in the light of Mrs. Trenor's vigorous comments, the reckoning was

certainly a formidable one, and Lily, as she listened, found herself gradually reverting to her friend's view of

the situation. Mrs. Trenor's words were moreover emphasized for her hearer by anxieties which she herself

could scarcely guess. Affluence, unless stimulated by a keen imagination, forms but the vaguest notion of the

practical strain of poverty. Judy knew it must be "horrid" for poor Lily to have to stop to consider whether

she could afford real lace on her petticoats, and not to have a motorcar and a steamyacht at her orders; but

the daily friction of unpaid bills, the daily nibble of small temptations to expenditure, were trials as far out of

her experience as the domestic problems of the charwoman. Mrs. Trenor's unconsciousness of the real stress

of the situation had the effect of making it more galling to Lily. While her friend reproached her for missing

the opportunity to eclipse her rivals, she was once more battling in imagination with the mounting tide of

indebtedness from which she had so nearly escaped. What wind of folly had driven her out again on those

If anything was needed to put the last touch to her selfabasement it was the sense of the way her old life was

opening its ruts again to receive her. Yesterday her fancy had fluttered free pinions above a choice of

occupations; now she had to drop to the level of the familiar routine, in which moments of seeming brilliancy

She laid a deprecating hand on her friend's. "Dear Judy! I'm sorry to have been such a bore, and you are very

good to me. But you must have some letters for me to answerlet me at least be useful."

She settled herself at the desk, and Mrs. Trenor accepted her resumption of the morning's task with a sigh

The luncheon table showed a depleted circle. ALI the men but Jack Stepney and Dorset had returned to town

(it seemed to Lily a last touch of irony that Selden and Percy Gryce should have gone in the same train), and

Lady Cressida and the attendant Wetheralls had been despatched by motor to lunch at a distant

countryhouse. At such moments of diminished interest it was usual for Mrs. Dorset to keep her room till the

afternoon; but on this occasion she drifted in when luncheon was half over, hollowedeyed and drooping, but

She raised her eyebrows as she looked about the table. "How few of us are left! I do so enjoy the quietdon't

you, Lily? I wish the men would always stop awayit's really much nicer without them. Oh, you don't

count, George: one doesn't have to talk to one's husband. But I thought Mr. Gryce was to stay for the rest of

the week?" she added enquiringly. "Didn't he intend to, Judy? He's such a nice boyI wonder what drove

him away? He is rather shy, and I'm afraid we may have shocked him: he has been brought up in such an

oldfashioned way. Do you know, Lily, he told me he had never seen a girl play cards for money till he saw

you doing it the other night? And he lives on the interest of his income, and always has a lot left over to

Mrs. Fisher leaned forward eagerly. "I do believe it is some one's duty to educate that young man. It is

shocking that he has never been made to realize his duties as a citizen. Every wealthy man should be

Mrs. Dorset glanced at her quietly. "I think he HAS studied the divorce laws. He told me he had promised the

Mrs. Fisher reddened under her powder, and Stepney said with a laughing glance at Miss Bart: "I suppose he

is thinking of marriage, and wants to tinker up the old ship before he goes aboard."

His betrothed looked shocked at the metaphor, and George Dorset exclaimed with a sardonic growl: "Poor

"Or the stowaways," said Miss Corby brightly. "If I contemplated a voyage with him I should try to start with

Miss Van Osburgh's vague feeling of pique was struggling for appropriate expression. "I'm sure I don't see

why you laugh at him; I think he's very nice," she exclaimed; "and, at any rate, a girl who married him would

She looked puzzled at the redoubled laughter which hailed her words, but it might have consoled her to know

Comfortable! At that moment the word was more eloquent to Lily Bart than any other in the language. She

could not even pause to smile over the heiress's view of a colossal fortune as a mere shelter against want: her

mind was filled with the vision of what that shelter might have been to her. Mrs. Dorset's pinpricks did not

smart, for her own irony cut deeper: no one could hurt her as much as she was hurting herself, for no one

She was roused from these unprofitable considerations by a whispered request from her hostess, who drew

"Lily, dear, if you've nothing special to do, may I tell Carry Fisher that you intend to drive to the station and

fetch Gus? He will be back at four, and I know she has it in her mind to meet him. Of course I'm very glad to

have him amused, but I happen to know that she has bled him rather severely since she's been here, and she is

so keen about going to fetch him that I fancy she must have got a lot more bills this morning. It seems to me,"

Mrs. Trenor feelingly concluded, "that most of her alimony is paid by other women's husbands!"

Miss Bart, on her way to the station, had leisure to muse over her friend's words, and their peculiar

application to herself. Why should she have to suffer for having once, for a few hours, borrowed money of an

elderly cousin, when a woman like Carry Fisher could make a living unrebuked from the goodnature of her

men friends and the tolerance of their wives? It all turned on the tiresome distinction between what a married

woman might, and a girl might not, do. Of course it was shocking for a married woman to borrow

moneyand Lily was expertly aware of the implication involvedbut still, it was the mere MALUM

PROHIBITUM which the world decries but condones, and which, though it may be punished by private

vengeance, does not provoke the collective disapprobation of society. To Miss Bart, in short, no such

opportunities were possible. She could of course borrow from her women friendsa hundred here or there,

at the utmostbut they were more ready to give a gown or a trinket, and looked a little askance when she

hinted her preference for a cheque. Women are not generous lenders, and those among whom her lot was cast

were either in the same case as herself, or else too far removed from it to understand its necessities. The result

of her meditations was the decision to join her aunt at Richfield. She could not remain at Bellomont without

playing bridge, and being involved in other expenses; and to continue her usual series of autumn visits would

merely prolong the same difficulties. She had reached a point where abrupt retrenchment was necessary, and

the only cheap life was a dull life. She would start the next morning for Richfield.

At the station she thought Gus Trenor seemed surprised, and not wholly unrelieved, to see her. She yielded up

the reins of the light runabout in which she had driven over, and as he climbed heavily to her side, crushing

her into a scant third of the seat, he said: "Halloo! It isn't often you honour me. You must have been

The afternoon was warm, and propinquity made her more than usually conscious that he was red and

massive, and that beads of moisture had caused the dust of the train to adhere unpleasantly to the broad

expanse of cheek and neck which he turned to her; but she was aware also, from the look in his small dull

eyes, that the contact with her freshness and slenderness was as agreeable to him as the sight of a cooling

The perception of this fact helped her to answer gaily: "It's not often I have the chance. There are too many

"The privilege of driving me home? Well, I'm glad you won the race, anyhow. But I know what really

He had the dull man's unexpected flashes of astuteness, and Lily could not help joining in the laugh with

"You see, Judy thinks I'm the safest person for you to be with; and she's quite right," she rejoined.

"Oh, is she, though? If she is, it's because you wouldn't waste your time on an old hulk like me. We married

men have to put up with what we can get: all the prizes are for the clever chaps who've kept a free foot. Let

He drew up in the shade of the village street, and passed the reins to her while he held a match to his cigar.

The little flame under his hand cast a deeper crimson on his puffing face, and Lily averted her eyes with a

As she handed back the reins, she said sympathetically: "Did you have such a lot of tiresome things to do?"

"I should say sorather!" Trenor, who was seldom listened to, either by his wife or her friends, settled down

into the rare enjoyment of a confidential talk. "You don't know how a fellow has to hustle to keep this kind of

thing going." He waved his whip in the direction of the Bellomont acres, which lay outspread before them in

opulent undulations. "Judy has no idea of what she spendsnot that there isn't plenty to keep the thing

going," he interrupted himself, "but a man has got to keep his eyes open and pick up all the tips he can. My

father and mother used to live like fightingcocks on their income, and put by a good bit of it tooluckily

for mebut at the pace we go now, I don't know where I should be if it weren't for taking a flyer now and

then. The women all thinkI mean Judy thinksI've nothing to do but to go down town once a month and

cut off coupons, but the truth is it takes a devilish lot of hard work to keep the machinery running. Not that I

ought to complain today, though," he went on after a moment, "for I did a very neat stroke of business,

thanks to Stepney's friend Rosedale: by the way, Miss Lily, I wish you'd try to persuade Judy to be decently

civil to that chap. He's going to be rich enough to buy us all out one of these days, and if she'd only ask him

to dine now and then I could get almost anything out of him. The man is mad to know the people who don't

want to know him, and when a fellow's in that state there is nothing he won't do for the first woman who

Lily hesitated a moment. The first part of her companion's discourse had started an interesting train of

thought, which was rudely interrupted by the mention of Mr. Rosedale's name. She uttered a faint protest.

"Oh, hang itbecause he's fat and shiny, and has a sloppy manner! Well, all I can say is that the people who

are clever enough to be civil to him now will make a mighty good thing of it. A few years from now he'll be

in it whether we want him or not, and then he won't be giving away a halfamillion tip for a dinner."

Lily's mind had reverted from the intrusive personality of Mr. Rosedale to the train of thought set in motion

by Trenor's first words. This vast mysterious Wall Street world of "tips" and "deals"might she not find in it

the means of escape from her dreary predicament? She had often heard of women making money in this way

through their friends: she had no more notion than most of her sex of the exact nature of the transaction, and

its vagueness seemed to diminish its indelicacy. She could not, indeed, imagine herself, in any extremity,

stooping to extract a "tip" from Mr. Rosedale; but at her side was a man in possession of that precious

commodity, and who, as the husband of her dearest friend, stood to her in a relation of almost fraternal

In her inmost heart Lily knew it was not by appealing to the fraternal instinct that she was likely to move Gus

Trenor; but this way of explaining the situation helped to drape its crudity, and she was always scrupulous

about keeping up appearances to herself. Her personal fastidiousness had a moral equivalent, and when she

made a tour of inspection in her own mind there were certain closed doors she did not open.

As they reached the gates of Bellomont she turned to Trenor with a smile. "The afternoon is so perfectdon't

you want to drive me a little farther? I've been rather out of spirits all day, and it's so restful to be away from

She looked so plaintively lovely as she proffered the request, so trustfully sure of his sympathy and

understanding, that Trenor felt himself wishing that his wife could see how other women treated himnot

battered wirepullers like Mrs. Fisher, but a girl that most men would have given their boots to get such a

"Out of spirits? Why on earth should you ever be out of spirits? Is your last box of Doucet dresses a failure,

Lily shook her head with a sigh. "I have had to give up Doucet; and bridge tooI can't afford it. In fact I

can't afford any of the things my friends do, and I am afraid Judy often thinks me a bore because I don't play

cards any longer, and because I am not as smartly dressed as the other women. But you will think me a bore

too if I talk to you about my worries, and I only mention them because I want you to do me a favourthe

Her eyes sought his once more, and she smiled inwardly at the tinge of apprehension that she read in them.

"Why, of courseif it's anything I can manage" He broke off, and she guessed that his enjoyment was

"The greatest of favours," she rejoined gently. "The fact is, Judy is angry with me, and I want you to make

"Angry with you? Oh, come, nonsense" his relief broke through in a laugh. "Why, you know she's

"She is the best friend I have, and that is why I mind having to vex her. But I daresay you know what she has

wanted me to do. She has set her heartpoor dearon my marryingmarrying a great deal of money."

She paused with a slight falter of embarrassment, and Trenor, turning abruptly, fixed on her a look of

"A great deal of money? Oh, by Joveyou don't mean Gryce? Whatyou do? Oh, no, of course I won't

mention ityou can trust me to keep my mouth shutbut Gryce good Lord, GRYCE! Did Judy really

think you could bring yourself to marry that portentous little ass? But you couldn't, eh? And so you gave him

the sack, and that's the reason why he lit out by the first train this morning?" He leaned back, spreading

himself farther across the seat, as if dilated by the joyful sense of his own discernment. "How on earth could

Judy think you would do such a thing? I could have told her you'd never put up with such a little milksop!"

Lily sighed more deeply. "I sometimes think," she murmured, "that men understand a woman's motives better

"Some menI'm certain of it! I could have TOLD Judy," he repeated, exulting in the implied superiority

"I thought you would understand; that's why I wanted to speak to you," Miss Bart rejoined. "I can't make that

kind of marriage; it's impossible. But neither can I go on living as all the women in my set do. I am almost

entirely dependent on my aunt, and though she is very kind to me she makes me no regular allowance, and

lately I've lost money at cards, and I don't dare tell her about it. I have paid my card debts, of course, but there

is hardly anything left for my other expenses, and if I go on with my present life I shall be in horrible

difficulties. I have a tiny income of my own, but I'm afraid it's badly invested, for it seems to bring in less

every year, and I am so ignorant of money matters that I don't know if my aunt's agent, who looks after it, is a

good adviser." She paused a moment, and added in a lighter tone: "I didn't mean to bore you with all this, but

I want your help in making Judy understand that I can't, at present, go on living as one must live among you

all. I am going away tomorrow to join my aunt at Richfield, and I shall stay there for the rest of the autumn,

At this picture of loveliness in distress, the pathos of which was heightened by the light touch with which it

was drawn, a murmur of indignant sympathy broke from Trenor. Twentyfour hours earlier, if his wife had

consulted him on the subject of Miss Bart's future, he would have said that a girl with extravagant tastes and

no money had better marry the first rich man she could get; but with the subject of discussion at his side,

turning to him for sympathy, making him feel that he understood her better than her dearest friends, and

confirming the assurance by the appeal of her exquisite nearness, he was ready to swear that such a marriage

was a desecration, and that, as a man of honour, he was bound to do all he could to protect her from the

results of her disinterestedness. This impulse was reinforced by the reflection that if she had married Gryce

she would have been surrounded by flattery and approval, whereas, having refused to sacrifice herself to

expediency, she was left to bear the whole cost of her resistance. Hang it, if he could find a way out of such

difficulties for a professional sponge like Carry Fisher, who was simply a mental habit corresponding to the

physical titillations of the cigarette or the cocktail, he could surely do as much for a girl who appealed to his

highest sympathies, and who brought her troubles to him with the trustfulness of a child.

Trenor and Miss Bart prolonged their drive till long after sunset; and before it was over he had tried, with

some show of success, to prove to her that, if she would only trust him, he could make a handsome sum of

money for her without endangering the small amount she possessed. She was too genuinely ignorant of the

manipulations of the stockmarket to understand his technical explanations, or even perhaps to perceive that

certain points in them were slurred; the haziness enveloping the transaction served as a veil for her

embarrassment, and through the general blur her hopes dilated like lamps in a fog. She understood only that

her modest investments were to be mysteriously multiplied without risk to herself; and the assurance that this

miracle would take place within a short time, that there would be no tedious interval for suspense and

Again she felt the lightening of her load, and with it the release of repressed activities. Her immediate worries

conjured, it was easy to resolve that she would never again find herself in such straits, and as the need of

economy and selfdenial receded from her foreground she felt herself ready to meet any other demand which

life might make. Even the immediate one of letting Trenor, as they drove homeward, lean a little nearer and

rest his hand reassuringly on hers, cost her only a momentary shiver of reluctance. It was part of the game to

make him feel that her appeal had been an uncalculated impulse, provoked by the liking he inspired; and the

renewed sense of power in handling men, while it consoled her wounded vanity, helped also to obscure the

thought of the claim at which his manner hinted. He was a coarse dull man who, under all his show of

authority, was a mere supernumerary in the costly show for which his money paid: surely, to a clever girl, it

would be easy to hold him by his vanity, and so keep the obligation on his side.

The first thousand dollar cheque which Lily received with a blotted scrawl from Gus Trenor strengthened her

The transaction had justified itself by its results: she saw now how absurd it would have been to let any

primitive scruple deprive her of this easy means of appeasing her creditors. Lily felt really virtuous as she

dispensed the sum in sops to her tradesmen, and the fact that a fresh order accompanied each payment did not

lessen her sense of disinterestedness. How many women, in her place, would have given the orders without

She had found it reassuringly easy to keep Trenor in a good humour. To listen to his stories, to receive his

confidences and laugh at his jokes, seemed for the moment all that was required of her, and the complacency

with which her hostess regarded these attentions freed them of the least hint of ambiguity. Mrs. Trenor

evidently assumed that Lily's growing intimacy with her husband was simply an indirect way of returning her

"I'm so glad you and Gus have become such good friends," she said approvingly. "It's too delightful of you to

be so nice to him, and put up with all his tiresome stories. I know what they are, because I had to listen to

them when we were engagedI'm sure he is telling the same ones still. And now I shan't always have to be

asking Carry Fisher here to keep him in a goodhumour. She's a perfect vulture, you know; and she hasn't the

least moral sense. She is always getting Gus to speculate for her, and I'm sure she never pays when she

Miss Bart could shudder at this state of things without the embarrassment of a personal application. Her own

position was surely quite different. There could be no question of her not paying when she lost, since Trenor

had assured her that she was certain not to lose. In sending her the cheque he had explained that he had made

five thousand for her out of Rosedale's "tip," and had put four thousand back in the same venture, as there

was the promise of another "big rise"; she understood therefore that he was now speculating with her own

money, and that she consequently owed him no more than the gratitude which such a trifling service

demanded. She vaguely supposed that, to raise the first sum, he had borrowed on her securities; but this was a

point over which her curiosity did not linger. It was concentrated, for the moment, on the probable date of the

The news of this event was received by her some weeks later, on the occasion of Jack Stepney's marriage to

Miss Van Osburgh. As a cousin of the bridegroom, Miss Bart had been asked to act as bridesmaid; but she

had declined on the plea that, since she was much taller than the other attendant virgins, her presence might

mar the symmetry of the group. The truth was, she had attended too many brides to the altar: when next seen

there she meant to be the chief figure in the ceremony. She knew the pleasantries made at the expense of

young girls who have been too long before the public, and she was resolved to avoid such assumptions of

The Van Osburgh marriage was celebrated in the village church near the paternal estate on the Hudson. It was

the "simple country wedding" to which guests are convoyed in special trains, and from which the hordes of

the uninvited have to be fended off by the intervention of the police. While these sylvan rites were taking

place, in a church packed with fashion and festooned with orchids, the representatives of the press were

threading their way, notebook in hand, through the labyrinth of wedding presents, and the agent of a

cinematograph syndicate was setting up his apparatus at the church door. It was the kind of scene in which

Lily had often pictured herself as taking the principal part, and on this occasion the fact that she was once

more merely a casual spectator, instead of the mystically veiled figure occupying the centre of attention,

strengthened her resolve to assume the latter part before the year was over. The fact that her immediate

anxieties were relieved did not blind her to a possibility of their recurrence; it merely gave her enough

buoyancy to rise once more above her doubts and feel a renewed faith in her beauty, her power, and her

general fitness to attract a brilliant destiny. It could not be that one conscious of such aptitudes for mastery

and enjoyment was doomed to a perpetuity of failure; and her mistakes looked easily reparable in the light of

A special appositeness was given to these reflections by the discovery, in a neighbouring pew, of the serious

profile and neatlytrimmed 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 ridiculouslooking: 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

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,

"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

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 diningroom!" 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

"Isn't everything beautifully done?" she pursued, as they entered the distant drawingroom 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

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

"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 himbut that was just his joke, of course. He could never marry a girl who

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 surfacesthe 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 jewellike rareness.

"Oh, Lily, do look at this diamond pendantit's as big as a dinnerplate! Who can have given it?" Miss

Farish bent shortsightedly over the accompanying card. "MR. SIMON ROSEDALE. What, that horrid man?

Oh, yesI remember he's a friend of Jack's, and I suppose cousin Grace had to ask him here today; but she

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

"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 itit'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 moneyof course she has plenty of her ownbut she's such a quiet

stayathome 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 lovea 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 lightheartedness 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

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

Trenor, looking stouter than ever in his tight frockcoat, and unbecomingly flushed by the bridal libations,

"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

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 earshot a sense of pleasure replaced her

"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

She let her eyes shine into his with a look that made up for the handclasp he would have claimed if they had

been aloneand 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

"Hang thanking meI 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 couldbut it's quite impossible. My aunt

"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

"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 Judybut 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

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

The prospect of the nice quiet talk did not appear as allsufficing 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

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

"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 knowyou'll please remember he's a blooming bounder," he said; and with a slight laugh she

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

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

"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

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

"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 selfrespect since you showed me how poor and unimportant my

The words were hardly spoken when she realized their infelicity. It seemed to be her fate to appear at her

"I thought, on the contrary," he returned lightly, "that I had been the means of proving they were more

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

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

"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

She returned his profound bow with a slight nod, made more disdainful by the sense of Selden's surprise that

she should number Rosedale among her acquaintances. Trenor had turned away, and his companion

continued to stand before Miss Bart, alert and expectant, his lips parted in a smile at whatever she might be

about to say, and his very back conscious of the privilege of being seen with her.

It was the moment for tact; for the quick bridging over of gaps; but Selden still leaned against the window, a

detached observer of the scene, and under the spell of his observation Lily felt herself powerless to exert her

usual arts. The dread of Selden's suspecting that there was any need for her to propitiate such a man as

Rosedale checked the trivial phrases of politeness. Rosedale still stood before her in an expectant attitude,

and she continued to face him in silence, her glance just level with his polished baldness. The look put the

He reddened slowly, shifting from one foot to the other, fingered the plump black pearl in his tie, and gave a

nervous twist to his moustache; then, running his eye over her, he drew back, and said, with a sideglance at

Selden: "Upon my soul, I never saw a more ripping getup. Is that the last creation of the dressmaker you

go to see at the Benedick? If so, I wonder all the other women don't go to her too!"

The words were projected sharply against Lily's silence, and she saw in a flash that her own act had given

them their emphasis. In ordinary talk they might have passed unheeded; but following on her prolonged pause

they acquired a special meaning. She felt, without looking, that Selden had immediately seized it, and would

inevitably connect the allusion with her visit to himself. The consciousness increased her irritation against

Rosedale, but also her feeling that now, if ever, was the moment to propitiate him, hateful as it was to do so

"How do you know the other women don't go to my dressmaker?" she returned. "You see I'm not afraid to

Her glance and accent so plainly included Rosedale in this privileged circle that his small eyes puckered with

"By Jove, you needn't be!" he declared. "You could give 'em the whole outfit and win at a canter!"

"Ah, that's nice of you; and it would be nicer still if you would carry me off to a quiet corner, and get me a

glass of lemonade or some innocent drink before we all have to rush for the train."

She turned away as she spoke, letting him strut at her side through the gathering groups on the terrace, while

every nerve in her throbbed with the consciousness of what Selden must have thought of the scene.

But under her angry sense of the perverseness of things, and the light surface of her talk with Rosedale, a

third idea persisted: she did not mean to leave without an attempt to discover the truth about Percy Gryce.

Chance, or perhaps his own resolve, had kept them apart since his hasty withdrawal from Bellomont; but

Miss Bart was an expert in making the most of the unexpected, and the distasteful incidents of the last few

minutesthe revelation to Selden of precisely that part of her life which she most wished him to

ignoreincreased her longing for shelter, for escape from such humiliating contingencies. Any definite

situation would be more tolerable than this buffeting of chances, which kept her in an attitude of uneasy

Indoors there was a general sense of dispersal in the air, as of an audience gathering itself up for departure

after the principal actors had left the stage; but among the remaining groups, Lily could discover neither

Gryce nor the youngest Miss Van Osburgh. That both should be missing struck her with foreboding; and she

charmed Mr. Rosedale by proposing that they should make their way to the conservatories at the farther end

of the house. There were just enough people left in the long suite of rooms to make their progress

conspicuous, and Lily was aware of being followed by looks of amusement and interrogation, which glanced

off as harmlessly from her indifference as from her companion's selfsatisfaction. She cared very little at that

moment about being seen with Rosedale: all her thoughts were centred on the object of her search. The latter,

however, was not discoverable in the conservatories, and Lily, oppressed by a sudden conviction of failure,

was casting about for a way to rid herself of her now superfluous companion, when they came upon Mrs. Van

Osburgh, flushed and exhausted, but beaming with the consciousness of duty performed.

She glanced at them a moment with the benign but vacant eye of the tired hostess, to whom her guests have

become mere whirling spots in a kaleidoscope of fatigue; then her attention became suddenly fixed, and she

seized on Miss Bart with a confidential gesture. "My dear Lily, I haven't had time for a word with you, and

now I suppose you are just off. Have you seen Evie? She's been looking everywhere for you: she wanted to

tell you her little secret; but I daresay you have guessed it already. The engagement is not to be announced till

next weekbut you are such a friend of Mr. Gryce's that they both wished you to be the first to know of their

In Mrs. Peniston's youth, fashion had returned to town in October; therefore on the tenth day of the month the

blinds of her Fifth Avenue residence were drawn up, and the eyes of the Dying Gladiator in bronze who

occupied the drawingroom window resumed their survey of that deserted thoroughfare.

The first two weeks after her return represented to Mrs. Peniston the domestic equivalent of a religious

retreat. She "went through" the linen and blankets in the precise spirit of the penitent exploring the inner folds

of conscience; she sought for moths as the stricken soul seeks for lurking infirmities. The topmost shelf of

every closet was made to yield up its secret, cellar and coalbin were probed to their darkest depths and, as a

final stage in the lustral rites, the entire house was swathed in penitential white and deluged with expiatory

It was on this phase of the proceedings that Miss Bart entered on the afternoon of her return from the Van

Osburgh wedding. The journey back to town had not been calculated to soothe her nerves. Though Evie Van

Osburgh's engagement was still officially a secret, it was one of which the innumerable intimate friends of the

family were already possessed; and the trainful of returning guests buzzed with allusions and anticipations.

Lily was acutely aware of her own part in this drama of innuendo: she knew the exact quality of the

amusement the situation evoked. The crude forms in which her friends took their pleasure included a loud

enjoyment of such complications: the zest of surprising destiny in the act of playing a practical joke. Lily

knew well enough how to bear herself in difficult situations. She had, to a shade, the exact manner between

victory and defeat: every insinuation was shed without an effort by the bright indifference of her manner. But

she was beginning to feel the strain of the attitude; the reaction was more rapid, and she lapsed to a deeper

As was always the case with her, this moral repulsion found a physical outlet in a quickened distaste for her

surroundings. She revolted from the complacent ugliness of Mrs. Peniston's black walnut, from the slippery

gloss of the vestibule tiles, and the mingled odour of sapolio and furniturepolish that met her at the door.

The stairs were still carpetless, and on the way up to her room she was arrested on the landing by an

encroaching tide of soapsuds. Gathering up her skirts, she drew aside with an impatient gesture; and as she

did so she had the odd sensation of having already found herself in the same situation but in different

surroundings. It seemed to her that she was again descending the staircase from Selden's rooms; and looking

down to remonstrate with the dispenser of the soapy flood, she found herself met by a lifted stare which had

once before confronted her under similar circumstances. It was the charwoman of the Benedick who, resting

on crimson elbows, examined her with the same unflinching curiosity, the same apparent reluctance to let her

The woman at first seemed not to hear; then, without a word of excuse, she pushed back her pail and dragged

a wet floorcloth across the landing, keeping her eyes fixed on Lily while the latter swept by. It was

insufferable that Mrs. Peniston should have such creatures about the house; and Lily entered her room

Mrs. Peniston, however, was at the moment inaccessible to remonstrance: since early morning she had been

shut up with her maid, going over her furs, a process which formed the culminating episode in the drama of

household renovation. In the evening also Lily found herself alone, for her aunt, who rarely dined out, had

responded to the summons of a Van Alstyne cousin who was passing through town. The house, in its state of

unnatural immaculateness and order, was as dreary as a tomb, and as Lily, turning from her brief repast

between shrouded sideboards, wandered into the newlyuncovered glare of the drawingroom she felt as

though she were buried alive in the stifling limits of Mrs. Peniston's existence.

She usually contrived to avoid being at home during the season of domestic renewal. On the present occasion,

however, a variety of reasons had combined to bring her to town; and foremost among them was the fact that

she had fewer invitations than usual for the autumn. She had so long been accustomed to pass from one

countryhouse to another, till the close of the holidays brought her friends to town, that the unfilled gaps of

time confronting her produced a sharp sense of waning popularity. It was as she had said to Seldenpeople

were tired of her. They would welcome her in a new character, but as Miss Bart they knew her by heart. She

knew herself by heart too, and was sick of the old story. There were moments when she longed blindly for

anything different, anything strange, remote and untried; but the utmost reach of her imagination did not go

beyond picturing her usual life in a new setting. She could not figure herself as anywhere but in a

Meanwhile, as October advanced she had to face the alternative of returning to the Trenors or joining her aunt

in town. Even the desolating dulness of New York in October, and the soapy discomforts of Mrs. Peniston's

interior, seemed preferable to what might await her at Bellomont; and with an air of heroic devotion she

Sacrifices of this nature are sometimes received with feelings as mixed as those which actuate them; and Mrs.

Peniston remarked to her confidential maid that, if any of the family were to be with her at such a crisis

(though for forty years she had been thought competent to see to the hanging of her own curtains), she would

certainly have preferred Miss Grace to Miss Lily. Grace Stepney was an obscure cousin, of adaptable

manners and vicarious interests, who "ran in" to sit with Mrs. Peniston when Lily dined out too continuously;

who played bezique, picked up dropped stitches, read out the deaths from the Times, and sincerely admired

the purple satin drawingroom curtains, the Dying Gladiator in the window, and the sevenbyfive painting

of Niagara which represented the one artistic excess of Mr. Peniston's temperate career.

Mrs. Peniston, under ordinary circumstances, was as much bored by her excellent cousin as the recipient of

such services usually is by the person who performs them. She greatly preferred the brilliant and unreliable

Lily, who did not know one end of a crochetneedle from the other, and had frequently wounded her

susceptibilities by suggesting that the drawingroom should be "done over." But when it came to hunting for

missing napkins, or helping to decide whether the backstairs needed recarpeting, Grace's judgment was

certainly sounder than Lily's: not to mention the fact that the latter resented the smell of beeswax and brown

soap, and behaved as though she thought a house ought to keep clean of itself, without extraneous assistance.

Seated under the cheerless blaze of the drawingroom chandelierMrs. Peniston never lit the lamps unless

there was "company"Lily seemed to watch her own figure retreating down vistas of neutraltinted dulness

to a middle age like Grace Stepney's. When she ceased to amuse Judy Trenor and her friends she would have

to fall back on amusing Mrs. Peniston; whichever way she looked she saw only a future of servitude to the

whims of others, never the possibility of asserting her own eager individuality.

A ring at the doorbell, sounding emphatically through the empty house, roused her suddenly to the extent of

her boredom. It was as though all the weariness of the past months had culminated in the vacuity of that

interminable evening. If only the ring meant a summons from the outer worlda token that she was still

After some delay a parlourmaid presented herself with the announcement that there was a person outside

who was asking to see Miss Bart; and on Lily's pressing for a more specific description, she added:

Lily, to whom the name conveyed nothing, opened the door upon a woman in a battered bonnet, who stood

firmly planted under the halllight. The glare of the unshaded gas shone familiarly on her pockmarked face

and the reddish baldness visible through thin strands of strawcoloured hair. Lily looked at the charwoman

"I should like to say a word to you, Miss." The tone was neither aggressive nor conciliatory: it revealed

nothing of the speaker's errand. Nevertheless, some precautionary instinct warned Lily to withdraw beyond

She signed to Mrs. Haffen to follow her into the drawingroom, and closed the door when they had entered.

The charwoman, after the manner of her kind, stood with her arms folded in her shawl. Unwinding the

"I have something here that you might like to see, Miss Bart." She spoke the name with an unpleasant

emphasis, as though her knowing it made a part of her reason for being there. To Lily the intonation sounded

Mrs. Haffen drew back. "Well, if it comes to that, I guess it's mine as much as anybody's," she returned.

Lily looked at her perplexedly. She was sure, now, that her visitor's manner conveyed a threat; but, expert as

she was in certain directions, there was nothing in her experience to prepare her for the exact significance of

the present scene. She felt, however, that it must be ended as promptly as possible.

The woman was unabashed by the question. She was evidently prepared to answer it, but like all her class she

had to go a long way back to make a beginning, and it was only after a pause that she replied: "My husband

was janitor to the Benedick till the first of the month; since then he can't get nothing to do."

Lily remained silent and she continued: "It wasn't no fault of our own, neither: the agent had another man he

wanted the place for, and we was put out, bag and baggage, just to suit his fancy. I had a long sickness last

winter, and an operation that ate up all we'd put by; and it's hard for me and the children, Haffen being so

After all, then, she had come only to ask Miss Bart to find a place for her husband; or, more probably, to seek

the young lady's intervention with Mrs. Peniston. Lily had such an air of always getting what she wanted that

she was used to being appealed to as an intermediary, and, relieved of her vague apprehension, she took

"Oh, that we have, Miss, and it's on'y just beginning. If on'y we'd 'a got another situationbut the agent, he's

At this point Lily's impatience overcame her. "If you have anything to say to me" she interposed.

"Yes, Miss; I'm coming to that," she said. She paused again, with her eyes on Lily, and then continued, in a

tone of diffuse narrative: "When we was at the Benedick I had charge of some of the gentlemen's rooms;

leastways, I swep' 'em out on Saturdays. Some of the gentlemen got the greatest sight of letters: I never saw

the like of it. Their wastepaper baskets 'd be fairly brimming, and papers falling over on the floor. Maybe

havin' so many is how they get so careless. Some of 'em is worse than others. Mr. Selden, Mr. Lawrence

Selden, he was always one of the carefullest: burnt his letters in winter, and tore 'em in little bits in summer.

But sometimes he'd have so many he'd just bunch 'em together, the way the others did, and tear the lot

While she spoke she had loosened the string from the parcel in her hand, and now she drew forth a letter

which she laid on the table between Miss Bart and herself. As she had said, the letter was torn in two; but

with a rapid gesture she laid the torn edges together and smoothed out the page.

A wave of indignation swept over Lily. She felt herself in the presence of something vile, as yet but dimly

conjecturedthe kind of vileness of which people whispered, but which she had never thought of as

touching her own life. She drew back with a motion of disgust, but her withdrawal was checked by a sudden

discovery: under the glare of Mrs. Peniston's chandelier she had recognized the handwriting of the letter. It

was a large disjointed hand, with a flourish of masculinity which but slightly disguised its rambling

weakness, and the words, scrawled in heavy ink on paletinted notepaper, smote on Lily's ear as though she

At first she did not grasp the full import of the situation. She understood only that before her lay a letter

written by Bertha Dorset, and addressed, presumably, to Lawrence Selden. There was no date, but the

blackness of the ink proved the writing to be comparatively recent. The packet in Mrs. Haffen's hand

doubtless contained more letters of the same kinda dozen, Lily conjectured from its thickness. The letter

before her was short, but its few words, which had leapt into her brain before she was conscious of reading

them, told a long historya history over which, for the last four years, the friends of the writer had smiled

and shrugged, viewing it merely as one among the countless "good situations" of the mundane comedy. Now

the other side presented itself to Lily, the volcanic nether side of the surface over which conjecture and

innuendo glide so lightly till the first fissure turns their whisper to a shriek. Lily knew that there is nothing

society resents so much as having given its protection to those who have not known how to profit by it: it is

for having betrayed its connivance that the body social punishes the offender who is found out. And in this

case there was no doubt of the issue. The code of Lily's world decreed that a woman's husband should be the

only judge of her conduct: she was technically above suspicion while she had the shelter of his approval, or

even of his indifference. But with a man of George Dorset's temper there could be no thought of

condonationthe possessor of his wife's letters could overthrow with a touch the whole structure of her

existence. And into what hands Bertha Dorset's secret had been delivered! For a moment the irony of the

coincidence tinged Lily's disgust with a confused sense of triumph. But the disgust prevailedall her

instinctive resistances, of taste, of training, of blind inherited scruples, rose against the other feeling. Her

She moved away, as though to put as much distance as possible between herself and her visitor. "I know

nothing of these letters," she said; "I have no idea why you have brought them here.

"Mrs. Haffen faced her steadily. "I'll tell you why, Miss. I brought 'em to you to sell, because I ain't got no

other way of raising money, and if we don't pay our rent by tomorrow night we'll be put out. I never done

anythin' of the kind before, and if you'd speak to Mr. Selden or to Mr. Rosedale about getting Haffen taken on

again at the BenedickI seen you talking to Mr. Rosedale on the steps that day you come out of Mr.

The blood rushed to Lily's forehead. She understood nowMrs. Haffen supposed her to be the writer of the

letters. In the first leap of her anger she was about to ring and order the woman out; but an obscure impulse

restrained her. The mention of Selden's name had started a new train of thought. Bertha Dorset's letters were

nothing to herthey might go where the current of chance carried them! But Selden was inextricably

involved in their fate. Men do not, at worst, suffer much from such exposure; and in this instance the flash of

divination which had carried the meaning of the letters to Lily's brain had revealed also that they were

appealsrepeated and therefore probably unansweredfor the renewal of a tie which time had evidently

relaxed. Nevertheless, the fact that the correspondence had been allowed to fall into strange hands would

convict Selden of negligence in a matter where the world holds it least pardonable; and there were graver

If she weighed all these things it was unconsciously: she was aware only of feeling that Selden would wish

the letters rescued, and that therefore she must obtain possession of them. Beyond that her mind did not

travel. She had, indeed, a quick vision of returning the packet to Bertha Dorset, and of the opportunities the

restitution offered; but this thought lit up abysses from which she shrank back ashamed.

Meanwhile Mrs. Haffen, prompt to perceive her hesitation, had already opened the packet and ranged its

contents on the table. All the letters had been pieced together with strips of thin paper. Some were in small

fragments, the others merely tom in half. Though there were not many, thus spread out they nearly covered

the table. Lily's glance fell on a word here and therethen she said in a low voice: "What do you wish me to

Mrs. Haffen's face reddened with satisfaction. It was clear that the young lady was badly frightened, and Mrs.

Haffen was the woman to make the most of such fears. Anticipating an easier victory than she had foreseen,

But Miss Bart showed herself a less ready prey than might have been expected from her imprudent opening.

She refused to pay the price named, and after a moment's hesitation, met it by a counteroffer of half the

Mrs. Haffen immediately stiffened. Her hand travelled toward the outspread letters, and folding them slowly,

"I guess they're worth more to you than to me, Miss, but the poor has got to live as well as the rich," she

"You are mistaken," she said indifferently. "I have offered all I am willing to give for the letters; but there

Mrs. Haffen raised a suspicious glance: she was too experienced not to know that the traffic she was engaged

in had perils as great as its rewards, and she had a vision of the elaborate machinery of revenge which a word

She applied the corner of her shawl to her eyes, and murmured through it that no good came of bearing too

hard on the poor, but that for her part she had never been mixed up in such a business before, and that on her

honour as a Christian all she and Haffen had thought of was that the letters mustn't go any farther.

Lily stood motionless, keeping between herself and the charwoman the greatest distance compatible with

the need of speaking in low tones. The idea of bargaining for the letters was intolerable to her, but she knew

that, if she appeared to weaken, Mrs. Haffen would at once increase her original demand.

She could never afterward recall how long the duel lasted, or what was the decisive stroke which finally, after

a lapse of time recorded in minutes by the clock, in hours by the precipitate beat of her pulses, put her in

possession of the letters; she knew only that the door had finally closed, and that she stood alone with the

She had no idea of reading the letters; even to unfold Mrs. Haffen's dirty newspaper would have seemed

degrading. But what did she intend to do with its contents? The recipient of the letters had meant to destroy

them, and it was her duty to carry out his intention. She had no right to keep themto do so was to lessen

whatever merit lay in having secured their possession. But how destroy them so effectually that there should

be no second risk of their falling in such hands? Mrs. Peniston's icy drawingroom grate shone with a

forbidding lustre: the fire, like the lamps, was never lit except when there was company.

Miss Bart was turning to carry the letters upstairs when she heard the opening of the outer door, and her aunt

entered the drawingroom. Mrs. Peniston was a small plump woman, with a colourless skin lined with trivial

wrinkles. Her grey hair was arranged with precision, and her clothes looked excessively new and yet slightly

oldfashioned. They were always black and tightly fitting, with an expensive glitter: she was the kind of

woman who wore jet at breakfast. Lily had never seen her when she was not cuirassed in shining black, with

small tight boots, and an air of being packed and ready to start; yet she never started.

She looked about the drawingroom with an expression of minute scrutiny. "I saw a streak of light under one

of the blinds as I drove up: it's extraordinary that I can never teach that woman to draw them down evenly."

Having corrected the irregularity, she seated herself on one of the glossy purple armchairs; Mrs. Peniston

Then she turned her glance to Miss Bart. "My dear, you look tired; I suppose it's the excitement of the

wedding. Cornelia Van Alstyne was full of it: Molly was there, and Gerty Farish ran in for a minute to tell us

about it. I think it was odd, their serving melons before the CONSOMME: a wedding breakfast should

always begin with CONSOMME. Molly didn't care for the bridesmaids' dresses. She had it straight from

Julia Melson that they cost three hundred dollars apiece at Celeste's, but she says they didn't look it. I'm glad

you decided not to be a bridesmaid; that shade of salmonpink wouldn't have suited you." Mrs. Peniston

delighted in discussing the minutest details of festivities in which she had not taken part. Nothing would have

induced her to undergo the exertion and fatigue of attending the Van Osburgh wedding, but so great was her

interest in the event that, having heard two versions of it, she now prepared to extract a third from her niece.

Lily, however, had been deplorably careless in noting the particulars of the entertainment. She had failed to

observe the colour of Mrs. Van Osburgh's gown, and could not even say whether the old Van Osburgh Sevres

had been used at the bride's table: Mrs. Peniston, in short, found that she was of more service as a listener

"Really, Lily, I don't see why you took the trouble to go to the wedding, if you don't remember what

happened or whom you saw there. When I was a girl I used to keep the MENU of every dinner I went to, and

write the names of the people on the back; and I never threw away my cotillion favours till after your uncle's

death, when it seemed unsuitable to have so many coloured things about the house. I had a whole closetfull,

I remember; and I can tell to this day what balls I got them at. Molly Van Alstyne reminds me of what I was

at that age; it's wonderful how she notices. She was able to tell her mother exactly how the weddingdress

was cut, and we knew at once, from the fold in the back, that it must have come from Paquin."

Mrs. Peniston rose abruptly, and, advancing to the ormolu clock surmounted by a helmeted Minerva, which

throned on the chimneypiece between two malachite vases, passed her lace handkerchief between the

"I knew itthe parlourmaid never dusts there!" she exclaimed, triumphantly displaying a minute spot on

the handkerchief; then, reseating herself, she went on: "Molly thought Mrs. Dorset the bestdressed woman

at the wedding. I've no doubt her dress DID cost more than any one else's, but I can't quite like the ideaa

combination of sable and POINT DE MILAN. It seems she goes to a new man in Paris, who won't take an

order till his client has spent a day with him at his villa at Neuilly. He says he must study his subject's home

lifea most peculiar arrangement, I should say! But Mrs. Dorset told Molly about it herself: she said the

villa was full of the most exquisite things and she was really sorry to leave. Molly said she never saw her

looking better; she was in tremendous spirits, and said she had made a match between Evie Van Osburgh and

Percy Gryce. She really seems to have a very good influence on young men. I hear she is interesting herself

now in that silly Silverton boy, who has had his head turned by Carry Fisher, and has been gambling so

dreadfully. Well, as I was saying, Evie is really engaged: Mrs. Dorset had her to stay with Percy Gryce, and

managed it all, and Grace Van Osburgh is in the seventh heavenshe had almost despaired of marrying

Mrs. Peniston again paused, but this time her scrutiny addressed itself, not to the furniture, but to her niece.

"Cornelia Van Alstyne was so surprised: she had heard that you were to marry young Gryce. She saw the

Wetheralls just after they had stopped with you at Bellomont, and Alice Wetherall was quite sure there was

an engagement. She said that when Mr. Gryce left unexpectedly one morning, they all thought he had rushed

"I believe I AM tired: I think I will go to bed," she said; and Mrs. Peniston, suddenly distracted by the

discovery that the easel sustaining the late Mr. Peniston's crayonportrait was not exactly in line with the sofa

In her own room Lily turned up the gasjet and glanced toward the grate. It was as brilliantly polished as the

one below, but here at least she could burn a few papers with less risk of incurring her aunt's disapproval. She

made no immediate motion to do so, however, but dropping into a chair looked wearily about her. Her room

was large and comfortablyfurnishedit was the envy and admiration of poor Grace Stepney, who boarded;

but, contrasted with the light tints and luxurious appointments of the guestrooms where so many weeks of

Lily's existence were spent, it seemed as dreary as a prison. The monumental wardrobe and bedstead of black

walnut had migrated from Mr. Peniston's bedroom, and the magenta "flock" wallpaper, of a pattern dear to

the early 'sixties, was hung with large steel engravings of an anecdotic character. Lily had tried to mitigate

this charmless background by a few frivolous touches, in the shape of a lacedecked toilet table and a little

painted desk surmounted by photographs; but the futility of the attempt struck her as she looked about the

room. What a contrast to the subtle elegance of the setting she had pictured for herselfan apartment which

should surpass the complicated luxury of her friends' surroundings by the whole extent of that artistic

sensibility which made her feel herself their superior; in which every tint and line should combine to enhance

her beauty and give distinction to her leisure! Once more the haunting sense of physical ugliness was

intensified by her mental depression, so that each piece of the offending furniture seemed to thrust forth its

Her aunt's words had told her nothing new; but they had revived the vision of Bertha Dorset, smiling,

flattered, victorious, holding her up to ridicule by insinuations intelligible to every member of their little

group. The thought of the ridicule struck deeper than any other sensation: Lily knew every turn of the allusive

jargon which could flay its victims without the shedding of blood. Her cheek burned at the recollection, and

she rose and caught up the letters. She no longer meant to destroy them: that intention had been effaced by

Instead, she approached her desk, and lighting a taper, tied and sealed the packet; then she opened the

wardrobe, drew out a despatchbox, and deposited the letters within it. As she did so, it struck her with a

flash of irony that she was indebted to Gus Trenor for the means of buying them.

The autumn dragged on monotonously. Miss Bart had received one or two notes from Judy Trenor,

reproaching her for not returning to Bellomont; but she replied evasively, alleging the obligation to remain

with her aunt. In truth, however, she was fast wearying of her solitary existence with Mrs. Peniston, and only

the excitement of spending her newlyacquired money lightened the dulness of the days.

All her life Lily had seen money go out as quickly as it came in, and whatever theories she cultivated as to the

prudence of setting aside a part of her gains, she had unhappily no saving vision of the risks of the opposite

course. It was a keen satisfaction to feel that, for a few months at least, she would be independent of her

friends' bounty, that she could show herself abroad without wondering whether some penetrating eye would

detect in her dress the traces of Judy Trenor's refurbished splendour. The fact that the money freed her

temporarily from all minor obligations obscured her sense of the greater one it represented, and having never

before known what it was to command so large a sum, she lingered delectably over the amusement of

It was on one of these occasions that, leaving a shop where she had spent an hour of deliberation over a

dressingcase of the most complicated elegance, she ran across Miss Farish, who had entered the same

establishment with the modest object of having her watch repaired. Lily was feeling unusually virtuous. She

had decided to defer the purchase of the dressingcase till she should receive the bill for her new

operacloak, and the resolve made her feel much richer than when she had entered the shop. In this mood of

selfapproval she had a sympathetic eye for others, and she was struck by her friend's air of dejection.

Miss Farish, it appeared, had just left the committeemeeting of a struggling charity in which she was

interested. The object of the association was to provide comfortable lodgings, with a readingroom and other

modest distractions, where young women of the class employed in down town offices might find a home

when out of work, or in need of rest, and the first year's financial report showed so deplorably small a balance

that Miss Farish, who was convinced of the urgency of the work, felt proportionately discouraged by the

small amount of interest it aroused. The otherregarding sentiments had not been cultivated in Lily, and she

was often bored by the relation of her friend's philanthropic efforts, but today her quick dramatizing fancy

seized on the contrast between her own situation and that represented by some of Gerty's "cases." These were

young girls, like herself; some perhaps pretty, some not without a trace of her finer sensibilities. She pictured

herself leading such a life as theirsa life in which achievement seemed as squalid as failureand the

vision made her shudder sympathetically. The price of the dressingcase was still in her pocket; and drawing

out her little gold purse she slipped a liberal fraction of the amount into Miss Farish's hand.

The satisfaction derived from this act was all that the most ardent moralist could have desired. Lily felt a new

interest in herself as a person of charitable instincts: she had never before thought of doing good with the

wealth she had so often dreamed of possessing, but now her horizon was enlarged by the vision of a prodigal

philanthropy. Moreover, by some obscure process of logic, she felt that her momentary burst of generosity

had justified all previous extravagances, and excused any in which she might subsequently indulge. Miss

Farish's surprise and gratitude confirmed this feeling, and Lily parted from her with a sense of selfesteem

About this time she was farther cheered by an invitation to spend the Thanksgiving week at a camp in the

Adirondacks. The invitation was one which, a year earlier, would have provoked a less ready response, for

the party, though organized by Mrs. Fisher, was ostensibly given by a lady of obscure origin and indomitable

social ambitions, whose acquaintance Lily had hitherto avoided. Now, however, she was disposed to coincide

with Mrs. Fisher's view, that it didn't matter who gave the party, as long as things were well done; and doing

things well (under competent direction) was Mrs. Wellington Bry's strong point. The lady (whose consort

was known as "Welly" Bry on the Stock Exchange and in sporting circles) had already sacrificed one

husband, and sundry minor considerations, to her determination to get on; and, having obtained a hold on

Carry Fisher, she was astute enough to perceive the wisdom of committing herself entirely to that lady's

guidance. Everything, accordingly, was well done, for there was no limit to Mrs. Fisher's prodigality when

she was not spending her own money, and as she remarked to her pupil, a good cook was the best

introduction to society. If the company was not as select as the CUISINE, the Welly Brys at least had the

satisfaction of figuring for the first time in the society columns in company with one or two noticeable

names; and foremost among these was of course Miss Bart's. The young lady was treated by her hosts with

corresponding deference; and she was in the mood when such attentions are acceptable, whatever their

source. Mrs. Bry's admiration was a mirror in which Lily's selfcomplacency recovered its lost outline. No

insect hangs its nest on threads as frail as those which will sustain the weight of human vanity; and the sense

of being of importance among the insignificant was enough to restore to Miss Bart the gratifying

consciousness of power. If these people paid court to her it proved that she was still conspicuous in the world

to which they aspired; and she was not above a certain enjoyment in dazzling them by her fineness, in

Perhaps, however, her enjoyment proceeded more than she was aware from the physical stimulus of the

excursion, the challenge of crisp cold and hard exercise, the responsive thrill of her body to the influences of

the winter woods. She returned to town in a glow of rejuvenation, conscious of a clearer colour in her cheeks,

a fresh elasticity in her muscles. The future seemed full of a vague promise, and all her apprehensions were

A few days after her return to town she had the unpleasant surprise of a visit from Mr. Rosedale. He came

late, at the confidential hour when the teatable still lingers by the fire in friendly expectancy; and his manner

Lily, who had a vague sense of his being somehow connected with her lucky speculations, tried to give him

the welcome he expected; but there was something in the quality of his geniality which chilled her own, and

she was conscious of marking each step in their acquaintance by a fresh blunder.

Mr. Rosedalemaking himself promptly at home in an adjoining easychair, and sipping his tea critically,

with the comment: "You ought to go to my man for something really good"appeared totally unconscious

of the repugnance which kept her in frozen erectness behind the urn. It was perhaps her very manner of

holding herself aloof that appealed to his collector's passion for the rare and unattainable. He gave, at any

rate, no sign of resenting it and seemed prepared to supply in his own manner all the ease that was lacking in

His object in calling was to ask her to go to the opera in his box on the opening night, and seeing her hesitate

he said persuasively: "Mrs. Fisher is coming, and I've secured a tremendous admirer of yours, who'll never

As Lily's silence left him with this allusion on his hands, he added with a confidential smile: "Gus Trenor has

promised to come to town on purpose. I fancy he'd go a good deal farther for the pleasure of seeing you."

Miss Bart felt an inward motion of annoyance: it was distasteful enough to hear her name coupled with

"The Trenors are my best friendsI think we should all go a long way to see each other," she said, absorbing

Her visitor's smile grew increasingly intimate. "Well, I wasn't thinking of Mrs. Trenor at the momentthey

say Gus doesn't always, you know." Then, dimly conscious that he had not struck the right note, he added,

with a wellmeant effort at diversion: "How's your luck been going in Wall Street, by the way? I hear Gus

Lily put down the teacaddy with an abrupt gesture. She felt that her hands were trembling, and clasped them

on her knee to steady them; but her lip trembled too, and for a moment she was afraid the tremor might

communicate itself to her voice. When she spoke, however, it was in a tone of perfect lightness.

"Ah, yesI had a little bit of money to invest, and Mr. Trenor, who helps me about such matters, advised my

putting it in stocks instead of a mortgage, as my aunt's agent wanted me to do; and as it happened, I made a

lucky 'turn'is that what you call it? For you make a great many yourself, I believe."

She was smiling back at him now, relaxing the tension of her attitude, and admitting him, by imperceptible

gradations of glance and manner, a step farther toward intimacy. The protective instinct always nerved her to

successful dissimulation, and it was not the first time she had used her beauty to divert attention from an

When Mr. Rosedale took leave, he carried with him, not only her acceptance of his invitation, but a general

sense of having comported himself in a way calculated to advance his cause. He had always believed he had a

light touch and a knowing way with women, and the prompt manner in which Miss Bart (as he would have

phrased it) had "come into line," confirmed his confidence in his powers of handling this skittish sex. Her

way of glossing over the transaction with Trenor he regarded at once as a tribute to his own acuteness, and a

confirmation of his suspicions. The girl was evidently nervous, and Mr. Rosedale, if he saw no other means

of advancing his acquaintance with her, was not above taking advantage of her nervousness.

He left Lily to a passion of disgust and fear. It seemed incredible that Gus Trenor should have spoken of her

to Rosedale. With all his faults, Trenor had the safeguard of his traditions, and was the less likely to overstep

them because they were so purely instinctive. But Lily recalled with a pang that there were convivial

moments when, as Judy had confided to her, Gus "talked foolishly": in one of these, no doubt, the fatal word

had slipped from him. As for Rosedale, she did not, after the first shock, greatly care what conclusions he had

drawn. Though usually adroit enough where her own interests were concerned, she made the mistake, not

uncommon to persons in whom the social habits are instinctive, of supposing that the inability to acquire

them quickly implies a general dulness. Because a bluebottle bangs irrationally against a windowpane, the

drawingroom naturalist may forget that under less artificial conditions it is capable of measuring distances

and drawing conclusions with all the accuracy needful to its welfare; and the fact that Mr. Rosedale's

drawingroom manner lacked perspective made Lily class him with Trenor and the other dull men she knew,

and assume that a little flattery, and the occasional acceptance of his hospitality, would suffice to render him

innocuous. However, there could be no doubt of the expediency of showing herself in his box on the opening

night of the opera; and after all, since Judy Trenor had promised to take him up that winter, it was as well to

For a day or two after Rosedale's visit, Lily's thoughts were dogged by the consciousness of Trenor's

shadowy claim, and she wished she had a clearer notion of the exact nature of the transaction which seemed

to have put her in his power; but her mind shrank from any unusual application, and she was always

helplessly puzzled by figures. Moreover she had not seen Trenor since the day of the Van Osburgh wedding,

and in his continued absence the trace of Rosedale's words was soon effaced by other impressions.

When the opening night of the opera came, her apprehensions had so completely vanished that the sight of

Trenor's ruddy countenance in the back of Mr. Rosedale's box filled her with a sense of pleasant reassurance.

Lily had not quite reconciled herself to the necessity of appearing as Rosedale's guest on so conspicuous an

occasion, and it was a relief to find herself supported by any one of her own setfor Mrs. Fisher's social

To Lily, always inspirited by the prospect of showing her beauty in public, and conscious tonight of all the

added enhancements of dress, the insistency of Trenor's gaze merged itself in the general stream of admiring

looks of which she felt herself the centre. Ah, it was good to be young, to be radiant, to glow with the sense

of slenderness, strength and elasticity, of wellpoised lines and happy tints, to feel one's self lifted to a height

All means seemed justifiable to attain such an end, or rather, by a happy shifting of lights with which practice

had familiarized Miss Bart, the cause shrank to a pinpoint in the general brightness of the effect. But

brilliant young ladies, a little blinded by their own effulgence, are apt to forget that the modest satellite

drowned in their light is still performing its own revolutions and generating heat at its own rate. If Lily's

poetic enjoyment of the moment was undisturbed by the base thought that her gown and opera cloak had been

indirectly paid for by Gus Trenor, the latter had not sufficient poetry in his composition to lose sight of these

prosaic facts. He knew only that he had never seen Lily look smarter in her life, that there wasn't a woman in

the house who showed off good clothes as she did, and that hitherto he, to whom she owed the opportunity of

making this display, had reaped no return beyond that of gazing at her in company with several hundred other

It came to Lily therefore as a disagreeable surprise when, in the back of the box, where they found themselves

alone between two acts, Trenor said, without preamble, and in a tone of sulky authority: "Look here, Lily,

how is a fellow ever to see anything of you? I'm in town three or four days in the week, and you know a line

to the club will always find me, but you don't seem to remember my existence nowadays unless you want to

The fact that the remark was in distinctly bad taste did not make it any easier to answer, for Lily was vividly

aware that it was not the moment for that drawing up of her slim figure and surprised lifting of the brows by

"I'm very much flattered by your wanting to see me," she returned, essaying lightness instead, "but, unless

you have mislaid my address, it would have been easy to find me any afternoon at my aunt'sin fact, I rather

If she hoped to mollify him by this last concession the attempt was a failure, for he only replied, with the

familiar lowering of the brows that made him look his dullest when he was angry: "Hang going to your

aunt's, and wasting the afternoon listening to a lot of other chaps talking to you! You know I'm not the kind to

sit in a crowd and jawI'd always rather clear out when that sort of circus is going on. But why can't we go

off somewhere on a little lark togethera nice quiet little expedition like that drive at Bellomont, the day

He leaned unpleasantly close in order to convey this suggestion, and she fancied she caught a significant

aroma which explained the dark flush on his face and the glistening dampness of his forehead.

The idea that any rash answer might provoke an unpleasant outburst tempered her disgust with caution, and

she answered with a laugh: "I don't see how one can very well take country drives in town, but I am not

always surrounded by an admiring throng, and if you will let me know what afternoon you are coming I will

"Hang talking! That's what you always say," returned Trenor, whose expletives lacked variety. "You put me

off with that at the Van Osburgh weddingbut the plain English of it is that, now you've got what you

His voice had risen sharply with the last words, and Lily flushed with annoyance, but she kept command of

"Don't be foolish, Gus; I can't let you talk to me in that ridiculous way. If you really want to see me, why

shouldn't we take a walk in the Park some afternoon? I agree with you that it's amusing to be rustic in town,

and if you like I'll meet you there, and we'll go and feed the squirrels, and you shall take me out on the lake in

She smiled as she spoke, letting her eyes rest on his in a way that took the edge from her banter and made

"All right, then: that's a go. Will you come tomorrow? Tomorrow at three o'clock, at the end of the Mall. I'll

But to Miss Bart's relief the repetition of her promise was cut short by the opening of the box door to admit

Trenor sulkily yielded his place, and Lily turned a brilliant smile on the newcomer. She had not talked with

Dorset since their visit at Bellomont, but something in his look and manner told her that he recalled the

friendly footing on which they had last met. He was not a man to whom the expression of admiration came

easily: his long sallow face and distrustful eyes seemed always barricaded against the expansive emotions.

But, where her own influence was concerned, Lily's intuitions sent out threadlike feelers, and as she made

room for him on the narrow sofa she was sure he found a dumb pleasure in being near her. Few women took

the trouble to make themselves agreeable to Dorset, and Lily had been kind to him at Bellomont, and was

"Well, here we are, in for another six months of caterwauling," he began complainingly. "Not a shade of

difference between this year and last, except that the women have got new clothes and the singers haven't got

new voices. My wife's musical, you knowputs me through a course of this every winter. It isn't so bad on

Italian nightsthen she comes late, and there's time to digest. But when they give Wagner we have to rush

dinner, and I pay up for it. And the draughts are damnableasphyxia in front and pleurisy in the back.

There's Trenor leaving the box without drawing the curtain! With a hide like that draughts don't make any

difference. Did you ever watch Trenor eat? If you did, you'd wonder why he's alive; I suppose he's leather

inside too.But I came to say that my wife wants you to come down to our place next Sunday. Do for

heaven's sake say yes. She's got a lot of bores comingintellectual ones, I mean; that's her new line, you

know, and I'm not sure it ain't worse than the music. Some of 'em have long hair, and they start an argument

with the soup, and don't notice when things are handed to them. The consequence is the dinner gets cold, and

I have dyspepsia. That silly ass Silverton brings them to the househe writes poetry, you know, and Bertha

and he are getting tremendously thick. She could write better than any of 'em if she chose, and I don't blame

her for wanting clever fellows about; all I say is: 'Don't let me see 'em eat!'"

The gist of this strange communication gave Lily a distinct thrill of pleasure. Under ordinary circumstances,

there would have been nothing surprising in an invitation from Bertha Dorset; but since the Bellomont

episode an unavowed hostility had kept the two women apart. Now, with a start of inner wonder, Lily felt that

her thirst for retaliation had died out. IF YOU WOULD FORGIVE YOUR ENEMY, says the Malay proverb,

FIRST INFLICT A HURT ON HIM; and Lily was experiencing the truth of the apothegm. If she had

destroyed Mrs. Dorset's letters, she might have continued to hate her; but the fact that they remained in her

She uttered a smiling acceptance, hailing in the renewal of the tie an escape from Trenor's importunities.

Meanwhile the holidays had gone by and the season was beginning. Fifth Avenue had become a nightly

torrent of carriages surging upward to the fashionable quarters about the Park, where illuminated windows

and outspread awnings betokened the usual routine of hospitality. Other tributary currents crossed the

mainstream, bearing their freight to the theatres, restaurants or opera; and Mrs. Peniston, from the secluded

watchtower of her upper window, could tell to a nicety just when the chronic volume of sound was

increased by the sudden influx setting toward a Van Osburgh ball, or when the multiplication of wheels

meant merely that the opera was over, or that there was a big supper at Sherry's.

Mrs. Peniston followed the rise and culmination of the season as keenly as the most active sharer in its

gaieties; and, as a lookeron, she enjoyed opportunities of comparison and generalization such as those who

take part must proverbially forego. No one could have kept a more accurate record of social fluctuations, or

have put a more unerring finger on the distinguishing features of each season: its dulness, its extravagance, its

lack of balls or excess of divorces. She had a special memory for the vicissitudes of the "new people" who

rose to the surface with each recurring tide, and were either submerged beneath its rush or landed

triumphantly beyond the reach of envious breakers; and she was apt to display a remarkable retrospective

insight into their ultimate fate, so that, when they had fulfilled their destiny, she was almost always able to

say to Grace Stepneythe recipient of her propheciesthat she had known exactly what would happen.

This particular season Mrs. Peniston would have characterized as that in which everybody "felt poor" except

the Welly Brys and Mr. Simon Rosedale. It had been a bad autumn in Wall Street, where prices fell in

accordance with that peculiar law which proves railway stocks and bales of cotton to be more sensitive to the

allotment of executive power than many estimable citizens trained to all the advantages of selfgovernment.

Even fortunes supposed to be independent of the market either betrayed a secret dependence on it, or suffered

from a sympathetic affection: fashion sulked in its country houses, or came to town incognito, general

entertainments were discountenanced, and informality and short dinners became the fashion.

But society, amused for a while at playing Cinderella, soon wearied of the hearthside role, and welcomed the

Fairy Godmother in the shape of any magician powerful enough to turn the shrunken pumpkin back again

into the golden coach. The mere fact of growing richer at a time when most people's investments are

shrinking, is calculated to attract envious attention; and according to Wall Street rumours, Welly Bry and

Rosedale, in particular, was said to have doubled his fortune, and there was talk of his buying the

newlyfinished house of one of the victims of the crash, who, in the space of twelve short months, had made

the same number of millions, built a house in Fifth Avenue, filled a picturegallery with old masters,

entertained all New York in it, and been smuggled out of the country between a trained nurse and a doctor,

while his creditors mounted guard over the old masters, and his guests explained to each other that they had

dined with him only because they wanted to see the pictures. Mr. Rosedale meant to have a less meteoric

career. He knew he should have to go slowly, and the instincts of his race fitted him to suffer rebuffs and put

up with delays. But he was prompt to perceive that the general dulness of the season afforded him an unusual

opportunity to shine, and he set about with patient industry to form a background for his growing glory. Mrs.

Fisher was of immense service to him at this period. She had set off so many newcomers on the social stage

that she was like one of those pieces of stock scenery which tell the experienced spectator exactly what is

going to take place. But Mr. Rosedale wanted, in the long run, a more individual environment. He was

sensitive to shades of difference which Miss Bart would never have credited him with perceiving, because he

had no corresponding variations of manner; and it was becoming more and more clear to him that Miss Bart

herself possessed precisely the complementary qualities needed to round off his social personality.

Such details did not fall within the range of Mrs. Peniston's vision. Like many minds of panoramic sweep,

hers was apt to overlook the MINUTIAE of the foreground, and she was much more likely to know where

Carry Fisher had found the Welly Brys' CHEF for them, than what was happening to her own niece. She was

not, however, without purveyors of information ready to supplement her deficiencies. Grace Stepney's mind

was like a kind of moral flypaper, to which the buzzing items of gossip were drawn by a fatal attraction, and

where they hung fast in the toils of an inexorable memory. Lily would have been surprised to know how

many trivial facts concerning herself were lodged in Miss Stepney's head. She was quite aware that she was

of interest to dingy people, but she assumed that there is only one form of dinginess, and that admiration for

brilliancy is the natural expression of its inferior state. She knew that Gerty Farish admired her blindly, and

therefore supposed that she inspired the same sentiments in Grace Stepney, whom she classified as a Gerty

In reality, the two differed from each other as much as they differed from the object of their mutual

contemplation. Miss Farish's heart was a fountain of tender illusions, Miss Stepney's a precise register of facts

as manifested in their relation to herself. She had sensibilities which, to Lily, would have seemed comic in a

person with a freckled nose and red eyelids, who lived in a boardinghouse and admired Mrs. Peniston's

drawingroom; but poor Grace's limitations gave them a more concentrated inner life, as poor soil starves

certain plants into intenser efflorescence. She had in truth no abstract propensity to malice: she did not dislike

Lily because the latter was brilliant and predominant, but because she thought that Lily disliked her. It is less

mortifying to believe one's self unpopular than insignificant, and vanity prefers to assume that indifference is

a latent form of unfriendliness. Even such scant civilities as Lily accorded to Mr. Rosedale would have made

Miss Stepney her friend for life; but how could she foresee that such a friend was worth cultivating? How,

moreover, can a young woman who has never been ignored measure the pang which this injury inflicts? And,

lastly, how could Lily, accustomed to choose between a pressure of engagements, guess that she had mortally

offended Miss Stepney by causing her to be excluded from one of Mrs. Peniston's infrequent dinnerparties?

Mrs. Peniston disliked giving dinners, but she had a high sense of family obligation, and on the Jack

Stepneys' return from their honeymoon she felt it incumbent upon her to light the drawingroom lamps and

extract her best silver from the Safe Deposit vaults. Mrs. Peniston's rare entertainments were preceded by

days of heartrending vacillation as to every detail of the feast, from the seating of the guests to the pattern of

the tablecloth, and in the course of one of these preliminary discussions she had imprudently suggested to

her cousin Grace that, as the dinner was a family affair, she might be included in it. For a week the prospect

had lighted up Miss Stepney's colourless existence; then she had been given to understand that it would be

more convenient to have her another day. Miss Stepney knew exactly what had happened. Lily, to whom

family reunions were occasions of unalloyed dulness, had persuaded her aunt that a dinner of "smart" people

would be much more to the taste of the young couple, and Mrs. Peniston, who leaned helplessly on her niece

in social matters, had been prevailed upon to pronounce Grace's exile. After all, Grace could come any other

It was precisely because Miss Stepney could come any other dayand because she knew her relations were

in the secret of her unoccupied eveningsthat this incident loomed gigantically on her horizon. She was

aware that she had Lily to thank for it; and dull resentment was turned to active animosity.

Mrs. Peniston, on whom she had looked in a day or two after the dinner, laid down her crochetwork and

"Gus Trenor?Lily and Gus Trenor?" she said, growing so suddenly pale that her visitor was almost

"I don't know what you DO mean," said Mrs. Peniston, with a frightened quiver in her small fretful voice.

"Such things were never heard of in my day. And my own niece! I'm not sure I understand you. Do people

Mrs. Peniston's horror was genuine. Though she boasted an unequalled familiarity with the secret chronicles

of society, she had the innocence of the schoolgirl who regards wickedness as a part of "history," and to

whom it never occurs that the scandals she reads of in lessonhours may be repeating themselves in the next

street. Mrs. Peniston had kept her imagination shrouded, like the drawingroom furniture. She knew, of

course, that society was "very much changed," and that many women her mother would have thought

"peculiar" were now in a position to be critical about their visitinglists; she had discussed the perils of

divorce with her rector, and had felt thankful at times that Lily was still unmarried; but the idea that any

scandal could attach to a young girl's name, above all that it could be lightly coupled with that of a married

man, was so new to her that she was as much aghast as if she had been accused of leaving her carpets down

Miss Stepney, when her first fright had subsided, began to feel the superiority that greater breadth of mind

confers. It was really pitiable to be as ignorant of the world as Mrs. Peniston! She smiled at the latter's

question. "People always say unpleasant thingsand certainly they're a great deal together. A friend of mine

met them the other afternoon in the Parkquite late, after the lamps were lit. It s a pity Lily makes herself so

"CONSPICUOUS!" gasped Mrs. Peniston. She bent forward, lowering her voice to mitigate the horror.

"What sort of things do they say? That he means to get a divorce and marry her?"

Grace Stepney laughed outright. "Dear me, no! He would hardly do that. Itit's a flirtationnothing more."

"A flirtation? Between my niece and a married man? Do you mean to tell me that, with Lily's looks and

advantages, she could find no better use for her time than to waste it on a fat stupid man almost old enough to

be her father?" This argument had such a convincing ring that it gave Mrs. Peniston sufficient reassurance to

pick up her work, while she waited for Grace Stepney to rally her scattered forces.

But Miss Stepney was on the spot in an instant. "That's the worst of itpeople say she isn't wasting her time!

Every one knows, as you say, that Lily is too handsome andand charmingto devote herself to a man like

"Unless?" echoed Mrs. Peniston. Her visitor drew breath nervously. It was agreeable to shock Mrs. Peniston,

but not to shock her to the verge of anger. Miss Stepney was not sufficiently familiar with the classic drama

to have recalled in advance how bearers of bad tidings are proverbially received, but she now had a rapid

vision of forfeited dinners and a reduced wardrobe as the possible consequence of her disinterestedness. To

the honour of her sex, however, hatred of Lily prevailed over more personal considerations. Mrs. Peniston

"Unless," said Grace, leaning forward to speak with lowtoned emphasis, "unless there are material

She felt that the moment was tremendous, and remembered suddenly that Mrs. Peniston's black brocade, with

Mrs. Peniston put down her work again. Another aspect of the same idea had presented itself to her, and she

felt that it was beneath her dignity to have her nerves racked by a dependent relative who wore her old

"If you take pleasure in annoying me by mysterious insinuations," she said coldly, "you might at least have

chosen a more suitable time than just as I am recovering from the strain of giving a large dinner."

The mention of the dinner dispelled Miss Stepney's last scruples. "I don't know why I should be accused of

taking pleasure in telling you about Lily. I was sure I shouldn't get any thanks for it," she returned with a flare

of temper. "But I have some family feeling left, and as you are the only person who has any authority over

Lily, I thought you ought to know what is being said of her." "Well," said Mrs. Peniston, "what I complain of

"I didn't suppose I should have to put it so plainly. People say that Gus Trenor pays her bills."

"Pays her billsher bills?" Mrs. Peniston broke into a laugh. "I can't imagine where you can have picked up

"Oh, we all know that," interposed Miss Stepney drily. "But Lily wears a great many smart gowns"

Miss Stepney, in the beginning, had not meant to bring up this point; but Mrs. Peniston had only her own

incredulity to blame. She was like the stiffnecked unbelievers of Scripture, who must be annihilated to be

"Gambling debts? Lily?" Mrs. Peniston's voice shook with anger and bewilderment. She wondered whether

Grace Stepney had gone out of her mind. "What do you mean by her gambling debts?"

"Simply that if one plays bridge for money in Lily's set one is liable to lose a great dealand I don't suppose

"Mercy, cousin Julia, don't look at me as if I were trying to turn you against Lily! Everybody knows she is

crazy about bridge. Mrs. Gryce told me herself that it was her gambling that frightened Percy Gryceit

seems he was really taken with her at first. But, of course, among Lily's friends it's quite the custom for girls

"For being hard upand accepting attentions from men like Gus Trenorand George Dorset"

Mrs. Peniston gave another cry. "George Dorset? Is there any one else? I should like to know the worst, if

"Don't put it in that way, cousin Julia. Lately Lily has been a good deal with the Dorsets, and he seems to

admire herbut of course that's only natural. And I'm sure there is no truth in the horrid things people say;

but she HAS been spending a great deal of money this winter. Evie Van Osburgh was at Celeste's ordering

her trousseau the other dayyes, the marriage takes place next monthand she told me that Celeste showed

her the most exquisite things she was just sending home to Lily. And people say that Judy Trenor has

quarrelled with her on account of Gus; but I'm sure I'm sorry I spoke, though I only meant it as a kindness."

Mrs. Peniston's genuine incredulity enabled her to dismiss Miss Stepney with a disdain which boded ill for

that lady's prospect of succeeding to the black brocade; but minds impenetrable to reason have generally

some crack through which suspicion filters, and her visitor's insinuations did not glide off as easily as she had

expected. Mrs. Peniston disliked scenes, and her determination to avoid them had always led her to hold

herself aloof from the details of Lily's life. In her youth, girls had not been supposed to require close

supervision. They were generally assumed to be taken up with the legitimate business of courtship and

marriage, and interference in such affairs on the part of their natural guardians was considered as

unwarrantable as a spectator's suddenly joining in a game. There had of course been "fast" girls even in Mrs.

Peniston's early experience; but their fastness, at worst, was understood to be a mere excess of animal spirits,

against which there could be no graver charge than that of being "unladylike." The modern fastness appeared

synonymous with immorality, and the mere idea of immorality was as offensive to Mrs. Peniston as a smell

of cooking in the drawingroom: it was one of the conceptions her mind refused to admit.

She had no immediate intention of repeating to Lily what she had heard, or even of trying to ascertain its truth

by means of discreet interrogation. To do so might be to provoke a scene; and a scene, in the shaken state of

Mrs. Peniston's nerves, with the effects of her dinner not worn off, and her mind still tremulous with new

impressions, was a risk she deemed it her duty to avoid. But there remained in her thoughts a settled deposit

of resentment against her niece, all the denser because it was not to be cleared by explanation or discussion. It

was horrible of a young girl to let herself be talked about; however unfounded the charges against her, she

must be to blame for their having been made. Mrs. Peniston felt as if there had been a contagious illness in

the house, and she was doomed to sit shivering among her contaminated furniture.

Miss Bart had in fact been treading a devious way, and none of her critics could have been more alive to the

fact than herself; but she had a fatalistic sense of being drawn from one wrong turning to another, without

Lily, who considered herself above narrow prejudices, had not imagined that the fact of letting Gus Trenor

make a little money for her would ever disturb her selfcomplacency. And the fact in itself still seemed

harmless enough; only it was a fertile source of harmful complications. As she exhausted the amusement of

spending the money these complications be came more pressing, and Lily, whose mind could be severely

logical in tracing the causes of her illluck to others, justified herself by the thought that she owed all her

troubles to the enmity of Bertha Dorset. This enmity, however, had apparently expired in a renewal of

friendliness between the two women. Lily's visit to the Dorsets had resulted, for both, in the discovery that

they could be of use to each other; and the civilized instinct finds a subtler pleasure in making use of its

antagonist than in confounding him. Mrs. Dorset was, in fact, engaged in a new sentimental experiment, of

which Mrs. Fisher's late property, Ned Silverton, was the rosy victim; and at such moments, as Judy Trenor

had once remarked, she felt a peculiar need of distracting her husband's attention. Dorset was as difficult to

amuse as a savage; but even his selfengrossment was not proof against Lily's arts, or rather these were

especially adapted to soothe an uneasy egoism. Her experience with Percy Gryce stood her in good stead in

ministering to Dorset's humours, and if the incentive to please was less urgent, the difficulties of her situation

Intimacy with the Dorsets was not likely to lessen such difficulties on the material side. Mrs. Dorset had none

of Judy Trenor's lavish impulses, and Dorset's admiration was not likely to express itself in financial "tips,"

even had Lily cared to renew her experiences in that line. What she required, for the moment, of the Dorsets'

friendship, was simply its social sanction. She knew that people were beginning to talk of her; but this fact

did not alarm her as it had alarmed Mrs. Peniston. In her set such gossip was not unusual, and a handsome

girl who flirted with a married man was merely assumed to be pressing to the limit of her opportunities. It

was Trenor himself who frightened her. Their walk in the Park had not been a success. Trenor had married

young, and since his marriage his intercourse with women had not taken the form of the sentimental

smalltalk which doubles upon itself like the paths in a maze. He was first puzzled and then irritated to find

himself always led back to the same startingpoint, and Lily felt that she was gradually losing control of the

situation. Trenor was in truth in an unmanageable mood. In spite of his understanding with Rosedale he had

been somewhat heavily "touched" by the fall in stocks; his household expenses weighed on him, and he

seemed to be meeting, on all sides, a sullen opposition to his wishes, instead of the easy good luck he had

Mrs. Trenor was still at Bellomont, keeping the townhouse open, and descending on it now and then for a

taste of the world, but preferring the recurrent excitement of weekend parties to the restrictions of a dull

season. Since the holidays she had not urged Lily to return to Bellomont, and the first time they met in town

Lily fancied there was a shade of coldness in her manner. Was it merely the expression of her displeasure at

Miss Bart's neglect, or had disquieting rumours reached her? The latter contingency seemed improbable, yet

Lily was not without a sense of uneasiness. If her roaming sympathies had struck root anywhere, it was in her

friendship with Judy Trenor. She believed in the sincerity of her friend's affection, though it sometimes

showed itself in selfinterested ways, and she shrank with peculiar reluctance from any risk of estranging it.

But, aside from this, she was keenly conscious of the way in which such an estrangement would react on

herself. The fact that Gus Trenor was Judy's husband was at times Lily's strongest reason for disliking him,

and for resenting the obligation under which he had placed her. To set her doubts at rest, Miss Bart, soon after

the New Year, "proposed" herself for a weekend at Bellomont. She had learned in advance that the presence

of a large party would protect her from too great assiduity on Trenor's part, and his wife's telegraphic "come

Judy received her amicably. The cares of a large party always prevailed over personal feelings, and Lily saw

no change in her hostess's manner. Nevertheless, she was soon aware that the experiment of coming to

Bellomont was destined not to be successful. The party was made up of what Mrs. Trenor called "poky

people"her generic name for persons who did not play bridgeand, it being her habit to group all such

obstructionists in one class, she usually invited them together, regardless of their other characteristics. The

result was apt to be an irreducible combination of persons having no other quality in common than their

abstinence from bridge, and the antagonisms developed in a group lacking the one taste which might have

amalgamated them, were in this case aggravated by bad weather, and by the illconcealed boredom of their

host and hostess. In such emergencies, Judy would usually have turned to Lily to fuse the discordant

elements; and Miss Bart, assuming that such a service was expected of her, threw herself into it with her

accustomed zeal. But at the outset she perceived a subtle resistance to her efforts. If Mrs. Trenor's manner

toward her was unchanged, there was certainly a faint coldness in that of the other ladies. An occasional

caustic allusion to "your friends the Wellington Brys," or to "the little Jew who has bought the Greiner

housesome one told us you knew him, Miss Bart,"showed Lily that she was in disfavour with that

portion of society which, while contributing least to its amusement, has assumed the right to decide what

forms that amusement shall take. The indication was a slight one, and a year ago Lily would have smiled at it,

trusting to the charm of her personality to dispel any prejudice against her. But now she had grown more

sensitive to criticism and less confident in her power of disarming it. She knew, moreover, that if the ladies at

Bellomont permitted themselves to criticize her friends openly, it was a proof that they were not afraid of

subjecting her to the same treatment behind her back. The nervous dread lest anything in Trenor's manner

should seem to justify their disapproval made her seek every pretext for avoiding him, and she left Bellomont

In town she returned to preoccupations which, for the moment, had the happy effect of banishing troublesome

thoughts. The Welly Brys, after much debate, and anxious counsel with their newly acquired friends, had

decided on the bold move of giving a general entertainment. To attack society collectively, when one's means

of approach are limited to a few acquaintances, is like advancing into a strange country with an insufficient

number of scouts; but such rash tactics have sometimes led to brilliant victories, and the Brys had determined

to put their fate to the touch. Mrs. Fisher, to whom they had entrusted the conduct of the affair, had decided

that TABLEAUX VIVANTS and expensive music were the two baits most likely to attract the desired prey,

and after prolonged negotiations, and the kind of wirepulling in which she was known to excel, she had

induced a dozen fashionable women to exhibit themselves in a series of pictures which, by a farther miracle

of persuasion, the distinguished portrait painter, Paul Morpeth, had been prevailed upon to organize.

Lily was in her element on such occasions. Under Morpeth's guidance her vivid plastic sense, hitherto

nurtured on no higher food than dressmaking and upholstery, found eager expression in the disposal of

draperies, the study of attitudes, the shifting of lights and shadows. Her dramatic instinct was roused by the

choice of subjects, and the gorgeous reproductions of historic dress stirred an imagination which only visual

impressions could reach. But keenest of all was the exhilaration of displaying her own beauty under a new

aspect: of showing that her loveliness was no mere fixed quality, but an element shaping all emotions to fresh

Mrs. Fisher's measures had been welltaken, and society, surprised in a dull moment, succumbed to the

temptation of Mrs. Bry's hospitality. The protesting minority were forgotten in the throng which abjured and

Lawrence Selden was among those who had yielded to the proffered inducements. If he did not often act on

the accepted social axiom that a man may go where he pleases, it was because he had long since learned that

his pleasures were mainly to be found in a small group of the likeminded. But he enjoyed spectacular

effects, and was not insensible to the part money plays in their production: all he asked was that the very rich

should live up to their calling as stagemanagers, and not spend their money in a dull way. This the Brys

could certainly not be charged with doing. Their recently built house, whatever it might lack as a frame for

domesticity, was almost as welldesigned for the display of a festal assemblage as one of those airy

pleasurehalls which the Italian architects improvised to set off the hospitality of princes. The air of

improvisation was in fact strikingly present: so recent, so rapidlyevoked was the whole MISEENSCENE

that one had to touch the marble columns to learn they were not of cardboard, to seat one's self in one of the

Selden, who had put one of these seats to the test, found himself, from an angle of the ballroom, surveying

the scene with frank enjoyment. The company, in obedience to the decorative instinct which calls for fine

clothes in fine surroundings, had dressed rather with an eye to Mrs. Bry's background than to herself. The

seated throng, filling the immense room without undue crowding, presented a surface of rich tissues and

jewelled shoulders in harmony with the festooned and gilded walls, and the flushed splendours of the

Venetian ceiling. At the farther end of the room a stage had been constructed behind a proscenium arch

curtained with folds of old damask; but in the pause before the parting of the folds there was little thought of

what they might reveal, for every woman who had accepted Mrs. Bry's invitation was engaged in trying to

Gerty Farish, seated next to Selden, was lost in that indiscriminate and uncritical enjoyment so irritating to

Miss Bart's finer perceptions. It may be that Selden's nearness had something to do with the quality of his

cousin's pleasure; but Miss Farish was so little accustomed to refer her enjoyment of such scenes to her own

"Wasn't it dear of Lily to get me an invitation? Of course it would never have occurred to Carry Fisher to put

me on the list, and I should have been so sorry to miss seeing it alland especially Lily herself. Some one told

me the ceiling was by Veroneseyou would know, of course, Lawrence. I suppose it's very beautiful, but his

women are so dreadfully fat. Goddesses? Well, I can only say that if they'd been mortals and had to wear

corsets, it would have been better for them. I think our women are much handsomer. And this room is

wonderfully becomingevery one looks so well! Did you ever see such jewels? Do look at Mrs. George

Dorset's pearlsI suppose the smallest of them would pay the rent of our Girls' Club for a year. Not that I

ought to complain about the dub; every one has been so wonderfully kind. Did I tell you that Lily had given

us three hundred dollars? Wasn't it splendid of her? And then she collected a lot of money from her

friendsMrs. Bry gave us five hundred, and Mr. Rosedale a thousand. I wish Lily were not so nice to Mr.

Rosedale, but she says it's no use being rude to him, because he doesn't see the difference. She really can't

bear to hurt people's feelingsit makes me so angry when I hear her called cold and conceited! The girls at

the dub don't call her that. Do you know she has been there with me twice?yes, Lily! And you should have

seen their eyes! One of them said it was as good as a day in the country just to look at her. And she sat there,

and laughed and talked with themnot a bit as if she were being CHARITABLE, you know, but as if she

liked it as much as they did. They've been asking ever since when she's coming back; and she's promised

Miss Farish's confidences were cut short by the parting of the curtain on the first TABLEAUa group of

nymphs dancing across flowerstrewn sward in the rhythmic postures of Botticelli's Spring. TABLEAUX

VIVANTS depend for their effect not only on the happy disposal of lights and the delusiveinterposition of

layers of gauze, but on a corresponding adjustment of the mental vision. To unfurnished minds they remain,

in spite of every enhancement of art, only a superior kind of waxworks; but to the responsive fancy they

may give magic glimpses of the boundary world between fact and imagination. Selden's mind was of this

order: he could yield to visionmaking influences as completely as a child to the spell of a fairytale. Mrs.

Bry's TABLEAUX wanted none of the qualities which go to the producing of such illusions, and under

Morpeth's organizing hand the pictures succeeded each other with the rhythmic march of some splendid

frieze, in which the fugitive curves of living flesh and the wandering light of young eyes have been subdued

The scenes were taken from old pictures, and the participators had been cleverly fitted with characters suited

to their types. No one, for instance, could have made a more typical Goya than Carry Fisher, with her short

darkskinned face, the exaggerated glow of her eyes, the provocation of her franklypainted smile. A

brilliant Miss Smedden from Brooklyn showed to perfection the sumptuous curves of Titian's Daughter,

lifting her gold salver laden with grapes above the harmonizing gold of rippled hair and rich brocade, and a

young Mrs. Van Alstyne, who showed the frailer Dutch type, with high blueveined forehead and pale eyes

and lashes, made a characteristic Vandyck, in black satin, against a curtained archway. Then there were

Kauffmann nymphs garlanding the altar of Love; a Veronese supper, all sheeny textures, pearlwoven heads

and marble architecture; and a Watteau group of luteplaying comedians, lounging by a fountain in a sunlit

Each evanescent picture touched the visionbuilding faculty in Selden, leading him so far down the vistas of

fancy that even Gerty Farish's running commentary"Oh, how lovely Lulu Melson looks!" or: "That must

be Kate Corby, to the right there, in purple"did not break the spell of the illusion. Indeed, so skilfully had

the personality of the actors been subdued to the scenes they figured in that even the least imaginative of the

audience must have felt a thrill of contrast when the curtain suddenly parted on a picture which was simply

Here there could be no mistaking the predominance of personalitythe unanimous "Oh!" of the spectators

was a tribute, not to the brushwork of Reynolds's "Mrs. Lloyd" but to the flesh and blood loveliness of Lily

Bart. She had shown her artistic intelligence in selecting a type so like her own that she could embody the

person represented without ceasing to be herself. It was as though she had stepped, not out of, but into,

Reynolds's canvas, banishing the phantom of his dead beauty by the beams of her living grace. The impulse

to show herself in a splendid settingshe had thought for a moment of representing Tiepolo's

Cleopatrahad yielded to the truer instinct of trusting to her unassisted beauty, and she had purposely

chosen a picture without distracting accessories of dress or surroundings. Her pale draperies, and the

background of foliage against which she stood, served only to relieve the long dryadlike curves that swept

upward from her poised foot to her lifted arm. The noble buoyancy of her attitude, its suggestion of soaring

grace, revealed the touch of poetry in her beauty that Selden always felt in her presence, yet lost the sense of

when he was not with her. Its expression was now so vivid that for the first time he seemed to see before him

the real Lily Bart, divested of the trivialities of her little world, and catching for a moment a note of that

"Deuced bold thing to show herself in that getup; but, gad, there isn't a break in the lines anywhere, and I

These words, uttered by that experienced connoisseur, Mr. Ned Van Alstyne, whose scented white moustache

had brushed Selden's shoulder whenever the parting of the curtains presented any exceptional opportunity for

the study of the female outline, affected their hearer in an unexpected way. It was not the first time that

Selden had heard Lily's beauty lightly remarked on, and hitherto the tone of the comments had imperceptibly

coloured his view of her. But now it woke only a motion of indignant contempt. This was the world she lived

in, these were the standards by which she was fated to be measured! Does one go to Caliban for a judgment

In the long moment before the curtain fell, he had time to feel the whole tragedy of her life. It was as though

her beauty, thus detached from all that cheapened and vulgarized it, had held out suppliant hands to him from

the world in which he and she had once met for a moment, and where he felt an overmastering longing to be

He was roused by the pressure of ecstatic fingers. "Wasn't she too beautiful, Lawrence? Don't you like her

best in that simple dress? It makes her look like the real Lilythe Lily I know."

He met Gerty Farish's brimming gaze. "The Lily we know," he corrected; and his cousin, beaming at the

implied understanding, exclaimed joyfully: "I'll tell her that! She always says you dislike her."

The performance over, Selden's first impulse was to seek Miss Bart. During the interlude of music which

succeeded the TABLEAUX, the actors had seated themselves here and there in the audience, diversifying its

conventional appearance by the varied picturesqueness of their dress. Lily, however, was not among them,

and her absence served to protract the effect she had produced on Selden: it would have broken the spell to

see her too soon in the surroundings from which accident had so happily detached her. They had not met

since the day of the Van Osburgh wedding, and on his side the avoidance had been intentional. Tonight,

however, he knew that, sooner or later, he should find himself at her side; and though he let the dispersing

crowd drift him whither it would, without making an immediate effort to reach her, his procrastination was

not due to any lingering resistance, but to the desire to luxuriate a moment in the sense of complete surrender.

Lily had not an instant's doubt as to the meaning of the murmur greeting her appearance. No other tableau

had been received with that precise note of approval: it had obviously been called forth by herself, and not by

the picture she impersonated. She had feared at the last moment that she was risking too much in dispensing

with the advantages of a more sumptuous setting, and the completeness of her triumph gave her an

intoxicating sense of recovered power. Not caring to diminish the impression she had produced, she held

herself aloof from the audience till the movement of dispersal before supper, and thus had a second

opportunity of showing herself to advantage, as the throng poured slowly into the empty drawingroom

She was soon the centre of a group which increased and renewed itself as the circulation became general, and

the individual comments on her success were a delightful prolongation of the collective applause. At such

moments she lost something of her natural fastidiousness, and cared less for the quality of the admiration

received than for its quantity. Differences of personality were merged in a warm atmosphere of praise, in

which her beauty expanded like a flower in sunlight; and if Selden had approached a moment or two sooner

he would have seen her turning on Ned Van Alstyne and George Dorset the look he had dreamed of capturing

Fortune willed, however, that the hurried approach of Mrs. Fisher, as whose aidedecamp Van Alstyne was

acting, should break up the group before Selden reached the threshold of the room. One or two of the men

wandered off in search of their partners for supper, and the others, noticing Selden's approach, gave way to

him in accordance with the tacit freemasonry of the ballroom. Lily was therefore standing alone when he

reached her; and finding the expected look in her eye, he had the satisfaction of supposing he had kindled it.

The look did indeed deepen as it rested on him, for even in that moment of selfintoxication Lily felt the

quicker beat of life that his nearness always produced. She read, too, in his answering gaze the delicious

confirmation of her triumph, and for the moment it seemed to her that it was for him only she cared to be

Selden had given her his arm without speaking. She took it in silence, and they moved away, not toward the

supperroom, but against the tide which was setting thither. The faces about her flowed by like the streaming

images of sleep: she hardly noticed where Selden was leading her, till they passed through a glass doorway at

the end of the long suite of rooms and stood suddenly in the fragrant hush of a garden. Gravel grated beneath

their feet, and about them was the transparent dimness of a midsummer night. Hanging lights made emerald

caverns in the depths of foliage, and whitened the spray of a fountain falling among lilies. The magic place

was deserted: there was no sound but the splash of the water on the lilypads, and a distant drift of music that

Selden and Lily stood still, accepting the unreality of the scene as a part of their own dreamlike sensations.

It would not have surprised them to feel a summer breeze on their faces, or to see the lights among the

boughs reduplicated in the arch of a starry sky. The strange solitude about them was no stranger than the

sweetness of being alone in it together. At length Lily withdrew her hand, and moved away a step, so that her

whiterobed slimness was outlined against the dusk of the branches. Selden followed her, and still without

Suddenly she raised her eyes with the beseeching earnestness of a child. "You never speak to meyou think

"Then why do we never see each other? Why can't we be friends? You promised once to help me," she

continued in the same tone, as though the words were drawn from her unwillingly.

She made no reply, but her face turned to him with the soft motion of a flower. His own met it slowly, and

their lips touched. She drew back and rose from her seat. Selden rose too, and they stood facing each other.

"Ah, love me, love mebut don't tell me so!" she sighed with her eyes in his; and before he could speak she

had turned and slipped through the arch of boughs, disappearing in the brightness of the room beyond.

Selden stood where she had left him. He knew too well the transiency of exquisite moments to attempt to

follow her; but presently he reentered the house and made his way through the deserted rooms to the door. A

few sumptuouslycloaked ladies were already gathered in the marble vestibule, and in the coatroom he

The former, at Selden's approach, paused in the careful selection of a cigar from one of the silver boxes

"Hallo, Selden, going too? You're an Epicurean like myself, I see: you don't want to see all those goddesses

gobbling terrapin. Gad, what a show of goodlooking women; but not one of 'em could touch that little

cousin of mine. Talk of jewelswhat's a woman want with jewels when she's got herself to show? The

trouble is that all these falbals they wear cover up their figures when they've got 'em. I never knew till

"It's not her fault if everybody don't know it now," growled Trenor, flushed with the struggle of getting into

his furlined coat. "Damned bad taste, I call itno, no cigar for me. You can't tell what you're smoking in

one of these new houseslikely as not the CHEF buys the cigars. Stay for supper? Not if I know it! When

people crowd their rooms so that you can't get near any one you want to speak to, I'd as soon sup in the

elevated at the rush hour. My wife was dead right to stay away: she says life's too short to spend it in

One was from Mrs. Trenor, who announced that she was coming to town that afternoon for a flying visit, and

hoped Miss Bart would be able to dine with her. The other was from Selden. He wrote briefly that an

important case called him to Albany, whence he would be unable to return till the evening, and asked Lily to

Lily, leaning back among her pillows, gazed musingly at his letter. The scene in the Brys' conservatory had

been like a part of her dreams; she had not expected to wake to such evidence of its reality. Her first

movement was one of annoyance: this unforeseen act of Selden's added another complication to life. It was so

unlike him to yield to such an irrational impulse! Did he really mean to ask her to marry him? She had once

shown him the impossibility of such a hope, and his subsequent behaviour seemed to prove that he had

accepted the situation with a reasonableness somewhat mortifying to her vanity. It was all the more agreeable

to find that this reason ableness was maintained only at the cost of not seeing her; but, though nothing in life

was as sweet as the sense of her power over him, she saw the danger of allowing the episode of the previous

night to have a sequel. Since she could not marry him, it would be kinder to him, as well as easier for herself,

to write a line amicably evading his request to see her: he was not the man to mistake such a hint, and when

Lily sprang out of bed, and went straight to her desk. She wanted to write at once, while she could trust to the

strength of her resolve. She was still languid from her brief sleep and the exhilaration of the evening, and the

sight of Selden's writing brought back the culminating moment of her triumph: the moment when she had

read in his eyes that no philosophy was proof against her power. It would be pleasant to have that sensation

again . . . no one else could give it to her in its fulness; and she could not bear to mar her mood of luxurious

retrospection by an act of definite refusal. She took up her pen and wrote hastily: "TOMORROW AT

FOUR;" murmuring to herself, as she slipped the sheet into its envelope: "I can easily put him off when

Judy Trenor's summons was very welcome to Lily. It was the first time she had received a direct

communication from Bellomont since the close of her last visit there, and she was still visited by the dread of

having incurred Judy's displeasure. But this characteristic command seemed to reestablish their former

relations; and Lily smiled at the thought that her friend had probably summoned her in order to hear about the

Brys' entertainment. Mrs. Trenor had absented herself from the feast, perhaps for the reason so frankly

enunciated by her husband, perhaps because, as Mrs. Fisher somewhat differently put it, she "couldn't bear

new people when she hadn't discovered them herself." At any rate, though she remained haughtily at

Bellomont, Lily suspected in her a devouring eagerness to hear of what she had missed, and to learn exactly

in what measure Mrs. Wellington Bry had surpassed all previous competitors for social recognition. Lily was

quite ready to gratify this curiosity, but it happened that she was dining out. She determined, however, to see

Mrs. Trenor for a few moments, and ringing for her maid she despatched a telegram to say that she would be

She was dining with Mrs. Fisher, who had gathered at an informal feast a few of the performers of the

previous evening. There was to be plantation music in the studio after dinnerfor Mrs. Fisher, despairing of

the republic, had taken up modelling, and annexed to her small crowded house a spacious apartment, which,

whatever its uses in her hours of plastic inspiration, served at other times for the exercise of an indefatigable

hospitality. Lily was reluctant to leave, for the dinner was amusing, and she would have liked to lounge over

a cigarette and hear a few songs; but she could not break her engagement with Judy, and shortly after ten she

asked her hostess to ring for a hansom, and drove up Fifth Avenue to the Trenors'.

She waited long enough on the doorstep to wonder that Judy's presence in town was not signalized by a

greater promptness in admitting her; and her surprise was increased when, instead of the expected footman,

pushing his shoulders into a tardy coat, a shabby caretaking person in calico let her into the shrouded hall.

Trenor, however, appeared at once on the threshold of the drawingroom, welcoming her with unusual

"Come along to the den; it's the only comfortable place in the house. Doesn't this room look as if it was

waiting for the body to be brought down? Can't see why Judy keeps the house wrapped up in this awful

slippery white stuffit's enough to give a fellow pneumonia to walk through these rooms on a cold day. You

look a little pinched yourself, by the way: it's rather a sharp night out. I noticed it walking up from the club.

Come along, and I'll give you a nip of brandy, and you can toast yourself over the fire and try some of my

new Egyptiansthat little Turkish chap at the Embassy put me on to a brand that I want you to try, and if

you like 'em I'll get out a lot for you: they don't have 'em here yet, but I'll cable."

He led her through the house to the large room at the back, where Mrs. Trenor usually sat, and where, even in

her absence, there was an air of occupancy. Here, as usual, were flowers, newspapers, a littered writingtable,

and a general aspect of lamplit familiarity, so that it was a surprise not to see Judy's energetic figure start up

It was apparently Trenor himself who had been occupying the seat in question, for it was overhung by a cloud

of cigar smoke, and near it stood one of those intricate folding tables which British ingenuity has devised to

facilitate the circulation of tobacco and spirits. The sight of such appliances in a drawingroom was not

unusual in Lily's set, where smoking and drinking were unrestricted by considerations of time and place, and

her first movement was to help herself to one of the cigarettes recommended by Trenor, while she checked

Trenor, a little heated by his unusual flow of words, and perhaps by prolonged propinquity with the

"Here, now, Lily, just a drop of cognac in a little fizzy wateryou do look pinched, you know: I swear the

end of your nose is red. I'll take another glass to keep you companyJudy?Why, you see, Judy's got a

devil of a head achequite knocked out with it, poor thingshe asked me to explainmake it all right, you

knowDo come up to the fire, though; you look deadbeat, really. Now do let me make you comfortable,

He had taken her hand, halfbanteringly, and was drawing her toward a low seat by the hearth; but she

"Do you mean to say that Judy's not well enough to see me? Doesn't she want me to go upstairs?"

Trenor drained the glass he had filled for himself, and paused to set it down before he answered.

"Why, nothe fact is, she's not up to seeing anybody. It came on suddenly, you know, and she asked me to

tell you how awfully sorry she wasif she'd known where you were dining she'd have sent you word."

"She did know where I was dining; I mentioned it in my telegram. But it doesn't matter, of course. I suppose

if she's so poorly she won't go back to Bellomont in the morning, and I can come and see her then."

"Yes: exactlythat's capital. I'll tell her you'll pop in to morrow morning. And now do sit down a minute,

there's a dear, and let's have a nice quiet jaw together. You won't take a drop, just for sociability? Tell me

what you think of that cigarette. Why, don't you like it? What are you chucking it away for?"

"I am chucking it away because I must go, if you'll have the goodness to call a cab for me," Lily returned

She did not like Trenor's unusual excitability, with its too evident explanation, and the thought of being alone

with him, with her friend out of reach upstairs, at the other end of the great empty house, did not conduce to a

But Trenor, with a promptness which did not escape her, had moved between herself and the door.

"Why must you go, I should like to know? If Judy'd been here you'd have sat gossiping till all hoursand

you can't even give me five minutes! It's always the same story. Last night I couldn't get near youI went to

that damned vulgar party just to see you, and there was everybody talking about you, and asking me if I'd

ever seen anything so stunning, and when I tried to come up and say a word, you never took any notice, but

just went on laughing and joking with a lot of asses who only wanted to be able to swagger about afterward,

He paused, flushed by his diatribe, and fixing on her a look in which resentment was the ingredient she least

disliked. But she had regained her presence of mind, and stood composedly in the middle of the room, while

her slight smile seemed to put an ever increasing distance between herself and Trenor.

Across it she said: "Don't be absurd, Gus. It's past eleven, and I must really ask you to ring for a cab."

Trenor drew a step nearer and laid his hand on her arm. "Look here, Lily: won't you give me five minutes of

"Very good, then: I'll take 'em. And as many more as I want." He had squared himself on the threshold, his

Lily's quick temper was getting the better of her fears. She drew herself up and moved toward the door.

"If you have anything to say to me, you must say it another time. I shall go up to Judy unless you call a cab

He burst into a laugh. "Go upstairs and welcome, my dear; but you won't find Judy. She ain't there."

Lily cast a startled look upon him. "Do you mean that Judy is not in the housenot in town?" she exclaimed.

"That's just what I do mean," returned Trenor, his bluster sinking to sullenness under her look.

But Lily had a flash of reassurance. "If she hadn't come she would have sent me word"

The two measured each other for a moment, but Lily still saw her opponent through a blur of scorn that made

"I can't imagine your object in playing such a stupid trick on me; but if you have fully gratified your peculiar

It was the wrong note, and she knew it as she spoke. To be stung by irony it is not necessary to understand it,

and the angry streaks on Trenor's face might have been raised by an actual lash.

"Look here, Lily, don't take that high and mighty tone with me." He had again moved toward the door, and in

her instinctive shrinking from him she let him regain command of the threshold. "I DID play a trick on you; I

own up to it; but if you think I'm ashamed you're mistaken. Lord knows I've been patient enoughI've hung

round and looked like an ass. And all the while you were letting a lot of other fellows make up to you . . .

letting 'em make fun of me, I daresay . . . I'm not sharp, and can't dress my friends up to look funny, as you do

. . . but I can tell when it's being done to me . . . I can tell fast enough when I'm made a fool of . . ."

"Ah, I shouldn't have thought that!" flashed from Lily; but her laugh dropped to silence under his look.

"No; you wouldn't have thought it; but you'll know better now. That's what you're here for tonight. I've been

waiting for a quiet time to talk things over, and now I've got it I mean to make you hear me out."

His first rush of inarticulate resentment had been followed by a steadiness and concentration of tone more

disconcerting to Lily than the excitement preceding it. For a moment her presence of mind forsook her. She

had more than once been in situations where a quick swordplay of wit had been needful to cover her retreat;

Trenor had pushed a chair between herself and the door. He threw himself in it, and leaned back, looking up

"I'll tell you what I want: I want to know just where you and I stand. Hang it, the man who pays for the dinner

She flamed with anger and abasement, and the sickening need of having to conciliate where she longed to

"I don't know what you meanbut you must see, Gus, that I can't stay here talking to you at this hour"

"Gad, you go to men's houses fast enough in broad day lightstrikes me you're not always so deuced careful

The brutality of the thrust gave her the sense of dizziness that follows on a physical blow. Rosedale had

spoken thenthis was the way men talked of herShe felt suddenly weak and defenceless: there was a

throb of selfpity in her throat. But all the while another self was sharpening her to vigilance, whispering the

Trenor laughed. "Don't talk stagerot. I don't want to insult you. But a man's got his feelingsand you've

played with mine too long. I didn't begin this businesskept out of the way, and left the track clear for the

other chaps, till you rummaged me out and set to work to make an ass of meand an easy job you had of it,

too. That's the troubleit was too easy for youyou got recklessthought you could turn me inside out,

and chuck me in the gutter like an empty purse. But, by gad, that ain't playing fair: that's dodging the rules of

the game. Of course I know now what you wantedit wasn't my beautiful eyes you were afterbut I tell

He rose, squaring his shoulders aggressively, and stepped toward her with a reddening brow; but she held her

He laughed again. "Oh, I'm not asking for payment in kind. But there's such a thing as fair playand interest

"Your money? What have I to do with your money? You advised me how to invest mine . . . you must have

"It WAS all rightit is, Lily: you're welcome to all of it, and ten times more. I'm only asking for a word of

thanks from you." He was closer still, with a hand that grew formidable; and the frightened self in her was

"I HAVE thanked you; I've shown I was grateful. What more have you done than any friend might do, or any

Trenor caught her up with a sneer. "I don't doubt you've accepted as much beforeand chucked the other

chaps as you'd like to chuck me. I don't care how you settled your score with themif you fooled 'em I'm

that much to the good. Don't stare at me like thatI know I'm not talking the way a man is supposed to talk

to a girlbut, hang it, if you don't like it you can stop me quick enoughyou know I'm mad about

youdamn the money, there's plenty more of itif THAT bothers you . . . I was a brute, LilyLily!just

Over and over her the sea of humiliation brokewave crashing on wave so close that the moral shame was

one with the physical dread. It seemed to her that selfesteem would have made her invulnerablethat it was

His touch was a shock to her drowning consciousness. She drew back from him with a desperate assumption

Trenor's face darkened to rage: her recoil of abhorrence had called out the primitive man.

"Ahyou'll borrow from Selden or Rosedaleand take your chances of fooling them as you've fooled me!

Unlessunless you've settled your other scores alreadyand I'm the only one left out in the cold!"

She stood silent, frozen to her place. The wordsthe words were worse than the touch! Her heart was

beating all over her bodyin her throat, her limbs, her helpless useless hands. Her eyes travelled

despairingly about the roomthey lit on the bell, and she remembered that help was in call. Yes, but scandal

with ita hideous mustering of tongues. No, she must fight her way out alone. It was enough that the

servants knew her to be in the house with Trenorthere must be nothing to excite conjecture in her way of

To her surprise, Trenor answered the look with a speechless stare. With his last gust of words the flame had

died out, leaving him chill and humbled. It was as though a cold air had dispersed the fumes of his libations,

and the situation loomed before him black and naked as the ruins of a fire. Old habits, old restraints, the hand

of inherited order, plucked back the bewildered mind which passion had jolted from its ruts. Trenor's eye had

"Go home! Go away from here"he stammered, and turning his back on her walked toward the hearth.

The sharp release from her fears restored Lily to immediate lucidity. The collapse of Trenor's will left her in

control, and she heard herself, in a voice that was her own yet outside herself, bidding him ring for the

servant, bidding him give the order for a hansom, directing him to put her in it when it came. Whence the

strength came to her she knew not; but an insistent voice warned her that she must leave the house openly,

and nerved her, in the hall before the hovering care taker, to exchange light words with Trenor, and charge

him with the usual messages for Judy, while all the while she shook with inward loathing. On the doorstep,

with the street before her, she felt a mad throb of liberation, intoxicating as the prisoner's first draught of free

air; but the clearness of brain continued, and she noted the mute aspect of Fifth Avenue, guessed at the

lateness of the hour, and even observed a man's figurewas there something halffamiliar in its

outline?which, as she entered the hansom, turned from the opposite corner and vanished in the obscurity of

But with the turn of the wheels reaction came, and shuddering darkness closed on her. "I can't thinkI can't

think," she moaned, and leaned her head against the rattling side of the cab. She seemed a stranger to herself,

or rather there were two selves in her, the one she had always known, and a new abhorrent being to which it

found itself chained. She had once picked up, in a house where she was staying, a translation of the

EUMENIDES, and her imagination had been seized by the high terror of the scene where Orestes, in the cave

of the oracle, finds his implacable huntresses asleep, and snatches an hour's repose. Yes, the Furies might

sometimes sleep, but they were there, always there in the dark corners, and now they were awake and the iron

clang of their wings was in her brain . . . She opened her eyes and saw the streets passingthe familiar alien

streets. All she looked on was the same and yet changed. There was a great gulf fixed between today and

yesterday. Everything in the past seemed simple, natural, full of daylightand she was alone in a place of

darkness and pollution.Alone! It was the loneliness that frightened her. Her eyes fell on an illuminated

clock at a street corner, and she saw that the hands marked the half hour after eleven. Only halfpast

eleventhere were hours and hours left of the night! And she must spend them alone, shuddering sleepless

on her bed. Her soft nature recoiled from this ordeal, which had none of the stimulus of conflict to goad her

through it. Oh, the slow cold drip of the minutes on her head! She had a vision of herself lying on the black

walnut bedand the darkness would frighten her, and if she left the light burning the dreary details of the

room would brand themselves forever on her brain. She had always hated her room at Mrs. Peniston'sits

ugliness, its impersonality, the fact that nothing in it was really hers. To a torn heart uncomforted by human

nearness a room may open almost human arms, and the being to whom no four walls mean more than any

Lily had no heart to lean on. Her relation with her aunt was as superficial as that of chance lodgers who pass

on the stairs. But even had the two been in closer contact, it was impossible to think of Mrs. Peniston's mind

as offering shelter or comprehension to such misery as Lily's. As the pain that can be told is but half a pain,

so the pity that questions has little healing in its touch. What Lily craved was the darkness made by enfolding

She started up and looked forth on the passing streets. Gerty!they were nearing Gerty's corner. If only she

could reach there before this labouring anguish burst from her breast to her lipsif only she could feel the

hold of Gerty's arms while she shook in the aguefit of fear that was coming upon her! She pushed up the

door in the roof and called the address to the driver. It was not so lateGerty might still be waking. And

even if she were not, the sound of the bell would penetrate every recess of her tiny apartment, and rouse her

Gerty Farish, the morning after the Wellington Brys' entertainment, woke from dreams as happy as Lily's. If

they were less vivid in hue, more subdued to the halftints of her personality and her experience, they were

for that very reason better suited to her mental vision. Such flashes of joy as Lily moved in would have

blinded Miss Farish, who was accustomed, in the way of happiness, to such scant light as shone through the

Now she was the centre of a little illumination of her own: a mild but unmistakable beam, compounded of

Lawrence Selden's growing kindness to herself and the discovery that he extended his liking to Lily Bart. If

these two factors seem incompatible to the student of feminine psychology, it must be remembered that Gerty

had always been a parasite in the moral order, living on the crumbs of other tables, and content to look

through the window at the banquet spread for her friends. Now that she was enjoying a little private feast of

her own, it would have seemed incredibly selfish not to lay a plate for a friend; and there was no one with

As to the nature of Selden's growing kindness, Gerty would no more have dared to define it than she would

have tried to learn a butterfly's colours by knocking the dust from its wings. To seize on the wonder would be

to brush off its bloom, and perhaps see it fade and stiffen in her hand: better the sense of beauty palpitating

out of reach, while she held her breath and watched where it would alight. Yet Selden's manner at the Brys'

had brought the flutter of wings so close that they seemed to be beating in her own heart. She had never seen

him so alert, so responsive, so attentive to what she had to say. His habitual manner had an absentminded

kindliness which she accepted, and was grateful for, as the liveliest sentiment her presence was likely to

inspire; but she was quick to feel in him a change implying that for once she could give pleasure as well as

And it was so delightful that this higher degree of sympathy should be reached through their interest in Lily

Gerty's affection for her frienda sentiment that had learned to keep itself alive on the scantiest diethad

grown to active adoration since Lily's restless curiosity had drawn her into the circle of Miss Farish's work.

Lily's taste of beneficence had wakened in her a momentary appetite for welldoing. Her visit to the Girls'

Club had first brought her in contact with the dramatic contrasts of life. She had always accepted with

philosophic calm the fact that such existences as hers were pedestalled on foundations of obscure humanity.

The dreary limbo of dinginess lay all around and beneath that little illuminated circle in which life reached its

finest efflorescence, as the mud and sleet of a winter night enclose a hothouse filled with tropical flowers.

All this was in the natural order of things, and the orchid basking in its artificially created atmosphere could

But it is one thing to live comfortably with the abstract conception of poverty, another to be brought in

contact with its human embodiments. Lily had never conceived of these victims of fate otherwise than in the

mass. That the mass was composed of individual lives, innumerable separate centres of sensation, with her

own eager reachings for pleasure, her own fierce revulsions from painthat some of these bundles of feeling

were clothed in shapes not so unlike her own, with eyes meant to look on gladness, and young lips shaped for

lovethis discovery gave Lily one of those sudden shocks of pity that sometimes decentralize a life. Lily's

nature was incapable of such renewal: she could feel other demands only through her own, and no pain was

long vivid which did not press on an answering nerve. But for the moment she was drawn out of herself by

the interest of her direct relation with a world so unlike her own. She had supplemented her first gift by

personal assistance to one or two of Miss Farish's most appealing subjects, and the admiration and interest her

presence excited among the tired workers at the club ministered in a new form to her insatiable desire to

Gerty Farish was not a close enough reader of character to disentangle the mixed threads of which Lily's

philanthropy was woven. She supposed her beautiful friend to be actuated by the same motive as

herselfthat sharpening of the moral vision which makes all human suffering so near and insistent that the

other aspects of life fade into remoteness. Gerty lived by such simple formulas that she did not hesitate to

class her friend's state with the emotional "change of heart" to which her dealings with the poor had

accustomed her; and she rejoiced in the thought that she had been the humble instrument of this renewal.

Now she had an answer to all criticisms of Lily's conduct: as she had said, she knew "the real Lily," and the

discovery that Selden shared her knowledge raised her placid acceptance of life to a dazzled sense of its

possibilitiesa sense farther enlarged, in the course of the afternoon, by the receipt of a telegram from

While Gerty was lost in the happy bustle which this announcement produced in her small household, Selden

was at one with her in thinking with intensity of Lily Bart. The case which had called him to Albany was not

complicated enough to absorb all his attention, and he had the professional faculty of keeping a part of his

mind free when its services were not needed. This partwhich at the moment seemed dangerously like the

wholewas filled to the brim with the sensations of the previous evening. Selden understood the symptoms:

he recognized the fact that he was paying up, as there had always been a chance of his having to pay up, for

the voluntary exclusions of his past. He had meant to keep free from permanent ties, not from any poverty of

feeling, but because, in a different way, he was, as much as Lily, the victim of his environment. There had

been a germ of truth in his declaration to Gerty Farish that he had never wanted to marry a "nice" girl: the

adjective connoting, in his cousin's vocabulary, certain utilitarian qualities which are apt to preclude the

luxury of charm. Now it had been Selden's fate to have a charming mother: her graceful portrait, all smiles

and Cashmere, still emitted a faded scent of the undefinable quality. His father was the kind of man who

delights in a charming woman: who quotes her, stimulates her, and keeps her perennially charming. Neither

one of the couple cared for money, but their disdain of it took the form of always spending a little more than

was prudent. If their house was shabby, it was exquisitely kept; if there were good books on the shelves there

were also good dishes on the table. Selden senior had an eye for a picture, his wife an understanding of old

lace; and both were so conscious of restraint and discrimination in buying that they never quite knew how it

Though many of Selden's friends would have called his parents poor, he had grown up in an atmosphere

where restricted means were felt only as a check on aimless profusion: where the few possessions were so

good that their rarity gave them a merited relief, and abstinence was combined with elegance in a way

exemplified by Mrs. Selden's knack of wearing her old velvet as if it were new. A man has the advantage of

being delivered early from the home point of view, and before Selden left college he had learned that there

are as many different ways of going without money as of spending it. Unfortunately, he found no way as

agreeable as that practised at home; and his views of womankind in especial were tinged by the remembrance

of the one woman who had given him his sense of "values." It was from her that he inherited his detachment

from the sumptuary side of life: the stoic's carelessness of material things, combined with the Epicurean's

pleasure in them. Life shorn of either feeling appeared to him a diminished thing; and nowhere was the

blending of the two ingredients so essential as in the character of a pretty woman.

It had always seemed to Selden that experience offered a great deal besides the sentimental adventure, yet he

could vividly conceive of a love which should broaden and deepen till it became the central fact of life. What

he could not accept, in his own case, was the makeshift alternative of a relation that should be less than this:

that should leave some portions of his nature unsatisfied, while it put an undue strain on others. He would

not, in other words, yield to the growth of an affection which might appeal to pity yet leave the understanding

untouched: sympathy should no more delude him than a trick of the eyes, the grace of helplessness than a

But nowthat little BUT passed like a sponge over all his vows. His reasonedout resistances seemed for

the moment so much less important than the question as to when Lily would receive his note! He yielded

himself to the charm of trivial preoccupations, wondering at what hour her reply would be sent, with what

words it would begin. As to its import he had no doubthe was as sure of her surrender as of his own. And

so he had leisure to muse on all its exquisite details, as a hard worker, on a holiday morning, might lie still

and watch the beam of light travel gradually across his room. But if the new light dazzled, it did not blind

him. He could still discern the outline of facts, though his own relation to them had changed. He was no less

conscious than before of what was said of Lily Bart, but he could separate the woman he knew from the

vulgar estimate of her. His mind turned to Gerty Farish's words, and the wisdom of the world seemed a

groping thing beside the insight of innocence. BLESSED ARE THE PURE IN HEART, FOR THEY SHALL

SEE GODeven the hidden god in their neighbour's breast! Selden was in the state of impassioned

selfabsorption that the first surrender to love produces. His craving was for the companionship of one whose

point of view should justify his own, who should confirm, by deliberate observation, the truth to which his

intuitions had leaped. He could not wait for the midday recess, but seized a moment's leisure in court to

Reaching town, he was driven direct to his club, where he hoped a note from Miss Bart might await him. But

his box contained only a line of rapturous assent from Gerty, and he was turning away disappointed when he

He discovered Trenor, in his day clothes, sitting, with a tall glass at his elbow, behind the folds of a sporting

"Hang it, I believe every man in town has an engagement tonight. I shall have the dub to myself. You know

how I'm living this winter, rattling round in that empty house. My wife meant to come to town today, but

she's put it off again, and how is a fellow to dine alone in a room with the lookingglasses covered, and

nothing but a bottle of Harvey sauce on the sideboard? I say, Lawrence, chuck your engagement and take

pity on meit gives me the blue devils to dine alone, and there's nobody but that canting ass Wetherall in the

As Selden turned away, he noticed the dark flush on Trenor's face, the unpleasant moisture of his intensely

white forehead, the way his jewelled rings were wedged in the creases of his fat red fingers. Certainly the

beast was predominatingthe beast at the bottom of the glass. And he had heard this man's name coupled

with Lily's! Bahthe thought sickened him; all the way back to his rooms he was haunted by the sight of

On his table lay the note: Lily had sent it to his rooms. He knew what was in it before he broke the seala

grey seal with BEYOND! beneath a flying ship. Ah, he would take her beyondbeyond the ugliness, the

Gerty's little sittingroom sparkled with welcome when Selden entered it. Its modest "effects," compact of

enamel paint and ingenuity, spoke to him in the language just then sweetest to his ear. It is surprising how

little narrow walls and a low ceiling matter, when the roof of the soul has suddenly been raised. Gerty

sparkled too; or at least shone with a tempered radiance. He had never before noticed that she had

"points"really, some good fellow might do worse . . . Over the little dinner (and here, again, the effects

were wonderful) he told her she ought to marryhe was in a mood to pair off the whole world. She had

made the caramel custard with her own hands? It was sinful to keep such gifts to herself. He reflected with a

throb of pride that Lily could trim her own hatsshe had told him so the day of their walk at Bellomont.

He did not speak of Lily till after dinner. During the little repast he kept the talk on his hostess, who, fluttered

at being the centre of observation, shone as rosy as the candleshades she had manufactured for the occasion.

Selden evinced an extraordinary interest in her household arrangements: complimented her on the ingenuity

with which she had utilized every inch of her small quarters, asked how her servant managed about

afternoons out, learned that one may improvise delicious dinners in a chafingdish, and uttered thoughtful

When they were in the sittingroom again, where they fitted as snugly as bits in a puzzle, and she had brewed

the coffee, and poured it into her grandmother's eggshell cups, his eye, as he leaned back, basking in the

warm fragrance, lighted on a recent photograph of Miss Bart, and the desired transition was effected without

an effort. The photograph was well enoughbut to catch her as she had looked last night! Gerty agreed with

himnever had she been so radiant. But could photography capture that light? There had been a new look in

her facesomething different; yes, Selden agreed there had been something different. The coffee was so

exquisite that he asked for a second cup: such a contrast to the watery stuff at the club! Ah, your poor

bachelor with his impersonal club fare, alternating with the equally impersonal CUISINE of the

dinnerparty! A man who lived in lodgings missed the best part of lifehe pictured the flavourless solitude

of Trenor's repast, and felt a moment's compassion for the man . . . But to return to Lilyand again and

again he returned, questioning, conjecturing, leading Gerty on, draining her inmost thoughts of their stored

At first she poured herself out unstintingly, happy in this perfect communion of their sympathies. His

understanding of Lily helped to confirm her own belief in her friend. They dwelt together on the fact that Lily

had had no chance. Gerty instanced her generous impulsesher restlessness and discontent. The fact that her

life had never satisfied her proved that she was made for better things. She might have married more than

oncethe conventional rich marriage which she had been taught to consider the sole end of existencebut

when the opportunity came she had always shrunk from it. Percy Gryce, for instance, had been in love with

herevery one at Bellomont had supposed them to be engaged, and her dismissal of him was thought

inexplicable. This view of the Gryce incident chimed too well with Selden's mood not to be instantly adopted

by him, with a flash of retrospective contempt for what had once seemed the obvious solution. If rejection

there had beenand he wondered now that he had ever doubted it!then he held the key to the secret, and

the hillsides of Bellomont were lit up, not with sunset, but with dawn. It was he who had wavered and

disowned the face of opportunityand the joy now warming his breast might have been a familiar inmate if

It was at this point, perhaps, that a joy just trying its wings in Gerty's heart dropped to earth and lay still. She

sat facing Selden, repeating mechanically: "No, she has never been understood" and all the while she

herself seemed to be sitting in the centre of a great glare of comprehension. The little confidential room,

where a moment ago their thoughts had touched elbows like their chairs, grew to unfriendly vastness,

separating her from Selden by all the length of her new vision of the futureand that future stretched out

interminably, with her lonely figure toiling down it, a mere speck on the solitude.

"She is herself with a few people only; and you are one of them," she heard Selden saying. And again: "Be

good to her, Gerty, won't you?" and: "She has it in her to become whatever she is believed to beyou'll help

The words beat on Gerty's brain like the sound of a language which has seemed familiar at a distance, but on

approaching is found to be unintelligible. He had come to talk to her of Lilythat was all! There had been a

third at the feast she had spread for him, and that third had taken her own place. She tried to follow what he

was saying, to cling to her own part in the talkbut it was all as meaningless as the boom of waves in a

drowning head, and she felt, as the drowning may feel, that to sink would be nothing beside the pain of

Selden rose, and she drew a deep breath, feeling that soon she could yield to the blessed waves.

"Mrs. Fisher's? You say she was dining there? There's music afterward; I believe I had a card from her." He

glanced at the foolish pinkfaced clock that was drumming out this hideous hour. "A quarter past ten? I

might look in there now; the Fisher evenings are amusing. I haven't kept you up too late, Gerty? You look

tiredI've rambled on and bored you." And in the unwonted overflow of his feelings, he left a cousinly kiss

At Mrs. Fisher's, through the cigarsmoke of the studio, a dozen voices greeted Selden. A song was pending

as he entered, and he dropped into a seat near his hostess, his eyes roaming in search of Miss Bart. But she

was not there, and the discovery gave him a pang out of all proportion to its seriousness; since the note in his

breastpocket assured him that at four the next day they would meet. To his impatience it seemed

immeasurably long to wait, and halfashamed of the impulse, he leaned to Mrs. Fisher to ask, as the music

"Lily? She's just gone. She had to run off, I forget where. Wasn't she wonderful last night?"

"Who's that? Lily?" asked Jack Stepney, from the depths of a neighbouring armchair. "Really, you know,

I'm no prude, but when it comes to a girl standing there as if she was up at auctionI thought seriously of

"You didn't know Jack had become our social censor?" Mrs. Fisher said to Selden with a laugh; and Stepney

spluttered, amid the general derision: "But she's a cousin, hang it, and when a man's marriedTOWN TALK

"Yes: lively reading that was," said Mr. Ned Van Alstyne, stroking his moustache to hide the smile behind it.

"Buy the dirty sheet? No, of course not; some fellow showed it to mebut I'd heard the stories before. When

a girl's as goodlooking as that she'd better marry; then no questions are asked. In our imperfectly organized

society there is no provision as yet for the young woman who claims the privileges of marriage without

"Well, I understand Lily is about to assume them in the shape of Mr. Rosedale," Mrs. Fisher said with a

"Rosedalegood heavens!" exclaimed Van Alstyne, dropping his eyeglass. "Stepney, that's your fault for

"Oh, confound it, you know, we don't MARRY Rosedale in our family," Stepney languidly protested; but his

wife, who sat in oppressive bridal finery at the other side of the room, quelled him with the judicial reflection:

"I hear even Rosedale has been scared by the talk lately," Mrs. Fisher rejoined; "but the sight of her last night

sent him off his head. What do you think he said to me after her TABLEAU? 'My God, Mrs. Fisher, if I could

get Paul Morpeth to paint her like that, the picture'd appreciate a hundred per cent in ten years.'"

"By Jove,but isn't she about somewhere?" exclaimed Van Alstyne, restoring his glass with an uneasy

"No; she ran off while you were all mixing the punch down stairs. Where was she going, by the way? What's

"Oh, not a party, I think," said an inexperienced young Farish who had arrived late. "I put her in her cab as I

"The Trenors'?" exclaimed Mrs. Jack Stepney. "Why, the house is closedJudy telephoned me from

"Did she? That's queer. I'm sure I'm not mistaken. Well, come now, Trenor's there, anyhowIoh,

wellthe fact is, I've no head for numbers," he broke off, admonished by the nudge of an adjoining foot, and

In its unpleasant light Selden had risen and was shaking hands with his hostess. The air of the place stifled

On the doorstep he stood still, remembering a phrase of Lily's: "It seems to me you spend a good deal of time

Wellwhat had brought him there but the quest of her? It was her element, not his. But he would lift her out

of it, take her beyond! That BEYOND! on her letter was like a cry for rescue. He knew that Perseus's task is

not done when he has loosed Andromeda's chains, for her limbs are numb with bondage, and she cannot rise

and walk, but clings to him with dragging arms as he beats back to land with his burden. Well, he had

strength for bothit was her weakness which had put the strength in him. It was not, alas, a clean rush of

waves they had to win through, but a clogging morass of old associations and habits, and for the moment its

vapours were in his throat. But he would see clearer, breathe freer in her presence: she was at once the dead

weight at his breast and the spar which should float them to safety. He smiled at the whirl of metaphor with

which he was trying to build up a defence against the influences of the last hour. It was pitiable that he, who

knew the mixed motives on which social judgments depend, should still feel himself so swayed by them.

How could he lift Lily to a freer vision of life, if his own view of her was to be coloured by any mind in

The moral oppression had produced a physical craving for air, and he strode on, opening his lungs to the

reverberating coldness of the night. At the corner of Fifth Avenue Van Alstyne hailed him with an offer of

"Walking? A good thing to blow the smoke out of one's head. Now that women have taken to tobacco we live

in a bath of nicotine. It would be a curious thing to study the effect of cigarettes on the relation of the sexes.

Smoke is almost as great a solvent as divorce: both tend to obscure the moral issue."

Nothing could have been less consonant with Selden's mood than Van Alstyne's afterdinner aphorisms, but

as long as the latter confined himself to generalities his listener's nerves were in control. Happily Van Alstyne

prided himself on his summing up of social aspects, and with Selden for audience was eager to show the

sureness of his touch. Mrs. Fisher lived in an East side street near the Park, and as the two men walked down

Fifth Avenue the new architectural developments of that versatile thoroughfare invited Van Alstyne's

"That Greiner house, nowa typical rung in the social ladder! The man who built it came from a MILIEU

where all the dishes are put on the table at once. His facade is a complete architectural meal; if he had omitted

a style his friends might have thought the money had given out. Not a bad purchase for Rosedale, though:

attracts attention, and awes the Western sightseer. By and bye he'll get out of that phase, and want

something that the crowd will pass and the few pause before. Especially if he marries my clever cousin"

Selden dashed in with the query: "And the Wellington Brys'? Rather clever of its kind, don't you think?"

They were just beneath the wide white facade, with its rich restraint of line, which suggested the clever

"That's the next stage: the desire to imply that one has been to Europe, and has a standard. I'm sure Mrs. Bry

thinks her house a copy of the TRIANON; in America every marble house with gilt furniture is thought to be

a copy of the TRIANON. What a clever chap that architect is, thoughhow he takes his client's measure! He

has put the whole of Mrs. Bry in his use of the composite order. Now for the Trenors, you remember, he

chose the Corinthian: exuberant, but based on the best precedent. The Trenor house is one of his best

thingsdoesn't look like a banquetinghall turned inside out. I hear Mrs. Trenor wants to build out a new

ballroom, and that divergence from Gus on that point keeps her at Bellomont. The dimensions of the Brys'

ballroom must rankle: you may be sure she knows 'em as well as if she'd been there last night with a

yardmeasure. Who said she was in town, by the way? That Farish boy? She isn't, I know; Mrs. Stepney was

He had halted opposite the Trenors' comer, and Selden perforce stayed his steps also. The house loomed

obscure and uninhabited; only an oblong gleam above the door spoke of provisional occupancy.

"They've bought the house at the back: it gives them a hundred and fifty feet in the side street. There's where

the ballroom's to be, with a gallery connecting it: billiardroom and so on above. I suggested changing the

entrance, and carrying the drawingroom across the whole Fifth Avenue front; you see the front door

The walkingstick which Van Alstyne swung in demonstration dropped to a startled "Hallo!" as the door

opened and two figures were seen silhouetted against the halllight. At the same moment a hansom halted at

the curbstone, and one of the figures floated down to it in a haze of evening draperies; while the other, black

For an immeasurable second the two spectators of the incident were silent; then the housedoor closed, the

hansom rolled off, and the whole scene slipped by as if with the turn of a stereopticon.

"Ahemnothing of this, eh, Selden? As one of the family, I know I may count on youappearances are

"Goodnight," said Selden, turning sharply down the side street without seeing the other's extended hand.

Alone with her cousin's kiss, Gerty stared upon her thoughts. He had kissed her beforebut 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 sufficientwhy had he come to trouble her with new hopes? And

LilyLily, her best friend! Womanlike, she accused the woman. Perhaps, had it not been for Lily, her fond

imagining might have become truth. Selden had always liked herhad 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 Seldenshe saw how the force of her faith in Lily must have helped to dispel his

hesitations. She remembered, too, how Lily had talked of himshe 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 LilyLily 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 housekeeping made him appear to

She remained long in her sittingroom, 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

gimcracks, 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

The pinkfaced 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 dressingtable 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 teatray

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 selfpreservation. She wanted

happiness wanted it as fiercely and unscrupulously as Lily did, but without Lily's power of obtaining it.

A ring at the doorbell 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 dressinggown to answer the summons, and unlocking her

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

Miss Bart released her, and stood breathing brokenly, like one who has gained shelter after a long flight.

Gerty's compassionate instincts, responding to the swift call of habit, swept aside all her reluctances. Lily was

simply some one who needed helpfor 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 sittingroom

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

"Nonoyou came here, dear! You're cold and tiredsit 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

"I couldn't bear to lie awake in my room till morning. I hate my room at Aunt Julia'sso 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 wingsalone, at night, in the dark? But you don't

The words, flashing back on Gerty's last hours, struck from her a faint derisive murmur; but Lily, in the blaze

"You'll let me stay? I shan't mind when daylight comesIs it late? Is the night nearly over? It must be awful

Miss Farish caught her straying hands. "Lily, look at me! Something has happenedan accident? You have

been frightenedwhat has frightened you? Tell me if you cana word or twoso that I can help you."

"I am not frightened: that's not the word. Can you imagine looking into your glass some morning and seeing a

disfigurementsome hideous change that has come to you while you slept? Well, I seem to myself like

thatI can't bear to see myself in my own thoughtsI hate ugliness, you knowI've always turned from

"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 unfortunateand I see now how he must have

suffered, lying alone with his thoughts! But I am bada bad girlall my thoughts are badI have always

had bad people about me. Is that any excuse? I thought I could manage my own lifeI was proudproud!

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 nervecentres were smitten,

"There are bad girls in your slums. Tell medo they ever pick themselves up? Ever forget, and feel as they

"Don't they always go from bad to worse? There's no turning backyour old self rejects you, and shuts you

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

"I can't leave you, Lily. Come and lie on my bed. Your hands are frozenyou must undress and be made

warm." Gerty paused with sudden compunction. "But Mrs. Penistonit's past midnight! What will she

"There's no need to: you shall stay here. But you must tell me where you have been. Listen, Lilyit will help

you to speak!" She regained Miss Bart's hands, and pressed them against her. "Try to tell meit will clear

your poor head. Listenyou were dining at Carry Fisher's." Gerty paused and added with a flash of heroism:

At the word, Lily's face melted from locked anguish to the open misery of a child. Her lips trembled and her

"He went to find me? And I missed him! Oh, Gerty, he tried to help me. He told mehe warned me long

The name, as Gerty saw with a clutch at the heart, had loosened the springs of selfpity in her friend's dry

breast, and tear by tear Lily poured out the measure of her anguish. She had dropped sideways in Gerty's big

armchair, her head buried where lately Selden's had leaned, in a beauty of abandonment that drove home to

Gerty's aching senses the inevitableness of her own defeat. Ah, it needed no deliberate purpose on Lily's part

to rob her of her dream! To look on that prone loveliness was to see in it a natural force, to recognize that

love and power belong to such as Lily, as renunciation and service are the lot of those they despoil. But if

Selden's infatuation seemed a fatal necessity, the effect that his name produced shook Gerty's steadfastness

with a last pang. Men pass through such superhuman loves and outlive them: they are the probation subduing

the heart to human joys. How gladly Gerty would have welcomed the ministry of healing: how willingly have

soothed the sufferer back to tolerance of life! But Lily's selfbetrayal took this last hope from her. The mortal

maid on the shore is helpless against the siren who loves her prey: such victims are floated back dead from

Lily sprang up and caught her with strong hands. "Gerty, you know himyou understand himtell me; if I

went to him, if I told him everythingif I said: 'I am bad through and throughI want admiration, I want

excitement, I want money' yes, MONEY! That's my shame, Gertyand it's known, it's said of meit's

what men think of meIf I said it all to himtold him the whole storysaid plainly:'I've sunk lower than

the lowest, for I've taken what they take, and not paid as they pay'oh, Gerty, you know him, you can speak

for him: if I told him everything would he loathe me? Or would he pity me, and understand me, and save me

Gerty stood cold and passive. She knew the hour of her probation had come, and her poor heart beat wildly

against its destiny. As a dark river sweeps by under a lightning flash, she saw her chance of happiness surge

past under a flash of temptation. What prevented her from saying: "He is like other men"? She was not so

sure of him, after all! But to do so would have been like blaspheming her love. She could not put him before

herself in any light but the noblest: she must trust him to the height of her own passion.

"Yes: I know him; he will help you," she said; and in a moment Lily's passion was weeping itself out against

There was but one bed in the little flat, and the two girls lay down on it side by side when Gerty had unlaced

Lily's dress and persuaded her to put her lips to the warm tea. The light extinguished, they lay still in the

darkness, Gerty shrinking to the outer edge of the narrow couch to avoid contact with her bedfellow.

Knowing that Lily disliked to be caressed, she had long ago learned to check her demonstrative impulses

toward her friend. But tonight every fibre in her body shrank from Lily's nearness: it was torture to listen to

her breathing, and feel the sheet stir with it. As Lily turned, and settled to completer rest, a strand of her hair

swept Gerty's cheek with its fragrance. Everything about her was warm and soft and scented: even the stains

of her grief became her as raindrops do the beaten rose. But as Gerty lay with arms drawn down her side, in

the motionless narrowness of an effigy, she felt a stir of sobs from the breathing warmth beside her, and Lily

"Hold me, Gerty, hold me, or I shall think of things," she moaned; and Gerty silently slipped an arm under

her, pillowing her head in its hollow as a mother makes a nest for a tossing child. In the warm hollow Lily lay

still and her breathing grew low and regular. Her hand still dung to Gerty's as if to ward off evil dreams, but

the hold of her fingers relaxed, her head sank deeper into its shelter, and Gerty felt that she slept.

When lily woke she had the bed to herself, and the winter light was in the room.

She sat up, bewildered by the strangeness of her surroundings; then memory returned, and she looked about

her with a shiver. In the cold slant of light reflected from the back wall of a neighbouring building, she saw

her evening dress and opera cloak lying in a tawdry heap on a chair. Finery laid off is as unappetizing as the

remains of a feast, and it occurred to Lily that, at home, her maid's vigilance had always spared her the sight

of such incongruities. Her body ached with fatigue, and with the constriction of her attitude in Gerty's bed.

All through her troubled sleep she had been conscious of having no space to toss in, and the long effort to

This sense of physical discomfort was the first to assert itself; then she perceived, beneath it, a corresponding

mental prostration, a languor of horror more insufferable than the first rush of her disgust. The thought of

having to wake every morning with this weight on her breast roused her tired mind to fresh effort. She must

find some way out of the slough into which she had stumbled: it was not so much compunction as the dread

of her morning thoughts that pressed on her the need of action. But she was unutterably tired; it was

weariness to think connectedly. She lay back, looking about the poor slit of a room with a renewal of physical

distaste. The outer air, penned between high buildings, brought no freshness through the window; steamheat

was beginning to sing in a coil of dingy pipes, and a smell of cooking penetrated the crack of the door.

The door opened, and Gerty, dressed and hatted, entered with a cup of tea. Her face looked sallow and

swollen in the dreary light, and her dull hair shaded imperceptibly into the tones of her skin.

She glanced shyly at Lily, asking in an embarrassed tone how she felt; Lily answered with the same

"I must have been overtired last night; I think I had a nervous attack in the carriage," she said, as the drink

"She knows; I telephoned early, and your maid has brought your things. But won't you eat something? I

Lily could not eat; but the tea strengthened her to rise and dress under her maid's searching gaze. It was a

relief to her that Gerty was obliged to hasten away: the two kissed silently, but without a trace of the previous

Lily found Mrs. Peniston in a state of agitation. She had sent for Grace Stepney and was taking digitalis. Lily

breasted the storm of enquiries as best she could, explaining that she had had an attack of faintness on her

way back from Carry Fisher's; that, fearing she would not have strength to reach home, she had gone to Miss

Farish's instead; but that a quiet night had restored her, and that she had no need of a doctor.

This was a relief to Mrs. Peniston, who could give herself up to her own symptoms, and Lily was advised to

go and lie down, her aunt's panacea for all physical and moral disorders. In the solitude of her own room she

was brought back to a sharp contemplation of facts. Her daylight view of them necessarily differed from the

cloudy vision of the night. The winged furies were now prowling gossips who dropped in on each other for

tea. But her fears seemed the uglier, thus shorn of their vagueness; and besides, she had to act, not rave. For

the first time she forced herself to reckon up the exact amount of her debt to Trenor; and the result of this

hateful computation was the discovery that she had, in all, received nine thousand dollars from him. The

flimsy pretext on which it had been given and received shrivelled up in the blaze of her shame: she knew that

not a penny of it was her own, and that to restore her selfrespect she must at once repay the whole amount.

The inability thus to solace her outraged feelings gave her a paralyzing sense of insignificance. She was

realizing for the first time that a woman's dignity may cost more to keep up than her carriage; and that the

maintenance of a moral attribute should be dependent on dollars and cents, made the world appear a more

After luncheon, when Grace Stepney's prying eyes had been removed, Lily asked for a word with her aunt.

The two ladies went upstairs to the sittingroom, where Mrs. Peniston seated herself in her black satin

armchair tufted with yellow buttons, beside a beadwork table bearing a bronze box with a miniature of

Beatrice Cenci in the lid. Lily felt for these objects the same distaste which the prisoner may entertain for the

fittings of the courtroom. It was here that her aunt received her rare confidences, and the pinkeyed smirk of

the turbaned Beatrice was associated in her mind with the gradual fading of the smile from Mrs. Peniston's

lips. That lady's dread of a scene gave her an inexorableness which the greatest strength of character could

not have produced, since it was independent of all considerations of right or wrong; and knowing this, Lily

seldom ventured to assail it. She had never felt less like making the attempt than on the present occasion; but

she had sought in vain for any other means of escape from an intolerable situation.

Mrs. Peniston examined her critically. "You're a bad colour, Lily: this incessant rushing about is beginning to

Miss Bart saw an opening. "I don't think it's that, Aunt Julia; I've had worries," she replied.

"Ah," said Mrs. Peniston, shutting her lips with the snap of a purse closing against a beggar.

"I'm sorry to bother you with them," Lily continued, "but I really believe my faintness last night was brought

"I should have said Carry Fisher's cook was enough to account for it. She has a woman who was with Maria

Melson in 1891the spring of the year we went to Aixand I remember dining there two days before we

"I don't think I ate much; I can't eat or sleep." Lily paused, and then said abruptly: "The fact is, Aunt Julia, I

Mrs. Peniston's face clouded perceptibly, but did not express the astonishment her niece had expected. She

"No doubt you have: extremely foolish," Mrs. Peniston interposed. "I fail to see how any one with your

income, and no expensesnot to mention the handsome presents I've always given you"

"Oh, you've been most generous, Aunt Julia; I shall never forget your kindness. But perhaps you don't quite

"I don't realize that YOU are put to any expense except for your clothes and your railway fares. I expect you

Lily hesitated: her aunt's implacable memory had never been more inconvenient. "You were as kind as

"What kind of things? Clothes? How much have you spent? Let me see the billI daresay the woman is

"Oh, no, I think not: clothes have grown so frightfully expensive; and one needs so many different kinds,

Lily hesitated again. In the first place, Mme. Celeste had not yet sent in her account, and secondly, the

"She hasn't sent in the bill for my winter things, but I KNOW it's large; and there are one or two other things;

She raised the troubled loveliness of her face to Mrs. Peniston, vainly hoping that a sight so moving to the

other sex might not be without effect upon her own. But the effect produced was that of making Mrs.

"Really, Lily, you are old enough to manage your own affairs, and after frightening me to death by your

performance of last night you might at least choose a better time to worry me with such matters." Mrs.

Peniston glanced at the clock, and swallowed a tablet of digitalis. "If you owe Celeste another thousand, she

may send me her account," she added, as though to end the discussion at any cost.

"I am very sorry, Aunt Julia; I hate to trouble you at such a time; but I have really no choiceI ought to have

"I told you it was not only Celeste. Ithere are other billsmore pressingthat must be settled."

"What on earth have you been buying? Jewelry? You must have gone off your head," said Mrs. Peniston with

asperity. "But if you have run into debt, you must suffer the consequences, and put aside your monthly

income till your bills are paid. If you stay quietly here until next spring, instead of racing about all over the

country, you will have no expenses at all, and surely in four or five months you can settle the rest of your

Lily was again silent. She knew she could not hope to extract even a thousand dollars from Mrs. Peniston on

the mere plea of paying Celeste's bill: Mrs. Peniston would expect to go over the dressmaker's account, and

would make out the cheque to her and not to Lily. And yet the money must be obtained before the day was

"The debts I speak of aredifferentnot like tradesmen's bills," she began confusedly; but Mrs. Peniston's

look made her almost afraid to continue. Could it be that her aunt suspected anything? The idea precipitated

"The fact is, I've played cards a good dealbridge; the women all do it; girls tooit's expected. Sometimes

I've wonwon a good dealbut lately I've been unluckyand of course such debts can't be paid off

"Cardsyou've played cards for money? It's true, then: when I was told so I wouldn't believe it. I won't ask

if the other horrors I was told were true too; I've heard enough for the state of my nerves. When I think of the

example you've had in this house! But I suppose it's your foreign bringingupno one knew where your

Lily flushed with the recollection of certain rainy Sundays at Bellomont and with the Dorsets.

"You're hard on me, Aunt Julia: I have never really cared for cards, but a girl hates to be thought priggish and

superior, and one drifts into doing what the others do. I've had a dreadful lesson, and if you'll help me out this

Mrs. Peniston raised her hand warningly. "You needn't make any promises: it's unnecessary. When I offered

"I shall certainly not do anything to give the impression that I countenance your behaviour. If you really owe

your dressmaker, I will settle with herbeyond that I recognize no obligation to assume your debts."

Lily had risen, and stood pale and quivering before her aunt. Pride stormed in her, but humiliation forced the

cry from her lips: "Aunt Julia, I shall be disgracedI" But she could go no farther. If her aunt turned such

a stony ear to the fiction of the gambling debts, in what spirit would she receive the terrible avowal of the

"I consider that you ARE disgraced, Lily: disgraced by your conduct far more than by its results. You say

your friends have persuaded you to play cards with them; well, they may as well learn a lesson too. They can

probably afford to lose a little moneyand at any rate, I am not going to waste any of mine in paying them.

And now I must ask you to leave methis scene has been extremely painful, and I have my own health to

consider. Draw down the blinds, please; and tell Jennings I will see no one this afternoon but Grace Stepney."

Lily went up to her own room and bolted the door. She was trembling with fear and angerthe rush of the

furies' wings was in her ears. She walked up and down the room with blind irregular steps. The last door of

Suddenly her wild pacing brought her before the clock on the chimneypiece. Its hands stood at halfpast

three, and she remembered that Selden was to come to her at four. She had meant to put him off with a

wordbut 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 himshe 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

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 terriblebut afterward,

what blessedness might come! She remembered Gerty's words: "I know himhe will help you"; and her

mind clung to them as a sick person might cling to a healing relic. Oh, if he really understoodif 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 neededit would take the glow of passion to weld together the shattered

fragments of her selfesteem. 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

Four o'clock found her in the drawingroom: she was sure that Selden would be punctual. But the hour came

and passedit moved on feverishly, measured by her impatient heartbeats. 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 doorbell 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 drawingroom 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

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 teatable, his hands in his pockets, his legs a little too freely

"Pretty well donewell, 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 therethings Mrs. Fisher couldn't be

expected to see tothe champagne wasn't cold, and the coats got mixed in the coatroom. 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

He paused, and examined her attentively while she affected to rearrange the teacups.

"I've got the money," he continued, clearing his throat, "and what I want is the womanand I mean to have

He leaned forward a little, resting his hands on the head of his walkingstick. He had seen men of Ned Van

Alstyne's type bring their hats and sticks into a drawingroom, and he thought it added a touch of elegant

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

"I mean to have her too," he repeated, with a laugh intended to strengthen his selfassurance. "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

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'sand so it is with everything else. You know what I meanyou 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

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

"If you mean me, Mr. Rosedale, I am very gratefulvery much flattered; but I don't know what I have ever

"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 wereI presume I know the kind of talk that's expected under those circumstances. I'm

confoundedly gone on youthat's about the size of itand I'm just giving you a plain business statement of

the consequences. You're not very fond of meYETbut 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

He paused, and she returned with a chilling smile: "You are mistaken in one point, Mr. Rosedale: whatever I

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 mewhy do you put up that kind of bluff? You know there've been times when

you were bothereddamned botheredand 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 crossroads and try to

"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 selfrespecting 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 timetime to think of your kindnessand of what I could

She held out her hand with a charming gesture in which dismissal was shorn of its rigour. Its hint of future

leniency made Rosedale rise in obedience to it, a little flushed with his unhopedfor success, and disciplined

by the tradition of his blood to accept what was conceded, without undue haste to press for more. Something

in his prompt acquiescence frightened her; she felt behind it the stored force of a patience that might subdue

the strongest will. But at least they had parted amicably, and he was out of the house without meeting

SeldenSelden, whose continued absence now smote her with a new alarm. Rosedale had remained over an

hour, and she understood that it was now too late to hope for Selden. He would write explaining his absence,

of course; there would be a note from him by the late post. But her confession would have to be postponed;

It lay heavier when the postman's last ring brought no note for her, and she had to go upstairs to a lonely

nighta night as grim and sleepless as her tortured fancy had pictured it to Gerty. She had never learned to

live with her own thoughts, and to be confronted with them through such hours of lucid misery made the

Daylight disbanded the phantom crew, and made it clear to her that she would hear from Selden before noon;

but the day passed without his writing or coming. Lily remained at home, lunching and dining alone with her

aunt, who complained of flutterings of the heart, and talked icily on general topics. Mrs. Peniston went to bed

early, and when she had gone Lily sat down and wrote a note to Selden. She was about to ring for a

messenger to despatch it when her eye fell on a paragraph in the evening paper which lay at her elbow: "Mr.

Lawrence Selden was among the passengers sailing this afternoon for Havana and the West Indies on the

She laid down the paper and sat motionless, staring at her note. She understood now that he was never

comingthat he had gone away because he was afraid that he might come. She rose, and walking across the

floor stood gazing at herself for a long time in the brightlylit mirror above the mantel piece. The lines in

her face came out terriblyshe looked old; and when a girl looks old to herself, how does she look to other

people? She moved away, and began to wander aimlessly about the room, fitting her steps with mechanical

precision between the monstrous roses of Mrs. Peniston's Axminster. Suddenly she noticed that the pen with

which she had written to Selden still rested against the uncovered inkstand. She seated herself again, and

taking out an envelope, addressed it rapidly to Rosedale. Then she laid out a sheet of paper, and sat over it

with suspended pen. It had been easy enough to write the date, and "Dear Mr. Rosedale"but after that her

inspiration flagged. She meant to tell him to come to her, but the words refused to shape themselves. At

length she began: "I have been thinking" then she laid the pen down, and sat with her elbows on the table

Suddenly she started up at the sound of the doorbell. It was not latebarely ten o'clockand there might

still be a note from Selden, or a messageor he might be there himself, on the other side of the door! The

announcement of his sailing might have been a mistakeit might be another Lawrence Selden who had gone

to Havanaall these possibilities had time to flash through her mind, and build up the conviction that she

was after all to see or hear from him, before the drawingroom door opened to admit a servant carrying a

Lily tore it open with shaking hands, and read Bertha Dorset's name below the message: "Sailing

It came vividly to Selden on the Casino steps that Monte Carlo had, more than any other place he knew, the

gift of accommodating itself to each man's humour. His own, at the moment, lent it a festive readiness of

welcome that might well, in a disenchanted eye, have turned to paint and facility. So frank an appeal for

participationso outspoken a recognition of the holiday vein in human naturestruck refreshingly on a mind

jaded by prolonged hard work in surroundings made for the discipline of the senses. As he surveyed the white

square set in an exotic coquetry of architecture, the studied tropicality of the gardens, the groups loitering in

the foreground against mauve mountains which suggested a sublime stagesetting forgotten in a hurried

shifting of scenesas he took in the whole outspread effect of light and leisure, he felt a movement of

The New York winter had presented an interminable perspective of snowburdened days, reaching toward a

spring of raw sunshine and furious air, when the ugliness of things rasped the eye as the gritty wind ground

into the skin. Selden, immersed in his work, had told himself that external conditions did not matter to a man

in his state, and that cold and ugliness were a good tonic for relaxed sensibilities. When an urgent case

summoned him abroad to confer with a client in Paris, he broke reluctantly with the routine of the office; and

it was only now that, having despatched his business, and slipped away for a week in the south, he began to

feel the renewed zest of spectatorship that is the solace of those who take an objective interest in life.

The multiplicity of its appealsthe perpetual surprise of its contrasts and resemblances! All these tricks and

turns of the show were upon him with a spring as he descended the Casino steps and paused on the pavement

at its doors. He had not been abroad for seven yearsand what changes the renewed contact produced! If the

central depths were untouched, hardly a pinpoint of surface remained the same. And this was the very place

to bring out the completeness of the renewal. The sublimities, the perpetuities, might have left him as he was:

but this tent pitched for a day's revelry spread a roof of oblivion between himself and his fixed sky.

It was midApril, and one felt that the revelry had reached its climax and that the desultory groups in the

square and gardens would soon dissolve and reform in other scenes. Meanwhile the last moments of the

performance seemed to gain an added brightness from the hovering threat of the curtain. The quality of the

air, the exuberance of the flowers, the blue intensity of sea and sky, produced the effect of a closing

TABLEAU, when all the lights are turned on at once. This impression was presently heightened by the way

in which a consciously conspicuous group of people advanced to the middle front, and stood before Selden

with the air of the chief performers gathered together by the exigencies of the final effect. Their appearance

confirmed the impression that the show had been staged regardless of expense, and emphasized its

resemblance to one of those "costumeplays" in which the protagonists walk through the passions without

displacing a drapery. The ladies stood in unrelated attitudes calculated to isolate their effects, and the men

hung about them as irrelevantly as stage heroes whose tailors are named in the programme. It was Selden

himself who unwittingly fused the group by arresting the attention of one of its members.

"Why, Mr. Selden!" Mrs. Fisher exclaimed in surprise; and with a gesture toward Mrs. Jack Stepney and Mrs.

Wellington Bry, she added plaintively: "We're starving to death because we can't decide where to lunch."

Welcomed into their group, and made the confidant of their difficulty, Selden learned with amusement that

there were several places where one might miss something by not lunching, or forfeit something by lunching;

so that eating actually became a minor consideration on the very spot consecrated to its rites.

"Of course one gets the best things at the TERRASSEbut that looks as if one hadn't any other reason for

being there: the Americans who don't know any one always rush for the best food. And the Duchess of

Mrs. Bry, to Mrs. Fisher's despair, had not progressed beyond the point of weighing her social alternatives in

public. She could not acquire the air of doing things because she wanted to, and making her choice the final

Mr. Bry, a short pale man, with a business face and leisure clothes, met the dilemma hilariously.

"I guess the Duchess goes where it's cheapest, unless she can get her meal paid for. If you offered to blow her

But Mrs. Jack Stepney interposed. "The Grand Dukes go to that little place at the Condamine. Lord Hubert

Lord Hubert Dacey, a slender shabbylooking man, with a charming worn smile, and the air of having spent

his best years in piloting the wealthy to the right restaurant, assented with gentle emphasis: "It's quite that."

"PEAS?" said Mr. Bry contemptuously. "Can they cook terrapin? It just shows," he continued, "what these

Jack Stepney intervened with authority. "I don't know that I quite agree with Dacey: there's a little hole in

Paris, off the Quai Voltairebut in any case, I can't advise the Condamine GARGOTE; at least not with

ladies." Stepney, since his marriage, had thickened and grown prudish, as the Van Osburgh husbands were

apt to do; but his wife, to his surprise and discomfiture, had developed an earthshaking fastness of gait

"That's where we'll go then!" she declared, with a heavy toss of her plumage. "I'm so tired of the

TERRASSE: it's as dull as one of mother's dinners. And Lord Hubert has promised to tell us who all the

awful people are at the other placehasn't he, Carry? Now, Jack, don't look so solemn!"

"No doubt Dacey can tell you that too," remarked Stepney, with an ironic intention which the other received

with the light murmur, "I can at least FIND OUT, my dear fellow"; and Mrs. Bry having declared that she

couldn't walk another step, the party hailed two or three of the light phaetons which hover attentively on the

Their destination was one of the little restaurants overhanging the boulevard which dips steeply down from

Monte Carlo to the low intermediate quarter along the quay. From the window in which they presently found

themselves installed, they overlooked the intense blue curve of the harbour, set between the verdure of twin

promontories: to the right, the cliff of Monaco, topped by the mediaeval silhouette of its church and castle, to

the left the terraces and pinnacles of the gamblinghouse. Between the two, the waters of the bay were

furrowed by a light coming and going of pleasurecraft, through which, just at the culminating moment of

luncheon, the majestic advance of a great steamyacht drew the company's attention from the peas.

"By Jove, I believe that's the Dorsets back!" Stepney exclaimed; and Lord Hubert, dropping his single

"I guess they feel as if they had: there's only one uptodate hotel in the whole place," said Mr. Bry

"It was Ned Silverton's ideabut poor Dorset and Lily Bart must have been horribly bored." Mrs. Fisher

"It's most awfully jolly having Miss Bart back," said Lord Hubert, in his mild deliberate voice; and Mrs. Bry

added ingenuously: "I daresay the Duchess will dine with us, now that Lily's here."

"The Duchess admires her immensely: I'm sure she'd be charmed to have it arranged," Lord Hubert agreed,

with the professional promptness of the man accustomed to draw his profit from facilitating social contacts:

"Lily has been a tremendous success here," Mrs. Fisher continued, still addressing herself confidentially to

Selden. "She looks ten years youngerI never saw her so handsome. Lady Skiddaw took her everywhere in

Cannes, and the Crown Princess of Macedonia had her to stop for a week at Cimiez. People say that was one

reason why Bertha whisked the yacht off to Sicily: the Crown Princess didn't take much notice of her, and she

Selden made no reply. He was vaguely aware that Miss Bart was cruising in the Mediterranean with the

Dorsets, but it had not occurred to him that there was any chance of running across her on the Riviera, where

the season was virtually at an end. As he leaned back, silently contemplating his filigree cup of Turkish

coffee, he was trying to put some order in his thoughts, to tell himself how the news of her nearness was

really affecting him. He had a personal detachment enabling him, even in moments of emotional

highpressure, to get a fairly clear view of his feelings, and he was sincerely surprised by the disturbance

which the sight of the Sabrina had produced in him. He had reason to think that his three months of

engrossing professional work, following on the sharp shock of his disillusionment, had cleared his mind of its

sentimental vapours. The feeling he had nourished and given prominence to was one of thankfulness for his

escape: he was like a traveller so grateful for rescue from a dangerous accident that at first he is hardly

conscious of his bruises. Now he suddenly felt the latent ache, and realized that after all he had not come off

An hour later, at Mrs. Fisher's side in the Casino gardens, he was trying to find fresh reasons for forgetting

the injury received in the contemplation of the peril avoided. The party had dispersed with the loitering

indecision characteristic of social movements at Monte Carlo, where the whole place, and the long gilded

hours of the day, seem to offer an infinity of ways of being idle. Lord Hubert Dacey had finally gone off in

quest of the Duchess of Beltshire, charged by Mrs. Bry with the delicate negotiation of securing that lady's

presence at dinner, the Stepneys had left for Nice in their motorcar, and Mr. Bry had departed to take his

place in the pigeon shooting match which was at the moment engaging his high est faculties.

Mrs. Bry, who had a tendency to grow red and stertorous after luncheon, had been judiciously prevailed upon

by Carry Fisher to withdraw to her hotel for an hour's repose; and Selden and his companion were thus left to

a stroll propitious to confidences. The stroll soon resolved itself into a tranquil session on a bench overhung

with laurel and Banksian roses, from which they caught a dazzle of blue sea between marble balusters, and

the fiery shafts of cactusblossoms shooting meteorlike from the rock. The soft shade of their niche, and the

adjacent glitter of the air, were conducive to an easy lounging mood, and to the smoking of many cigarettes;

and Selden, yielding to these influences, suffered Mrs. Fisher to unfold to him the history of her recent

experiences. She had come abroad with the Welly Brys at the moment when fashion flees the inclemency of

the New York spring. The Brys, intoxicated by their first success, already thirsted for new kingdoms, and

Mrs. Fisher, viewing the Riviera as an easy introduction to London society, had guided their course thither.

She had affiliations of her own in every capital, and a facility for picking them up again after long absences;

and the carefully disseminated rumour of the Brys' wealth had at once gathered about them a group of

"But things are not going as well as I expected," Mrs. Fisher frankly admitted. "It's all very well to say that

every body with money can get into society; but it would be truer to say that NEARLY everybody can. And

the London market is so glutted with new Americans that, to succeed there now, they must be either very

clever or awfully queer. The Brys are neither. HE would get on well enough if she'd let him alone; they like

his slang and his brag and his blunders. But Louisa spoils it all by trying to repress him and put herself

forward. If she'd be natural herselffat and vulgar and bouncingit would be all right; but as soon as she

meets anybody smart she tries to be slender and queenly. She tried it with the Duchess of Beltshire and Lady

Skiddaw, and they fled. I've done my best to make her see her mistakeI've said to her again and again:'Just

let yourself go, Louisa'; but she keeps up the humbug even with meI believe she keeps on being queenly in

"The worst of it is," Mrs. Fisher went on, "that she thinks it's all MY fault. When the Dorsets turned up here

six weeks ago, and everybody began to make a fuss about Lily Bart, I could see Louisa thought that if she'd

had Lily in tow instead of me she would have been hobnobbing with all the royalties by this time. She

doesn't realize that it's Lily's beauty that does it: Lord Hubert tells me Lily is thought even handsomer than

when he knew her at Aix ten years ago. It seems she was tremendously admired there. An Italian Prince, rich

and the real thing, wanted to marry her; but just at the critical moment a goodlooking stepson turned up,

and Lily was silly enough to flirt with him while her marriagesettlements with the stepfather were being

drawn up. Some people said the young man did it on purpose. You can fancy the scandal: there was an awful

row between the men, and people began to look at Lily so queerly that Mrs. Peniston had to pack up and

finish her cure elsewhere. Not that SHE ever understood: to this day she thinks that Aix didn't suit her, and

mentions her having been sent there as proof of the incompetence of French doctors. That's Lily all over, you

know: she works like a slave preparing the ground and sowing her seed; but the day she ought to be reaping

Mrs. Fisher paused and looked reflectively at the deep shimmer of sea between the cactusflowers.

"Sometimes," she added, "I think it's just flightinessand sometimes I think it's because, at heart, she

despises the things she's trying for. And it's the difficulty of deciding that makes her such an interesting

study." She glanced tentatively at Selden's motion less profile, and resumed with a slight sigh: "Well, all I can

say is, I wish she'd give ME some of her discarded opportunities. I wish we could change places now, for

instance. She could make a very good thing out of the Brys if she managed them properly, and I should know

just how to look after George Dorset while Bertha is reading Verlaine with Neddy Silverton."

She met Selden's sound of protest with a sharp derisive glance. "Well, what's the use of mincing matters? We

all know that's what Bertha brought her abroad for. When Bertha wants to have a good time she has to

provide occupation for George. At first I thought Lily was going to play her cards well THIS time, but there

are rumours that Bertha is jealous of her success here and at Cannes, and I shouldn't be surprised if there were

a break any day. Lily's only safeguard is that Bertha needs her badlyoh, very badly. The Silverton affair is

in the acute stage: it's necessary that George's attention should be pretty continuously distracted. And I'm

bound to say Lily DOES distract it: I believe he'd marry her tomorrow if he found out there was anything

wrong with Bertha. But you know himhe's as blind as he's jealous; and of course Lily's present business is

to keep him blind. A clever woman might know just the right moment to tear off the bandage: but Lily isn't

clever in that way, and when George does open his eyes she'll probably contrive not to be in his line of

Selden tossed away his cigarette. "By Joveit's time for my train," he exclaimed, with a glance at his watch;

adding, in reply to Mrs. Fisher's surprised comment"Why, I thought of course you were at Monte!"a

"The worst of it is, she snubs the Brys now," he heard irrelevantly flung after him.

Ten minutes later, in the highperched bedroom of an hotel overlooking the Casino, he was tossing his

effects into a couple of gaping portmanteaux, while the porter waited outside to transport them to the cab at

the door. It took but a brief plunge down the steep white road to the station to land him safely in the afternoon

express for Nice; and not till he was installed in the corner of an empty carriage, did he exclaim to himself,

The pertinence of the question checked Selden's fugitive impulse before the train had started. It was

ridiculous to be flying like an emotional coward from an infatuation his reason had conquered. He had

instructed his bankers to forward some important business letters to Nice, and at Nice he would quietly await

them. He was already annoyed with him self for having left Monte Carlo, where he had intended to pass the

week which remained to him before sailing; but it would now be difficult to return on his steps without an

appearance of inconsistency from which his pride recoiled. In his inmost heart he was not sorry to put himself

beyond the probability of meeting Miss Bart. Completely as he had detached himself from her, he could not

yet regard her merely as a social instance; and viewed in a more personal way she was not likely to be a

reassuring object of study. Chance encounters, or even the repeated mention of her name, would send his

thoughts back into grooves from which he had resolutely detached them; whereas, if she could be entirely

excluded from his life, the pressure of new and varied impressions, with which no thought of her was

connected, would soon complete the work of separation. Mrs. Fisher's conversation had, indeed, operated to

that end; but the treatment was too painful to be voluntarily chosen while milder remedies were untried; and

Selden thought he could trust himself to return gradually to a reasonable view of Miss Bart, if only he did not

Having reached the station early, he had arrived at this point in his reflections before the increasing throng on

the platform warned him that he could not hope to preserve his privacy; the next moment there was a hand on

Miss Bart, glowing with the haste of a precipitate descent upon the train, headed a group composed of the

Dorsets, young Silverton and Lord Hubert Dacey, who had barely time to spring into the carriage, and

envelop Selden in ejaculations of surprise and welcome, before the whistle of departure sounded. The party, it

appeared, were hastening to Nice in response to a sudden summons to dine with the Duchess of Beltshire and

to see the waterfete in the bay; a plan evidently improvisedin spite of Lord Hubert's protesting "Oh, I say,

you know,"for the express purpose of defeating Mrs. Bry's endeavour to capture the Duchess.

During the laughing relation of this manoeuvre, Selden had time for a rapid impression of Miss Bart, who had

seated her self opposite to him in the golden afternoon light. Scarcely three months had elapsed since he had

parted from her on the threshold of the Brys' conservatory; but a subtle change had passed over the quality of

her beauty. Then it had had a transparency through which the fluctuations of the spirit were sometimes

tragically visible; now its impenetrable surface suggested a process of crystallization which had fused her

whole being into one hard brilliant substance. The change had struck Mrs. Fisher as a rejuvenation: to Selden

it seemed like that moment of pause and arrest when the warm fluidity of youth is chilled into its final shape.

He felt it in the way she smiled on him, and in the readiness and competence with which, flung unexpectedly

into his presence, she took up the thread of their intercourse as though that thread had not been snapped with

a violence from which he still reeled. Such facility sickened himbut he told himself that it was with the

pang which precedes recovery. Now he would really get wellwould eject the last drop of poison from his

blood. Already he felt himself calmer in her presence than he had learned to be in the thought of her. Her

assumptions and elisions, her shortcuts and long DETOURS, the skill with which she contrived to meet him

at a point from which no inconvenient glimpses of the past were visible, suggested what opportunities she

had had for practising such arts since their last meeting. He felt that she had at last arrived at an

understanding with herself: had made a pact with her rebellious impulses, and achieved a uniform system of

selfgovernment, under which all vagrant tendencies were either held captive or forced into the service of the

And he saw other things too in her manner: saw how it had adjusted itself to the hidden intricacies of a

situation in which, even after Mrs. Fisher's elucidating flashes, he still felt himself agrope. Surely Mrs. Fisher

could no longer charge Miss Bart with neglecting her opportunities! To Selden's exasperated observation she

was only too completely alive to them. She was "perfect" to every one: subservient to Bertha's anxious

predominance, goodnaturedly watchful of Dorset's moods, brightly companionable to Silverton and Dacey,

the latter of whom met her on an evident footing of old admiration, while young Silverton, portentously

selfabsorbed, seemed conscious of her only as of something vaguely obstructive. And suddenly, as Selden

noted the fine shades of manner by which she harmonized herself with her surroundings, it flashed on him

that, to need such adroit handling, the situation must indeed be desperate. She was on the edge of

somethingthat was the impression left with him. He seemed to see her poised on the brink of a chasm, with

one graceful foot advanced to assert her unconsciousness that the ground was failing her.

On the Promenade des Anglais, where Ned Silverton hung on him for the half hour before dinner, he received

a deeper impression of the general insecurity. Silverton was in a mood of Titanic pessimism. How any one

could come to such a damned hole as the Rivieraany one with a grain of imaginationwith the whole

Mediterranean to choose from: but then, if one's estimate of a place depended on the way they broiled a

spring chicken! Gad! what a study might be made of the tyranny of the stomachthe way a sluggish liver or

insufficient gastric juices might affect the whole course of the universe, overshadow everything in

reachchronic dyspepsia ought to be among the "statutory causes"; a woman's life might be ruined by a

man's inability to digest fresh bread. Grotesque? Yesand tragiclike most absurdities. There's nothing

grimmer than the tragedy that wears a comic mask.... Where was he? Ohthe reason they chucked Sicily

and rushed back? Wellpartly, no doubt, Miss Bart's desire to get back to bridge and smartness. Dead as a

stone to art and poetrythe light never WAS on sea or land for her! And of course she persuaded Dorset that

the Italian food was bad for him. Oh, she could make him believe anythingANYTHING! Mrs. Dorset was

aware of itoh, perfectly: nothing SHE didn't see! But she could hold her tongueshe'd had to, often

enough. Miss Bart was an intimate friendshe wouldn't hear a word against her. Only it hurts a woman's

pridethere are some things one doesn't get used to . . . All this in confidence, of course? Ahand there

were the ladies signalling from the balcony of the hotel.... He plunged across the Promenade, leaving Selden

The conclusions it led him to were fortified, later in the evening, by some of those faint corroborative hints

that generate a light of their own in the dusk of a doubting mind. Selden, stumbling on a chance acquaintance,

had dined with him, and adjourned, still in his company, to the brightly lit Promenade, where a line of

crowded stands commanded the glittering darkness of the waters. The night was soft and per suasive.

Overhead hung a summer sky furrowed with the rush of rockets; and from the east a late moon, pushing up

beyond the lofty bend of the coast, sent across the bay a shaft of brightness which paled to ashes in the red

glitter of the illuminated boats. Down the lanternhung Promenade, snatches of bandmusic floated above

the hum of the crowd and the soft tossing of boughs in dusky gardens; and between these gardens and the

backs of the stands there flowed a stream of people in whom the vociferous carnival mood seemed tempered

Selden and his companion, unable to get seats on one of the stands facing the bay, had wandered for a while

with the throng, and then found a point of vantage on a high gardenparapet above the Promenade. Thence

they caught but a triangular glimpse of the water, and of the flashing play of boats across its surface; but the

crowd in the street was under their immediate view, and seemed to Selden, on the whole, of more interest

than the show itself. After a while, however, he wearied of his perch and, dropping alone to the pavement,

pushed his way to the first corner and turned into the moonlit silence of a side street. Long gardenwalls

overhung by trees made a dark boundary to the pavement; an empty cab trailed along the deserted

thoroughfare, and presently Selden saw two persons emerge from the opposite shadows, signal to the cab, and

drive off in it toward the centre of the town. The moonlight touched them as they paused to enter the carriage,

Beneath the nearest lamppost he glanced at his watch and saw that the time was close on eleven. He took

another cross street, and without breasting the throng on the Promenade, made his way to the fashionable club

which overlooks that thoroughfare. Here, amid the blaze of crowded baccarat tables, he caught sight of Lord

Hubert Dacey, seated with his habitual worn smile behind a rapidly dwindling heap of gold. The heap being

in due course wiped out, Lord Hubert rose with a shrug, and joining Selden, adjourned with him to the

deserted terrace of the club. It was now past midnight, and the throng on the stands was dispersing, while the

long trails of redlit boats scattered and faded beneath a sky repossessed by the tranquil splendour of the

Lord Hubert looked at his watch. "By Jove, I promised to join the Duchess for supper at the LONDON

HOUSE; but it's past twelve, and I suppose they've all scattered. The fact is, I lost them in the crowd soon

after dinner, and took refuge here, for my sins. They had seats on one of the stands, but of course they

couldn't stop quiet: the Duchess never can. She and Miss Bart went off in quest of what they call

adventuresgad, it ain't their fault if they don't have some queer ones!" He added tentatively, after pausing

to grope for a cigarette: "Miss Bart's an old friend of yours, I believe? So she told me.Ah, thanksI don't

seem to have one left." He lit Selden's proffered cigarette, and continued, in his highpitched drawling tone:

"None of my business, of course, but I didn't introduce her to the Duchess. Charming woman, the Duchess,

you understand; and a very good friend of mine; but RATHER a liberal education."

Selden received this in silence, and after a few puffs Lord Hubert broke out again: "Sort of thing one can't

communicate to the young ladythough young ladies nowadays are so competent to judge for themselves;

but in this caseI'm an old friend too, you know . . . and there seemed no one else to speak to. The whole

situation's a little mixed, as I see itbut there used to be an aunt somewhere, a diffuse and innocent person,

who was great at bridging over chasms she didn't see . . . Ah, in New York, is she? Pity New York's such a

Miss Bart, emerging late the next morning from her cabin, found herself alone on the deck of the Sabrina.

The cushioned chairs, disposed expectantly under the wide awning, showed no signs of recent occupancy,

and she presently learned from a steward that Mrs. Dorset had not yet appeared, and that the

gentlemenseparatelyhad gone ashore as soon as they had breakfasted. Supplied with these facts, Lily

leaned awhile over the side, giving herself up to a leisurely enjoyment of the spectacle before her. Unclouded

sunlight enveloped sea and shore in a bath of purest radiancy. The purpling waters drew a sharp white line of

foam at the base of the shore; against its irregular eminences, hotels and villas flashed from the greyish

verdure of olive and eucalyptus; and the background of bare and finelypencilled mountains quivered in a

How beautiful it wasand how she loved beauty! She had always felt that her sensibility in this direction

made up for certain obtusenesses of feeling of which she was less proud; and during the last three months she

had indulged it passionately. The Dorsets' invitation to go abroad with them had come as an almost

miraculous release from crushing difficulties; and her faculty for renewing herself in new scenes, and casting

off problems of conduct as easily as the surroundings in which they had arisen, made the mere change from

one place to another seem, not merely a postponement, but a solution of her troubles. Moral complications

existed for her only in the environment that had produced them; she did not mean to slight or ignore them,

but they lost their reality when they changed their background. She could not have remained in New York

without repaying the money she owed to Trenor; to acquit herself of that odious debt she might even have

faced a marriage with Rosedale; but the accident of placing the Atlantic between herself and her obligations

made them dwindle out of sight as if they had been milestones and she had travelled past them.

Her two months on the Sabrina had been especially calculated to aid this illusion of distance. She had been

plunged into new scenes, and had found in them a renewal of old hopes and ambitions. The cruise itself

charmed her as a romantic adventure. She was vaguely touched by the names and scenes amid which she

moved, and had listened to Ned Silverton reading Theocritus by moonlight, as the yacht rounded the Sicilian

promontories, with a thrill of the nerves that confirmed her belief in her intellectual superiority. But the

weeks at Cannes and Nice had really given her more pleasure. The gratification of being welcomed in high

company, and of making her own ascendency felt there, so that she found herself figuring once more as the

"beautiful Miss Bart"in the interesting journal devoted to recording the least movements of her cosmopolitan

companionsall these experiences tended to throw into the extreme background of memory the prosaic and

If she was faintly aware of fresh difficulties ahead, she was sure of her ability to meet them: it was

characteristic of her to feel that the only problems she could not solve were those with which she was

familiar. Meanwhile she could honestly be proud of the skill with which she had adapted herself to somewhat

conditions. She had reason to think that she had made herself equally necessary to her host and hostess; and if

only she had seen any perfectly irreproachable means of drawing a financial profit from the situation, there

would have been no cloud on her horizon. The truth was that her funds, as usual, were inconveniently low;

and to neither Dorset nor his wife could this vulgar embarrassment be safely hinted. Still, the need was not a

pressing one; she could worry along, as she had so often done before, with the hope of some happy change of

fortune to sustain her; and meanwhile life was gay and beautiful and easy, and she was conscious of figuring

She was engaged to breakfast that morning with the Duchess of Beltshire, and at twelve o'clock she asked to

be set ashore in the gig. Before this she had sent her maid to enquire if she might see Mrs. Dorset; but the

reply came back that the latter was tired, and trying to sleep. Lily thought she understood the reason of the

rebuff. Her hostess had not been included in the Duchess's invitation, though she herself had made the most

loyal efforts in that direction. But her grace was impervious to hints, and invited or omitted as she chose. It

was not Lily's fault if Mrs. Dorset's complicated attitudes did not fall in with the Duchess's easy gait. The

Duchess, who seldom explained herself, had not formulated her objection beyond saying: "She's rather a

bore, you know. The only one of your friends I like is that little Mr. BryHE'S funny" but Lily knew

enough not to press the point, and was not altogether sorry to be thus distinguished at her friend's expense.

Bertha certainly HAD grown tiresome since she had taken to poetry and Ned Silverton.

On the whole, it was a relief to break away now and then from the Sabrina; and the Duchess's little breakfast,

organized by Lord Hubert with all his usual virtuosity, was the pleasanter to Lily for not including her

travellingcompanions. Dorset, of late, had grown more than usually morose and incalculable, and Ned

Silverton went about with an air that seemed to challenge the universe. The freedom and lightness of the

ducal intercourse made an agreeable change from these complications, and Lily was tempted, after luncheon,

to adjourn in the wake of her companions to the hectic atmosphere of the Casino. She did not mean to play;

her diminished pocketmoney offered small scope for the adventure; but it amused her to sit on a divan,

under the doubtful protection of the Duchess's back, while the latter hung above her stakes at a neighbouring

The rooms were packed with the gazing throng which, in the afternoon hours, trickles heavily between the

tables, like the Sunday crowd in a lionhouse. In the stagnant flow of the mass, identities were hardly

distinguishable; but Lily presently saw Mrs. Bry cleaving her determined way through the doors, and, in the

broad wake she left, the light figure of Mrs. Fisher bobbing after her like a rowboat at the stern of a tug.

Mrs. Bry pressed on, evidently animated by the resolve to reach a certain point in the rooms; but Mrs. Fisher,

as she passed Lily, broke from her towingline, and let herself float to the girl's side.

"Lose her?" she echoed the latter's query, with an indifferent glance at Mrs. Bry's retreating back. "I

daresayit doesn't matter: I HAVE lost her already." And, as Lily exclaimed, she added: "We had an awful

row this morning. You know, of course, that the Duchess chucked her at dinner last night, and she thinks it

was my faultmy want of management. The worst of it is, the messagejust a mere word by

telephonecame so late that the dinner HAD to be paid for; and Becassin HAD run it upit had been so

drummed into him that the Duchess was coming!" Mrs. Fisher indulged in a faint laugh at the remembrance.

"Paying for what she doesn't get rankles so dreadfully with Louisa: I can't make her see that it's one of the

preliminary steps to getting what you haven't paid forand as I was the nearest thing to smash, she smashed

Lily murmured her commiseration. Impulses of sympathy came naturally to her, and it was instinctive to

"If there's anything I can doif it's only a question of meeting the Duchess! I heard her say she thought Mr.

But Mrs. Fisher interposed with a decisive gesture. "My dear, I have my pride: the pride of my trade. I

couldn't manage the Duchess, and I can't palm off your arts on Louisa Bry as mine. I've taken the final step: I

go to Paris tonight with the Sam Gormers. THEY'RE still in the elementary stage; an Italian Prince is a great

deal more than a Prince to them, and they're always on the brink of taking a courier for one. To save them

from that is my present mission." She laughed again at the picture. "But before I go I want to make my last

"Me?" Miss Bart joined in her amusement. "It's charming of you to remember me, dear; but really"

"You're already so well provided for?" Mrs. Fisher flashed a sharp glance at her. "ARE you, though, Lilyto

Miss Bart coloured slowly. "What I really meant was, that the Brys wouldn't in the least care to be so

Mrs. Fisher continued to probe her embarrassment with an unflinching eye. "What you really meant was that

"Oh, on certain sides Louisa bristles with perceptions. If you'd even managed to have them asked once on the

Sabrinaespecially when royalties were coming! But it's not too late," she ended earnestly, "it's not too late

"I shan't stay overthe Gormers have paid for my SALONLIT," said Mrs. Fisher with simplicity. "But get

Lily's smile again flowed into a slight laugh: her friend's importunity was beginning to strike her as

"Oh, as to the Brysit's you I'm thinking of," said Mrs. Fisher abruptly. She paused, and then, bending

forward, with a lowered voice: "You know we all went on to Nice last night when the Duchess chucked us. It

"Well, the man who was in the carriage with you and George Dorsetthat horrid little Dabham who does

'Society Notes from the Riviera'had been dining with us at Nice. And he's telling everybody that you and

"Alone? When he was with us?" Lily laughed, but her laugh faded into gravity under the prolonged

implication of Mrs. Fisher's look. "We DID come back aloneif that's so very dreadful! But whose fault was

it? The Duchess was spending the night at Cimiez with the Crown Princess; Bertha got bored with the show,

and went off early, promising to meet us at the station. We turned up on time, but she didn'tshe didn't turn

Miss Bart made this announcement in the tone of one who presents, with careless assurance, a complete

vindication; but Mrs. Fisher received it in a manner almost inconsequent. She seemed to have lost sight of her

"Oh, by the next train, I suppose; there were two extra ones for the FETE. At any rate, I know she's safe on

the yacht, though I haven't yet seen her; but you see it was not my fault," Lily summed up.

"Not your fault that Bertha didn't turn up? My poor child, if only you don't have to pay for it!" Mrs. Fisher

roseshe had seen Mrs. Bry surging back in her direction. "There's Louisa, and I must be offoh, we're on

the best of terms externally; we're lunching together; but at heart it's ME she's lunching on," she explained;

and with a last handclasp and a last look, she added: "Remember, I leave her to you; she's hovering now,

"Lily carried the impression of Mrs. Fisher's leavetaking away with her from the Casino doors. She had

accomplished, before leaving, the first step toward her reinstatement in Mrs. Bry's good graces. An affable

advancea vague murmur that they must see more of each otheran allusive glance to a near future that

was felt to include the Duchess as well as the Sabrinahow easily it was all done, if one possessed the knack

of doing it! She wondered at herself, as she had so often wondered, that, possessing the knack, she did not

more consistently exercise it. But sometimes she was forgetfuland sometimes, could it be that she was

proud? Today, at any rate, she had been vaguely conscious of a reason for sinking her pride, had in fact even

sunk it to the point of suggesting to Lord Hubert Dacey, whom she ran across on the Casino steps, that he

might really get the Duchess to dine with the Brys, if SHE undertook to have them asked on the Sabrina.

Lord Hubert had promised his help, with the readiness on which she could always count: it was his only way

of ever reminding her that he had once been ready to do so much more for her. Her path, in short, seemed to

smooth itself before her as she advanced; yet the faint stir of uneasiness persisted. Had it been produced, she

wondered, by her chance meeting with Selden? She thought nottime and change seemed so completely to

have relegated him to his proper distance. The sudden and exquisite reaction from her anxieties had had the

effect of throwing the recent past so far back that even Selden, as part of it, retained a certain air of unreality.

And he had made it so clear that they were not to meet again; that he had merely dropped down to Nice for a

day or two, and had almost his foot on the next steamer. Nothat part of the past had merely surged up for a

moment on the fleeing surface of events; and now that it was submerged again, the uncertainty, the

They grew to sudden acuteness as she caught sight of George Dorset descending the steps of the Hotel de

Paris and making for her across the square. She had meant to drive down to the quay and regain the yacht; but

"Which way are you going? Shall we walk a bit?" he began, putting the second question before the first was

answered, and not waiting for a reply to either before he directed her silently toward the comparative

She detected in him at once all the signs of extreme nervous tension. The skin was puffed out under his

sunken eyes, and its sallowness had paled to a leaden white against which his irregular eyebrows and long

reddish moustache were relieved with a saturnine effect. His appearance, in short, presented an odd mixture

He walked beside her in silence, with quick precipitate steps, till they reached the embowered slopes to the

He received this with a laugh like the whirring sound in a disabled clock. "Not yet up? Had she gone to bed?

Do you know at what time she came on board? This morning at seven!" he exclaimed.

"Well?" She hesitated, feeling at once how little even this necessity accounted for the fatal lapse of hours.

"Well, they couldn't get a carriage at onceat that time of night, you know" the explanatory note made it

almost seem as though he were putting the case for his wife"and when they finally did, it was only a

"How tiresome! I see," she affirmed, with the more earnestness because she was so nervously conscious that

she did not; and after a pause she added: "I'm so sorrybut ought we to have waited?"

"Waited for the onehorse cab? It would scarcely have carried the four of us, do you think?"

She took this in what seemed the only possible way, with a laugh intended to sink the question itself in his

humorous treatment of it. "Well, it would have been difficult; we should have had to walk by turns. But it

"NaturallyI suppose you were worried. Why didn't you call on me to share your vigil?"

He stood still, dragging at his moustache with a lean weak hand. "I don't think you would have cared for its

Again she was disconcerted by the abrupt change in his tone, and as in one flash she saw the peril of the

"DENOUEMENTisn't that too big a word for such a small incident? The worst of it, after all, is the fatigue

She clung to the note bravely, though its futility was now plain to her in the glare of his miserable eyes.

"Don'tdon't!" he broke out, with the hurt cry of a child; and while she tried to merge her sympathy, and

her resolve to ignore any cause for it, in one ambiguous murmur of deprecation, he dropped down on the

It was a dreadful houran hour from which she emerged shrinking and seared, as though her lids had been

scorched by its actual glare. It was not that she had never had premonitory glimpses of such an outbreak; but

rather because, here and there throughout the three months, the surface of life had shown such ominous

cracks and vapours that her fears had always been on the alert for an upheaval. There had been moments

when the situation had presented itself under a homelier yet more vivid imagethat of a shaky vehicle,

dashed by unbroken steeds over a bumping road, while she cowered within, aware that the harness wanted

mending, and wondering what would give way first. Welleverything had given way now; and the wonder

was that the crazy outfit had held together so long. Her sense of being involved in the crash, instead of merely

witnessing it from the road, was intensified by the way in which Dorset, through his furies of denunciation

and wild reactions of selfcontempt, made her feel the need he had of her, the place she had taken in his life.

But for her, what ear would have been open to his cries? And what hand but hers could drag him up again to

a footing of sanity and selfrespect? All through the stress of the struggle with him, she had been conscious

of something faintly maternal in her efforts to guide and uplift him. But for the present, if he clung to her, it

was not in order to be dragged up, but to feel some one floundering in the depths with him: he wanted her to

Happily for both, there was little physical strength to sustain his frenzy. It left him, collapsed and breathing

heavily, to an apathy so deep and prolonged that Lily almost feared the passersby would think it the result of

a seizure, and stop to offer their aid. But Monte Carlo is, of all places, the one where the human bond is least

close, and odd sights are the least arresting. If a glance or two lingered on the couple, no intrusive sympathy

disturbed them; and it was Lily herself who broke the silence by rising from her seat. With the clearing of her

vision the sweep of peril had extended, and she saw that the post of danger was no longer at Dorset's side.

But he remained mutely resistant, and she added: "What are you going to do? You really can't sit here all

night." "I can go to an hotel. I can telegraph my lawyers." He sat up, roused by a new thought. "By Jove,

Lily, at this, reseated herself with a cry of alarm. "No, no, NO" she protested.

He swung round on her distrustfully. "Why not Selden? He's a lawyer isn't he? One will do as well as another

"You doby being so sweet and patient with me. If it hadn't been for you I'd have ended the thing long ago.

But now it's got to end." He rose suddenly, straightening himself with an effort. "You can't want to see me

She looked at him kindly. "That's just it." Then, after a moment's pondering, almost to her own surprise she

broke out with a flash of inspiration: "Well, go over and see Mr. Selden. You'll have time to do it before

"Oh, DINNER" he mocked her; but she left him with the smiling rejoinder: "Dinner on board, remember;

It was past four already; and when a cab had dropped her at the quay, and she stood waiting for the gig to put

off for her, she began to wonder what had been happening on the yacht. Of Silverton's whereabouts there had

been no mention. Had he returned to the Sabrina? Or could Berthathe dread alternative sprang on her

suddenlycould Bertha, left to herself, have gone ashore to rejoin him? Lily's heart stood still at the thought.

All her concern had hitherto been for young Silverton, not only because, in such affairs, the woman's instinct

is to side with the man, but because his case made a peculiar appeal to her sympathies. He was so desperately

in earnest, poor youth, and his earnestness was of so different a quality from Bertha's, though hers too was

desperate enough. The difference was that Bertha was in earnest only about herself, while he was in earnest

about her. But now, at the actual crisis, this difference seemed to throw the weight of destitution on Bertha's

side, since at least he had her to suffer for, and she had only herself. At any rate, viewed less ideally, all the

disadvantages of such a situation were for the woman; and it was to Bertha that Lily's sympathies now went

out. She was not fond of Bertha Dorset, but neither was she without a sense of obligation, the heavier for

having so little personal liking to sustain it. Bertha had been kind to her, they had lived together, during the

last months, on terms of easy friendship, and the sense of friction of which Lily had recently become aware

seemed to make it the more urgent that she should work undividedly in her friend's interest.

It was in Bertha's interest, certainly, that she had despatched Dorset to consult with Lawrence Selden. Once

the grotesqueness of the situation accepted, she had seen at a glance that it was the safest in which Dorset

could find himself. Who but Selden could thus miraculously combine the skill to save Bertha with the

obligation of doing so? The consciousness that much skill would be required made Lily rest thankfully in the

greatness of the obligation. Since he would HAVE to pull Bertha through she could trust him to find a way;

and she put the fulness of her trust in the telegram she managed to send him on her way to the quay.

Thus far, then, Lily felt that she had done well; and the conviction strengthened her for the task that

remained. She and Bertha had never been on confidential terms, but at such a crisis the barriers of reserve

must surely fall: Dorset's wild allusions to the scene of the morning made Lily feel that they were down

already, and that any attempt to rebuild them would be beyond Bertha's strength. She pictured the poor

creature shivering behind her fallen defences and awaiting with suspense the moment when she could take

refuge in the first shelter that offered. If only that shelter had not already offered itself elsewhere! As the gig

traversed the short distance between the quay and the yacht, Lily grew more than ever alarmed at the possible

consequences of her long absence. What if the wretched Bertha, finding in all the long hours no soul to turn

tobut by this time Lily's eager foot was on the sideladder, and her first step on the Sabrina showed the

worst of her apprehensions to be unfounded; for there, in the luxurious shade of the afterdeck, the wretched

Bertha, in full command of her usual attenuated elegance, sat dispensing tea to the Duchess of Beltshire and

The sight filled Lily with such surprise that she felt that Bertha, at least, must read its meaning in her look,

and she was proportionately disconcerted by the blankness of the look returned. But in an instant she saw that

Mrs. Dorset had, of necessity, to look blank before the others, and that, to mitigate the effect of her own

surprise, she must at once produce some simple reason for it. The long habit of rapid transitions made it easy

for her to exclaim to the Duchess: "Why, I thought you'd gone back to the Princess!" and this sufficed for the

At least it opened the way to a lively explanation of how the Duchess was, in fact, going back the next

moment, but had first rushed out to the yacht for a word with Mrs. Dorset on the subject of tomorrow's

dinnerthe dinner with the Brys, to which Lord Hubert had finally insisted on dragging them.

"To save my neck, you know!" he explained, with a glance that appealed to Lily for some recognition of his

promptness; and the Duchess added, with her noble candour: "Mr. Bry has promised him a tip, and he says if

This led to some final pleasantries, in which, as it seemed to Lily, Mrs. Dorset bore her part with astounding

bravery, and at the close of which Lord Hubert, from half way down the sideladder, called back, with an air

"Oh, count on him," his wife assented gaily. She was keeping up well to the lastbut as she turned back

from waving her adieux over the side, Lily said to herself that the mask must drop and the soul of fear look

Mrs. Dorset turned back slowly; perhaps she wanted time to steady her muscles; at any rate, they were still

under perfect control when, dropping once more into her seat behind the teatable, she remarked to Miss Bart

If it was a cue, Lily was ready to take it, though with only the vaguest sense of what was expected of her in

return. There was something unnerving in the contemplation of Mrs. Dorset's composure, and she had to

force the light tone in which she answered: "I tried to see you this morning, but you were not yet up.

"NoI got to bed late. After we missed you at the station I thought we ought to wait for you till the last

"You missed us? You waited for us at the station?" Now indeed Lily was too far adrift in bewilderment to

measure the other's words or keep watch on her own. "But I thought you didn't get to the station till after the

Mrs. Dorset, examining her between lowered lids, met this with the immediate query: "Who told you that?"

"Ah, is that George's version? Poor Georgehe was in no state to remember what I told him. He had one of

his worst attacks this morning, and I packed him off to see the doctor. Do you know if he found him?"

Lily, still lost in conjecture, made no reply, and Mrs. Dorset settled herself indolently in her seat. "He'll wait

to see him; he was horribly frightened about himself. It's very bad for him to be worried, and whenever

This time Lily felt sure that a cue was being pressed on her; but it was put forth with such startling

suddenness, and with so incredible an air of ignoring what it led up to, that she could only falter out

"Yessuch as having you so conspicuously on his hands in the small hours. You know, my dear, you're

At thatat the complete unexpectedness and the inconceivable audacity of itLily could not restrain the

Mrs. Dorset took this with an exquisite mildness. "By not having the superhuman cleverness to discover you

in that frightful rush for the train? Or the imagination to believe that you'd take it without usyou and he all

Lily's colour rose: it was growing clear to her that Bertha was pursuing an object, following a line she had

marked out for herself. Only, with such a doom impending, why waste time in these childish efforts to avert

it? The puerility of the attempt disarmed Lily's indignation: did it not prove how horribly the poor creature

"Keeping together? When it was you who seized the first opportunity to rush off with the Duchess and her

Mrs. Dorset smiled on her reproachfully. "Lecture youI? Heaven forbid! I was merely trying to give you a

friendly hint. But it's usually the other way round, isn't it? I'm expected to take hints, not to give them: I've

"Oh, negative ones merelywhat not to be and to do and to see. And I think I've taken them to admiration.

Only, my dear, if you'll let me say so, I didn't understand that one of my negative duties was NOT to warn

A chill of fear passed over Miss Bart: a sense of remembered treachery that was like the gleam of a knife in

the dusk. But compassion, in a moment, got the better of her instinctive recoil. What was this outpouring of

senseless bitterness but the tracked creature's attempt to cloud the medium through which it was fleeing? It

was on Lily's lips to exclaim: "You poor soul, don't double and turncome straight back to me, and we'll

find a way out!" But the words died under the impenetrable insolence of Bertha's smile. Lily sat silent, taking

the brunt of it quietly, letting it spend itself on her to the last drop of its accumulated falseness; then, without

Miss Bart's telegram caught Lawrence Selden at the door of his hotel; and having read it, he turned back to

wait for Dorset. The message necessarily left large gaps for conjecture; but all that he had recently heard and

seen made these but too easy to fill in. On the whole he was surprised; for though he had perceived that the

situation contained all the elements of an explosion, he had often enough, in the range of his personal

experience, seen just such combinations subside into harmlessness. Still, Dorset's spasmodic temper, and his

wife's reckless disregard of appearances, gave the situation a peculiar insecurity; and it was less from the

sense of any special relation to the case than from a purely professional zeal, that Selden resolved to guide the

pair to safety. Whether, in the present instance, safety for either lay in repairing so damaged a tie, it was no

business of his to consider: he had only, on general principles, to think of averting a scandal, and his desire to

avert it was increased by his fear of its involving Miss Bart. There was nothing specific in this apprehension;

he merely wished to spare her the embarrassment of being ever so remotely connected with the public

How exhaustive and unpleasant such a process would be, he saw even more vividly after his two hours' talk

with poor Dorset. If anything came out at all, it would be such a vast unpacking of accumulated moral rags as

left him, after his visitor had gone, with the feeling that he must fling open the windows and have his room

swept out. But nothing should come out; and happily for his side of the case, the dirty rags, however pieced

together, could not, without considerable difficulty, be turned into a homogeneous grievance. The torn edges

did not always fitthere were missing bits, there were disparities of size and colour, all of which it was

naturally Selden's business to make the most of in putting them under his client's eye. But to a man in

Dorset's mood the completest demonstration could not carry conviction, and Selden saw that for the moment

all he could do was to soothe and temporize, to offer sympathy and to counsel prudence. He let Dorset depart

charged to the brim with the sense that, till their next meeting, he must maintain a strictly noncommittal

attitude; that, in short, his share in the game consisted for the present in looking on. Selden knew, however,

that he could not long keep such violences in equilibrium; and he promised to meet Dorset, the next morning,

at an hotel in Monte Carlo. Meanwhile he counted not a little on the reaction of weakness and selfdistrust

that, in such natures, follows on every unwonted expenditure of moral force; and his telegraphic reply to Miss

On this assumption, in fact, the early part of the following day was lived through. Dorset, as if in obedience

to Lily's imperative bidding, had actually returned in time for a late dinner on the yacht. The repast had been

the most difficult moment of the day. Dorset was sunk in one of the abysmal silences which so commonly

followed on what his wife called his "attacks" that it was easy, before the servants, to refer it to this cause; but

Bertha herself seemed, perversely enough, little disposed to make use of this obvious means of protection.

She simply left the brunt of the situation on her husband's hands, as if too absorbed in a grievance of her own

to suspect that she might be the object of one herself. To Lily this attitude was the most ominous, because the

most perplexing, element in the situation. As she tried to fan the weak flicker of talk, to build up, again and

again, the crumbling structure of "appearances," her own attention was perpetually distracted by the question:

"What on earth can she be driving at?" There was something positively exasperating in Bertha's attitude of

isolated defiance. If only she would have given her friend a hint they might still have worked together

successfully; but how could Lily be of use, while she was thus obstinately shut out from participation? To be

of use was what she honestly wanted; and not for her own sake but for the Dorsets'. She had not thought of

her own situation at all: she was simply engrossed in trying to put a little order in theirs. But the close of the

short dreary evening left her with a sense of effort hopelessly wasted. She had not tried to see Dorset alone:

she had positively shrunk from a renewal of his confidences. It was Bertha whose confidence she sought, and

who should as eagerly have invited her own; and Bertha, as if in the infatuation of selfdestruction, was

Lily, going to bed early, had left the couple to themselves; and it seemed part of the general mystery in which

she moved that more than an hour should elapse before she heard Bertha walk down the silent passage and

regain her room. The morrow, rising on an apparent continuance of the same conditions, revealed nothing of

what had occurred between the confronted pair. One fact alone outwardly proclaimed the change they were

all conspiring to ignore; and that was the nonappearance of Ned Silverton. No one referred to it, and this

tacit avoidance of the subject kept it in the immediate foreground of consciousness. But there was another

change, perceptible only to Lily; and that was that Dorset now avoided her almost as pointedly as his wife.

Perhaps he was repenting his rash outpourings of the previous day; perhaps only trying, in his clumsy way, to

conform to Selden's counsel to behave "as usual." Such instructions no more make for easiness of attitude

than the photographer's behest to "look natural"; and in a creature as unconscious as poor Dorset of the

appearance he habitually presented, the struggle to maintain a pose was sure to result in queer contortions.

It resulted, at any rate, in throwing Lily strangely on her own resources. She had learned, on leaving her

room, that Mrs. Dorset was still invisible, and that Dorset had left the yacht early; and feeling too restless to

remain alone, she too had herself ferried ashore. Straying toward the Casino, she attached herself to a group

of acquaintances from Nice, with whom she lunched, and in whose company she was returning to the rooms

when she encountered Selden crossing the square. She could not, at the moment, separate herself definitely

from her party, who had hospitably assumed that she would remain with them till they took their departure;

but she found time for a momentary pause of enquiry, to which he promptly returned: "I've seen him

He smiled. "Give me time. I'm not surebut I'm a good deal surer." And with that she had to content herself,

Selden had in fact given her the utmost measure of his sureness, had even stretched it a shade to meet the

anxiety in her eyes. And now, as he turned away, strolling down the hill toward the station, that anxiety

remained with him as the visible justification of his own. It was not, indeed, anything specific that he feared:

there had been a literal truth in his declaration that he did not think anything would happen. What troubled

him was that, though Dorset's attitude had perceptibly changed, the change was not clearly to be accounted

for. It had certainly not been produced by Selden's arguments, or by the action of his own soberer reason.

Five minutes' talk sufficed to show that some alien influence had been at work, and that it had not so much

subdued his resentment as weakened his will, so that he moved under it in a state of apathy, like a dangerous

lunatic who has been drugged. Temporarily, no doubt, however exerted, it worked for the general safety: the

question was how long it would last, and by what kind of reaction it was likely to be followed. On these

points Selden could gain no light; for he saw that one effect of the transformation had been to shut him off

from free communion with Dorset. The latter, indeed, was still moved by the irresistible desire to discuss his

wrong; but, though he revolved about it with the same forlorn tenacity, Selden was aware that something

always restrained him from full expression. His state was one to produce first weariness and then impatience

in his hearer; and when their talk was over, Selden began to feel that he had done his utmost, and might

It was in this mind that he had been making his way back to the station when Miss Bart crossed his path; but

though, after his brief word with her, he kept mechanically on his course, he was conscious of a gradual

change in his purpose. The change had been produced by the look in her eyes; and in his eagerness to define

the nature of that look, he dropped into a seat in the gardens, and sat brooding upon the question. It was

natural enough, in all conscience, that she should appear anxious: a young woman placed, in the close

intimacy of a yachtingcruise, between a couple on the verge of disaster, could hardly, aside from her

concern for her friends, be insensible to the awkwardness of her own position. The worst of it was that, in

interpreting Miss Bart's state of mind, so many alternative readings were possible; and one of these, in

Selden's troubled mind, took the ugly form suggested by Mrs. Fisher. If the girl was afraid, was she afraid for

herself or for her friends? And to what degree was her dread of a catastrophe intensified by the sense of being

fatally involved in it? The burden of offence lying manifestly with Mrs. Dorset, this conjecture seemed on the

face of it gratuitously unkind; but Selden knew that in the most onesided matrimonial quarrel there are

generally countercharges to be brought, and that they are brought with the greater audacity where the

original grievance is so emphatic. Mrs. Fisher had not hesitated to suggest the likelihood of Dorset's marrying

Miss Bart if "anything happened"; and though Mrs. Fisher's conclusions were notoriously rash, she was

shrewd enough in reading the signs from which they were drawn. Dorset had apparently shown marked

interest in the girl, and this interest might be used to cruel advantage in his wife's struggle for rehabilitation.

Selden knew that Bertha would fight to the last round of powder: the rashness of her conduct was illogically

combined with a cold determination to escape its consequences. She could be as unscrupulous in fighting for

herself as she was reckless in courting danger, and whatever came to her hand at such moments was likely to

be used as a defensive missile. He did not, as yet, see clearly just what course she was likely to take, but his

perplexity increased his apprehension, and with it the sense that, before leaving, he must speak again with

Miss Bart. Whatever her share in the situationand he had always honestly tried to resist judging her by her

surroundingshowever free she might be from any personal connection with it, she would be better out of

the way of a possible crash; and since she had appealed to him for help, it was clearly his business to tell her

This decision at last brought him to his feet, and carried him back to the gambling rooms, within whose doors

he had seen her disappearing; but a prolonged exploration of the crowd failed to put him on her traces. He

saw instead, to his surprise, Ned Silverton loitering somewhat ostentatiously about the tables; and the

discovery that this actor in the drama was not only hovering in the wings, but actually inviting the exposure

of the footlights, though it might have seemed to imply that all peril was over, served rather to deepen

Selden's sense of foreboding. Charged with this impression he returned to the square, hoping to see Miss Bart

move across it, as every one in Monte Carlo seemed inevitably to do at least a dozen times a day; but here

again he waited vainly for a glimpse of her, and the conclusion was slowly forced on him that she had gone

back to the Sabrina. It would be difficult to follow her there, and still more difficult, should he do so, to

contrive the opportunity for a private word; and he had almost decided on the unsatisfactory alternative of

writing, when the ceaseless diorama of the square suddenly unrolled before him the figures of Lord Hubert

Hailing them at once with his question, he learned from Lord Hubert that Miss Bart had just returned to the

Sabrina in Dorset's company; an announcement so evidently disconcerting to him that Mrs. Bry, after a

glance from her companion, which seemed to act like the pressure on a spring, brought forth the prompt

proposal that he should come and meet his friends at dinner that evening"At Becassin'sa little dinner to

the Duchess," she flashed out before Lord Hubert had time to remove the pressure.

Selden's sense of the privilege of being included in such company brought him early in the evening to the

door of the restaurant, where he paused to scan the ranks of diners approaching down the brightly lit terrace.

There, while the Brys hovered within over the last agitating alternatives of the MENU, he kept watch for the

guests from the Sabrina, who at length rose on the horizon in company with the Duchess, Lord and Lady

Skiddaw and the Stepneys. From this group it was easy for him to detach Miss Bart on the pretext of a

moment's glance into one of the brilliant shops along the terrace, and to say to her, while they lingered

together in the white dazzle of a jeweller's window: "I stopped over to see youto beg of you to leave the

The eyes she turned on him showed a quick gleam of her former fear. "To leave? What do you mean?

The glare from the jeweller's window, deepening the pallour of her face, gave to its delicate lines the

sharpness of a tragic mask. "Nothing will, I am sure; but while there's even a doubt left, how can you think I

The words rang out on a note of contemptwas it possibly of contempt for himself? Well, he was willing to

risk its renewal to the extent of insisting, with an undeniable throb of added interest: "You have yourself to

think of, you know" to which, with a strange fall of sadness in her voice, she answered, meeting his eyes:

"Oh, well, nothing WILL happen," he said, more for his own reassurance than for hers; and "Nothing,

nothing, of course!" she valiantly assented, as they turned to overtake their companions.

In the thronged restaurant, taking their places about Mrs. Bry's illuminated board, their confidence seemed to

gain support from the familiarity of their surroundings. Here were Dorset and his wife once more presenting

their customary faces to the world, she engrossed in establishing her relation with an intensely new gown, he

shrinking with dyspeptic dread from the multiplied solicitations of the MENU. The mere fact that they thus

showed themselves together, with the utmost openness the place afforded, seemed to declare beyond a doubt

that their differences were composed. How this end had been attained was still matter for wonder, but it was

clear that for the moment Miss Bart rested confidently in the result; and Selden tried to achieve the same view

by telling himself that her opportunities for observation had been ampler than his own.

Meanwhile, as the dinner advanced through a labyrinth of courses, in which it became clear that Mrs. Bry had

occasionally broken away from Lord Hubert's restraining hand, Selden's general watchfulness began to lose

itself in a particular study of Miss Bart. It was one of the days when she was so handsome that to be

handsome was enough, and all the resther grace, her quickness, her social felicitiesseemed the overflow

of a bounteous nature. But what especially struck him was the way in which she detached herself, by a

hundred undefinable shades, from the persons who most abounded in her own style. It was in just such

company, the fine flower and complete expression of the state she aspired to, that the differences came out

with special poignancy, her grace cheapening the other women's smartness as her finelydiscriminated

silences made their chatter dull. The strain of the last hours had restored to her face the deeper eloquence

which Selden had lately missed in it, and the bravery of her words to him still fluttered in her voice and eyes.

Yes, she was matchlessit was the one word for her; and he could give his admiration the freer play because

so little personal feeling remained in it. His real detachment from her had taken place, not at the lurid moment

of disenchantment, but now, in the sober afterlight of discrimination, where he saw her definitely divided

from him by the crudeness of a choice which seemed to deny the very differences he felt in her. It was before

him again in its completenessthe choice in which she was content to rest: in the stupid costliness of the

food and the showy dulness of the talk, in the freedom of speech which never arrived at wit and the freedom

of act which never made for romance. The strident setting of the restaurant, in which their table seemed set

apart in a special glare of publicity, and the presence at it of little Dabham of the "Riviera Notes," emphasized

the ideals of a world where conspicuousness passed for distinction, and the society column had become the

It was as the immortalizer of such occasions that little Dabham, wedged in modest watchfulness between two

brilliant neighbours, suddenly became the centre of Selden's scrutiny. How much did he know of what was

going on, and how much, for his purpose, was still worth finding out? His little eyes were like tentacles

thrown out to catch the floating intimations with which, to Selden, the air at moments seemed thick; then

again it cleared to its normal emptiness, and he could see nothing in it for the journalist but leisure to note the

elegance of the ladies' gowns. Mrs. Dorset's, in particular, challenged all the wealth of Mr. Dabham's

vocabulary: it had surprises and subtleties worthy of what he would have called "the literary style." At first,

as Selden had noticed, it had been almost too preoccupying to its wearer; but now she was in full command of

it, and was even producing her effects with unwonted freedom. Was she not, indeed, too free, too fluent, for

perfect naturalness? And was not Dorset, to whom his glance had passed by a natural transition, too jerkily

wavering between the same extremes? Dorset indeed was always jerky; but it seemed to Selden that tonight

The dinner, meanwhile, was moving to its triumphant close, to the evident satisfaction of Mrs. Bry, who,

throned in apoplectic majesty between Lord Skiddaw and Lord Hubert, seemed in spirit to be calling on Mrs.

Fisher to witness her achievement. Short of Mrs. Fisher her audience might have been called complete; for

the restaurant was crowded with persons mainly gathered there for the purpose of spectatorship, and

accurately posted as to the names and faces of the celebrities they had come to see. Mrs. Bry, conscious that

all her feminine guests came under that heading, and that each one looked her part to admiration, shone on

Lily with all the pentup gratitude that Mrs. Fisher had failed to deserve. Selden, catching the glance,

wondered what part Miss Bart had played in organizing the entertainment. She did, at least, a great deal to

adorn it; and as he watched the bright security with which she bore herself, he smiled to think that he should

have fancied her in need of help. Never had she appeared more serenely mistress of the situation than when,

at the moment of dispersal, detaching herself a little from the group about the table, she turned with a smile

The dinner had been protracted over Mr. Bry's exceptional cigars and a bewildering array of liqueurs, and

many of the other tables were empty; but a sufficient number of diners still lingered to give relief to the

leavetaking of Mrs. Bry's distinguished guests. This ceremony was drawn out and complicated by the fact

that it involved, on the part of the Duchess and Lady Skiddaw, definite farewells, and pledges of speedy

reunion in Paris, where they were to pause and replenish their wardrobes on the way to England. The quality

of Mrs. Bry's hospitality, and of the tips her husband had presumably imparted, lent to the manner of the

English ladies a general effusiveness which shed the rosiest light over their hostess's future. In its glow Mrs.

Dorset and the Stepneys were also visibly included, and the whole scene had touches of intimacy worth their

A glance at her watch caused the Duchess to exclaim to her sister that they had just time to dash for their

train, and the flurry of this departure over, the Stepneys, who had their motor at the door, offered to convey

the Dorsets and Miss Bart to the quay. The offer was accepted, and Mrs. Dorset moved away with her

husband in attendance. Miss Bart had lingered for a last word with Lord Hubert, and Stepney, on whom Mr.

Bry was pressing a final, and still more expensive, cigar, called out: "Come on, Lily, if you're going back to

Lily turned to obey; but as she did so, Mrs. Dorset, who had paused on her way out, moved a few steps back

"Miss Bart is not going back to the yacht," she said in a voice of singular distinctness.

A startled look ran from eye to eye; Mrs. Bry crimsoned to the verge of congestion, Mrs. Stepney slipped

nervously behind her husband, and Selden, in the general turmoil of his sensations, was mainly conscious of a

Dorset, meanwhile, had stepped back to his wife's side. His face was white, and he looked about him with

cowed angry eyes. "Bertha!Miss Bart . . . this is some misunderstanding . . . some mistake . . ."

"Miss Bart remains here," his wife rejoined incisively. "And, I think, George, we had better not detain Mrs.

Miss Bart, during this brief exchange of words, remained in admirable erectness, slightly isolated from the

embarrassed group about her. She had paled a little under the shock of the insult, but the discomposure of the

surrounding faces was not reflected in her own. The faint disdain of her smile seemed to lift her high above

her antagonist's reach, and it was not till she had given Mrs. Dorset the full measure of the distance between

"I am joining the Duchess tomorrow," she explained, "and it seemed easier for me to remain on shore for the

She held firmly to Mrs. Bry's wavering eye while she gave this explanation, but when it was over Selden saw

her send a tentative glance from one to another of the women's faces. She read their incredulity in their

averted looks, and in the mute wretchedness of the men behind them, and for a miserable halfsecond he

thought she quivered on the brink of failure. Then, turning to him with an easy gesture, and the pale bravery

of her recovered smile"Dear Mr. Selden," she said, "you promised to see me to my cab."

Outside, the sky was gusty and overcast, and as Lily and Selden moved toward the deserted gardens below

the restaurant, spurts of warm rain blew fitfully against their faces. The fiction of the cab had been tacitly

abandoned; they walked on in silence, her hand on his arm, till the deeper shade of the gardens received

She dropped to the seat without answering, but the electric lamp at the bend of the path shed a gleam on the

struggling misery of her face. Selden sat down beside her, waiting for her to speak, fearful lest any word he

chose should touch too roughly on her wound, and kept also from free utterance by the wretched doubt which

had slowly renewed itself within him. What had brought her to this pass? What weakness had placed her so

abominably at her enemy's mercy? And why should Bertha Dorset have turned into an enemy at the very

moment when she so obviously needed the support of her sex? Even while his nerves raged at the subjection

of husbands to their wives, and at the cruelty of women to their kind, reason obstinately harped on the

proverbial relation between smoke and fire. The memory of Mrs. Fisher's hints, and the corroboration of his

own impressions, while they deepened his pity also increased his constraint, since, whichever way he sought

Suddenly it struck him that his silence must seem almost as accusatory as that of the men he had despised for

turning from her; but before he could find the fitting word she had cut him short with a question.

She met this with a pale gleam of her old playfulness. "What IS, then? It's too wet to sleep in the gardens."

"Some one to whom I can go? Of courseany numberbut at THIS hour? You see my change of plan was

"Good Godif you'd listened to me!" he cried, venting his helplessness in a burst of anger.

She still held him off with the gentle mockery of her smile. "But haven't I?" she rejoined. "You advised me to

He saw then, with a pang of selfreproach, that she meant neither to explain nor to defend herself; that by his

miserable silence he had forfeited all chance of helping her, and that the decisive hour was past.

She had risen, and stood before him in a kind of clouded majesty, like some deposed princess moving

"Lily!" he exclaimed, with a note of despairing appeal; but"Oh, not now," she gently admonished him; and

then, in all the sweetness of her recovered composure: "Since I must find shelter somewhere, and since you're

He gathered himself up at the challenge. "You will do as I tell you? There's but one thing, then; you must go

"Oh" broke from her with a movement of instinctive resistance; but he insisted: "Comeit's late, and you

He had drawn her hand into his arm, but she held him back with a last gesture of protest. "I can'tI

"I MUST ask youyou must obey me," he persisted, though infected at heart by her own fear.

Her voice sank to a whisper: "And if she refuses?"but, "Oh, trust metrust me!" he could only insist in

return; and yielding to his touch, she let him lead her back in silence to the edge of the square.

In the cab they continued to remain silent through the brief drive which carried them to the illuminated

portals of the Stepneys' hotel. Here he left her outside, in the darkness of the raised hood, while his name was

sent up to Stepney, and he paced the showy hall, awaiting the latter's descent. Ten minutes later the two men

passed out together between the goldlaced custodians of the threshold; but in the vestibule Stepney drew up

"It's understood, then?" he stipulated nervously, with his hand on Selden's arm. "She leaves tomorrow by the

The blinds of Mrs. Peniston's drawingroom were drawn down against the oppressive June sun, and in the

sultry twilight the faces of her assembled relatives took on a fitting shadow of bereavement. They were all

there: Van Alstynes, Stepneys and Melsonseven a stray Peniston or two, indicating, by a greater latitude in

dress and manner, the fact of remoter relationship and more settled hopes. The Peniston side was, in fact,

secure in the knowledge that the bulk of Mr. Peniston's property "went back"; while the direct connection

hung suspended on the disposal of his widow's private fortune and on the uncertainty of its extent. Jack

Stepney, in his new character as the richest nephew, tacitly took the lead, emphasizing his importance by the

deeper gloss of his mourning and the subdued authority of his manner; while his wife's bored attitude and

frivolous gown proclaimed the heiress's disregard of the insignificant interests at stake. Old Ned Van Alstyne,

seated next to her in a coat that made affliction dapper, twirled his white moustache to conceal the eager

twitch of his lips; and Grace Stepney, rednosed and smelling of crape, whispered emotionally to Mrs.

A rustle of weeds and quick turning of heads hailed the opening of the door, and Lily Bart appeared, tall and

noble in her black dress, with Gerty Farish at her side. The women's faces, as she paused interrogatively on

the threshold, were a study in hesitation. One or two made faint motions of recognition, which might have

been subdued either by the solemnity of the scene, or by the doubt as to how far the others meant to go; Mrs.

Jack Stepney gave a careless nod, and Grace Stepney, with a sepulchral gesture, indicated a seat at her side.

But Lily, ignoring the invitation, as well as Jack Stepney's official attempt to direct her, moved across the

room with her smooth free gait, and seated herself in a chair which seemed to have been purposely placed

It was the first time that she had faced her family since her return from Europe, two weeks earlier; but if she

perceived any uncertainty in their welcome, it served only to add a tinge of irony to the usual composure of

her bearing. The shock of dismay with which, on the dock, she had heard from Gerty Farish of Mrs.

Peniston's sudden death, had been mitigated, almost at once, by the irrepressible thought that now, at last, she

would be able to pay her debts. She had looked forward with considerable uneasiness to her first encounter

with her aunt. Mrs. Peniston had vehemently opposed her niece's departure with the Dorsets, and had marked

her continued disapproval by not writing during Lily's absence. The certainty that she had heard of the

rupture with the Dorsets made the prospect of the meeting more formidable; and how should Lily have

repressed a quick sense of relief at the thought that, instead of undergoing the anticipated ordeal, she had only

to enter gracefully on a longassured inheritance? It had been, in the consecrated phrase, "always

understood" that Mrs. Peniston was to provide handsomely for her niece; and in the latter's mind the

"She gets everything, of courseI don't see what we're here for," Mrs. Jack Stepney remarked with careless

loudness to Ned Van Alstyne; and the latter's deprecating murmur"Julia was always a just

"Well, it's only about four hundred thousand," Mrs. Stepney rejoined with a yawn; and Grace Stepney, in the

silence produced by the lawyer's preliminary cough, was heard to sob out: "They won't find a towel

Lily, oppressed by the close atmosphere, and the stifling odour of fresh mourning, felt her attention straying

as Mrs. Peniston's lawyer, solemnly erect behind the Buhl table at the end of the room, began to rattle through

"It's like being in church," she reflected, wondering vaguely where Gwen Stepney had got such an awful hat.

Then she noticed how stout Jack had grownhe would soon be almost as plethoric as Herbert Melson, who

sat a few feet off, breathing puffily as he leaned his blackgloved hands on his stick.

"I wonder why rich people always grow fatI suppose it's because there's nothing to worry them. If I inherit,

I shall have to be careful of my figure," she mused, while the lawyer droned on through a labyrinth of

legacies. The servants came first, then a few charitable institutions, then several remoter Melsons and

Stepneys, who stirred consciously as their names rang out, and then subsided into a state of impassiveness

befitting the solemnity of the occasion. Ned Van Alstyne, Jack Stepney, and a cousin or two followed, each

coupled with the mention of a few thousands: Lily wondered that Grace Stepney was not among them. Then

she heard her own name"to my niece Lily Bart ten thousand dollars" and after that the lawyer again lost

himself in a coil of unintelligible periods, from which the concluding phrase flashed out with startling

distinctness: "and the residue of my estate to my dear cousin and namesake, Grace Julia Stepney."

There was a subdued gasp of surprise, a rapid turning of heads, and a surging of sable figures toward the

corner in which Miss Stepney wailed out her sense of unworthiness through the crumpled ball of a

Lily stood apart from the general movement, feeling herself for the first time utterly alone. No one looked at

her, no one seemed aware of her presence; she was probing the very depths of insignificance. And under her

sense of the collective indifference came the acuter pang of hopes deceived. Disinheritedshe had been

disinheritedand for Grace Stepney! She met Gerty's lamentable eyes, fixed on her in a despairing effort at

consolation, and the look brought her to herself. There was something to be done before she left the house: to

be done with all the nobility she knew how to put into such gestures. She advanced to the group about Miss

The other ladies had fallen back at her approach, and a space created itself about her. It widened as she turned

to go, and no one advanced to fill it up. She paused a moment, glancing about her, calmly taking the measure

of her situation. She heard some one ask a question about the date of the will; she caught a fragment of the

lawyer's answersomething about a sudden summons, and an "earlier instrument." Then the tide of dispersal

began to drift past her; Mrs. Jack Stepney and Mrs. Herbert Melson stood on the doorstep awaiting their

motor; a sympathizing group escorted Grace Stepney to the cab it was felt to be fitting she should take,

though she lived but a street or two away; and Miss Bart and Gerty found themselves almost alone in the

purple drawingroom, which more than ever, in its stuffy dimness, resembled a wellkept family vault, in

In Gerty Farish's sittingroom, whither a hansom had carried the two friends, Lily dropped into a chair with a

faint sound of laughter: it struck her as a humorous coincidence that her aunt's legacy should so nearly

represent the amount of her debt to Trenor. The need of discharging that debt had reasserted itself with

increased urgency since her return to America, and she spoke her first thought in saying to the anxiously

But Miss Farish could not pause over the legacies; she broke into a larger indignation. "Oh, Lily, it's unjust;

"Any one who knew how to please Aunt Julia has a right to her money," Miss Bart rejoined philosophically.

"But she was devoted to youshe led every one to think" Gerty checked herself in evident

embarrassment, and Miss Bart turned to her with a direct look. "Gerty, be honest: this will was made only six

"Every one heard, of course, that there had been some disagreementsome misunderstanding"

"That was what happened, you know. She said I was trying to marry George Dorset. She did it to make him

"I MUST listen to themI must know where I stand." She paused, and again sounded a faint note of

derision. "Did you notice the women? They were afraid to snub me while they thought I was going to get the

moneyafterward they scuttled off as if I had the plague." Gerty remained silent, and she continued: "I

stayed on to see what would happen. They took their cue from Gwen Stepney and Lulu MelsonI saw them

watching to see what Gwen would do.Gerty, I must know just what is being said of me."

"One hears such things without listening." She rose and laid her resolute hands on Miss Farish's shoulders.

"Who are one's friends at such a time? Who, but you, you poor trustful darling? And heaven knows what

YOU suspect me of!" She kissed Gerty with a whimsical murmur. "You'd never let it make any

differencebut then you're fond of criminals, Gerty! How about the irreclaimable ones, though? For I'm

She drew herself up to the full height of her slender majesty, towering like some dark angel of defiance above

the troubled Gerty, who could only falter out: "Lily, Lilyhow can you laugh about such things?"

"So as not to weep, perhaps. But noI'm not of the tearful order. I discovered early that crying makes my

nose red, and the knowledge has helped me through several painful episodes." She took a restless turn about

the room, and then, reseating herself, lifted the bright mockery of her eyes to Gerty's anxious countenance.

"I shouldn't have minded, you know, if I'd got the money" and at Miss Farish's protesting "Oh!" she

repeated calmly: "Not a straw, my dear; for, in the first place, they wouldn't have quite dared to ignore me;

and if they had, it wouldn't have mattered, because I should have been independent of them. But now!"

"How can you talk so, Lily? Of course the money ought to have been yours, but after all that makes no

difference. The important thing" Gerty paused, and then continued firmly: "The important thing is that

"The whole truth?" Miss Bart laughed. "What is truth? Where a woman is concerned, it's the story that's

easiest to believe. In this case it's a great deal easier to believe Bertha Dorset's story than mine, because she

has a big house and an opera box, and it's convenient to be on good terms with her."

Miss Farish still fixed her with an anxious gaze. "But what IS your story, Lily? I don't believe any one knows

"My story?I don't believe I know it myself. You see I never thought of preparing a version in advance as

But Gerty continued with her quiet reasonableness: "I don't want a version prepared in advancebut I want

"From the beginning?" Miss Bart gently mimicked her. "Dear Gerty, how little imagination you good people

have! Why, the beginning was in my cradle, I supposein the way I was brought up, and the things I was

taught to care for. Or noI won't blame anybody for my faults: I'll say it was in my blood, that I got it from

some wicked pleasureloving ancestress, who reacted against the homely virtues of New Amsterdam, and

wanted to be back at the court of the Charleses!" And as Miss Farish continued to press her with troubled

eyes, she went on impatiently: "You asked me just now for the truthwell, the truth about any girl is that

once she's talked about she's done for; and the more she explains her case the worse it looks.My good

In her stuffy room at the hotel to which she had gone on landing, Lily Bart that evening reviewed her

situation. It was the last week in June, and none of her friends were in town. The few relatives who had

stayed on, or returned, for the reading of Mrs. Peniston's will, had taken flight again that afternoon to

Newport or Long Island; and not one of them had made any proffer of hospitality to Lily. For the first time in

her life she found herself utterly alone except for Gerty Farish. Even at the actual moment of her break with

the Dorsets she had not had so keen a sense of its consequences, for the Duchess of Beltshire, hearing of the

catastrophe from Lord Hubert, had instantly offered her protection, and under her sheltering wing Lily had

made an almost triumphant progress to London. There she had been sorely tempted to linger on in a society

which asked of her only to amuse and charm it, without enquiring too curiously how she had acquired her gift

for doing so; but Selden, before they parted, had pressed on her the urgent need of returning at once to her

aunt, and Lord Hubert, when he presently reappeared in London, abounded in the same counsel. Lily did not

need to be told that the Duchess's championship was not the best road to social rehabilitation, and as she was

besides aware that her noble defender might at any moment drop her in favour of a new PROTEGEE, she

reluctantly decided to return to America. But she had not been ten minutes on her native shore before she

realized that she had delayed too long to regain it. The Dorsets, the Stepneys, the Brysall the actors and

witnesses in the miserable dramahad preceded her with their version of the case; and, even had she seen

the least chance of gaining a hearing for her own, some obscure disdain and reluctance would have restrained

her. She knew it was not by explanations and countercharges that she could ever hope to recover her lost

standing; but even had she felt the least trust in their efficacy, she would still have been held back by the

feeling which had kept her from defending herself to Gerty Farisha feeling that was half pride and half

humiliation. For though she knew she had been ruthlessly sacrificed to Bertha Dorset's determination to win

back her husband, and though her own relation to Dorset had been that of the merest goodfellowship, yet

she had been perfectly aware from the outset that her part in the affair was, as Carry Fisher brutally put it, to

distract Dorset's attention from his wife. That was what she was "there for": it was the price she had chosen to

pay for three months of luxury and freedom from care. Her habit of resolutely facing the facts, in her rare

moments of introspection, did not now allow her to put any false gloss on the situation. She had suffered for

the very faithfulness with which she had carried out her part of the tacit compact, but the part was not a

She saw, too, in the same uncompromising light, the train of consequences resulting from that failure; and

these became clearer to her with every day of her weary lingering in town. She stayed on partly for the

comfort of Gerty Farish's nearness, and partly for lack of knowing where to go. She understood well enough

the nature of the task before her. She must set out to regain, little by little, the position she had lost; and the

first step in the tedious task was to find out, as soon as possible, on how many of her friends she could count.

Her hopes were mainly centred on Mrs. Trenor, who had treasures of easygoing tolerance for those who

were amusing or useful to her, and in the noisy rush of whose existence the still small voice of detraction was

slow to make itself heard. But Judy, though she must have been apprised of Miss Bart's return, had not even

recognized it by the formal note of condolence which her friend's bereavement demanded. Any advance on

Lily's side might have been perilous: there was nothing to do but to trust to the happy chance of an accidental

meeting, and Lily knew that, even so late in the season, there was always a hope of running across her friends

To this end she assiduously showed herself at the restaurants they frequented, where, attended by the troubled

"My dear Gerty, you wouldn't have me let the headwaiter see that I've nothing to live on but Aunt Julia's

legacy? Think of Grace Stepney's satisfaction if she came in and found us lunching on cold mutton and tea!

She dropped the MENU abruptly, with a quick heightening of colour, and Gerty, following her glance, was

aware of the advance, from an inner room, of a party headed by Mrs. Trenor and Carry Fisher. It was

impossible for these ladies and their companionsamong whom Lily had at once distinguished both Trenor

and Rosedalenot to pass, in going out, the table at which the two girls were seated; and Gerty's sense of the

fact betrayed itself in the helpless trepidation of her manner. Miss Bart, on the contrary, borne forward on the

wave of her buoyant grace, and neither shrinking from her friends nor appearing to lie in wait for them, gave

to the encounter the touch of naturalness which she could impart to the most strained situations. Such

embarrassment as was shown was on Mrs. Trenor's side, and manifested itself in the mingling of exaggerated

warmth with imperceptible reservations. Her loudly affirmed pleasure at seeing Miss Bart took the form of a

nebulous generalization, which included neither enquiries as to her future nor the expression of a definite

wish to see her again. Lily, wellversed in the language of these omissions, knew that they were equally

intelligible to the other members of the party: even Rosedale, flushed as he was with the importance of

keeping such company, at once took the temperature of Mrs. Trenor's cordiality, and reflected it in his

offhand greeting of Miss Bart. Trenor, red and uncomfortable, had cut short his salutations on the pretext of

a word to say to the headwaiter; and the rest of the group soon melted away in Mrs. Trenor's wake.

It was over in a momentthe waiter, MENU in hand, still hung on the result of the choice between COUPE

JACQUES and PECHES A LA MELBAbut Miss Bart, in the interval, had taken the measure of her fate.

Where Judy Trenor led, all the world would follow; and Lily had the doomed sense of the castaway who has

In a flash she remembered Mrs. Trenor's complaints of Carry Fisher's rapacity, and saw that they denoted an

unexpected acquaintance with her husband's private affairs. In the large tumultuous disorder of the life at

Bellomont, where no one seemed to have time to observe any one else, and private aims and personal

interests were swept along unheeded in the rush of collective activities, Lily had fancied herself sheltered

from inconvenient scrutiny; but if Judy knew when Mrs. Fisher borrowed money of her husband, was she

likely to ignore the same transaction on Lily's part? If she was careless of his affections she was plainly

jealous of his pocket; and in that fact Lily read the explanation of her rebuff. The immediate result of these

conclusions was the passionate resolve to pay back her debt to Trenor. That obligation discharged, she would

have but a thousand dollars of Mrs. Peniston's legacy left, and nothing to live on but her own small income,

which was considerably less than Gerty Farish's wretched pittance; but this consideration gave way to the

imperative claim of her wounded pride. She must be quits with the Trenors first; after that she would take

In her ignorance of legal procrastinations she had supposed that her legacy would be paid over within a few

days of the reading of her aunt's will; and after an interval of anxious suspense, she wrote to enquire the cause

of the delay. There was another interval before Mrs. Peniston's lawyer, who was also one of the executors,

replied to the effect that, some questions having arisen relative to the interpretation of the will, he and his

associates might not be in a position to pay the legacies till the close of the twelvemonth legally allotted for

their settlement. Bewildered and indignant, Lily resolved to try the effect of a personal appeal; but she

returned from her expedition with a sense of the powerlessness of beauty and charm against the unfeeling

processes of the law. It seemed intolerable to live on for another year under the weight of her debt; and in her

extremity she decided to turn to Miss Stepney, who still lingered in town, immersed in the delectable duty of

"going over" her benefactress's effects. It was bitter enough for Lily to ask a favour of Grace Stepney, but the

alternative was bitterer still; and one morning she presented herself at Mrs. Peniston's, where Grace, for the

The strangeness of entering as a suppliant the house where she had so long commanded, increased Lily's

desire to shorten the ordeal; and when Miss Stepney entered the darkened drawingroom, rustling with the

best quality of crape, her visitor went straight to the point: would she be willing to advance the amount of the

Grace, in reply, wept and wondered at the request, bemoaned the inexorableness of the law, and was

astonished that Lily had not realized the exact similarity of their positions. Did she think that only the

payment of the legacies had been delayed? Why, Miss Stepney herself had not received a penny of her

inheritance, and was paying rentyes, actually!for the privilege of living in a house that belonged to her.

She was sure it was not what poor dear cousin Julia would have wishedshe had told the executors so to

their faces; but they were inaccessible to reason, and there was nothing to do but to wait. Let Lily take

example by her, and be patientlet them both remember how beautifully patient cousin Julia had always

Lily made a movement which showed her imperfect assimilation of this example. "But you will have

everything, Graceit would be easy for you to borrow ten times the amount I am asking for."

"Borroweasy for me to borrow?" Grace Stepney rose up before her in sable wrath. "Do you imagine for a

moment that I would raise money on my expectations from cousin Julia, when I know so well her

unspeakable horror of every transaction of the sort? Why, Lily, if you must know the truth, it was the idea of

your being in debt that brought on her illnessyou remember she had a slight attack before you sailed. Oh, I

don't know the particulars, of courseI don't WANT to know thembut there were rumours about your

affairs that made her most unhappyno one could be with her without seeing that. I can't help it if you are

offended by my telling you this nowif I can do anything to make you realize the folly of your course, and

how deeply SHE disapproved of it, I shall feel it is the truest way of making up to you for her loss.

It seemed to Lily, as Mrs. Peniston's door closed on her, that she was taking a final leave of her old life. The

future stretched before her dull and bare as the deserted length of Fifth Avenue, and opportunities showed as

meagrely as the few cabs trailing in quest of fares that did not come. The completeness of the analogy was,

however, disturbed as she reached the sidewalk by the rapid approach of a hansom which pulled up at sight of

From beneath its luggageladen top, she caught the wave of a signalling hand; and the next moment Mrs.

"My dear, you don't mean to say you're still in town? When I saw you the other day at Sherry's I didn't have

time to ask" She broke off, and added with a burst of frankness: "The truth is I was HORRID, Lily, and

"Oh" Miss Bart protested, drawing back from her penitent clasp; but Mrs. Fisher went on with her usual

directness: "Look here, Lily, don't let's beat about the bush: half the trouble in life is caused by pretending

there isn't any. That's not my way, and I can only say I'm thoroughly ashamed of myself for following the

other women's lead. But we'll talk of that by and byetell me now where you're staying and what your plans

are. I don't suppose you're keeping house in there with Grace Stepney, eh?and it struck me you might be

In Lily's present mood there was no resisting the honest friendliness of this appeal, and she said with a smile:

"I am at loose ends for the moment, but Gerty Farish is still in town, and she's good enough to let me be with

Mrs. Fisher made a slight grimace. "H'mthat's a temperate joy. Oh, I knowGerty's a trump, and worth all

the rest of us put together; but A LA LONGUE you're used to a little higher seasoning, aren't you, dear? And

besides, I suppose she'll be off herself before longthe first of August, you say? Well, look here, you can't

spend your summer in town; we'll talk of that later too. But meanwhile, what do you say to putting a few

And as Lily stared at the breathless suddenness of the suggestion, she continued with her easy laugh: "You

don't know them and they don't know you; but that don't make a rap of difference. They've taken the Van

Alstyne place at Roslyn, and I've got CARTE BLANCHE to bring my friends down therethe more the

merrier. They do things awfully well, and there's to be rather a jolly party there this week" she broke off,

checked by an undefinable change in Miss Bart's expression. "Oh, I don't mean YOUR particular set, you

know: rather a different crowd, but very good fun. The fact is, the Gormers have struck out on a line of their

own: what they want is to have a good time, and to have it in their own way. They gave the other thing a few

months' trial, under my distinguished auspices, and they were really doing extremely wellgetting on a good

deal faster than the Brys, just because they didn't care as muchbut suddenly they decided that the whole

business bored them, and that what they wanted was a crowd they could really feel at home with. Rather

original of them, don't you think so? Mattie Gormer HAS got aspirations still; women always have; but she's

awfully easygoing, and Sam won't be bothered, and they both like to be the most important people in sight,

so they've started a sort of continuous performance of their own, a kind of social Coney Island, where

everybody is welcome who can make noise enough and doesn't put on airs. I think it's awfully good fun

myselfsome of the artistic set, you know, any pretty actress that's going, and so on. This week, for

instance, they have Audrey Anstell, who made such a hit last spring in 'The Winning of Winny'; and Paul

Morpethhe's painting Mattie Gormerand the Dick Bellingers, and Kate Corbywell, every one you can

think of who's jolly and makes a row. Now don't stand there with your nose in the air, my dearit will be a

good deal better than a broiling Sunday in town, and you'll find clever people as well as noisy

onesMorpeth, who admires Mattie enormously, always brings one or two of his set."

Mrs. Fisher drew Lily toward the hansom with friendly authority. "Jump in now, there's a dear, and we'll

drive round to your hotel and have your things packed, and then we'll have tea, and the two maids can meet

It was a good deal better than a broiling Sunday in townof that no doubt remained to Lily as, reclining in

the shade of a leafy verandah, she looked seaward across a stretch of greensward picturesquely dotted with

groups of ladies in lace raiment and men in tennis flannels. The huge Van Alstyne house and its rambling

dependencies were packed to their fullest capacity with the Gormers' weekend guests, who now, in the

radiance of the Sunday forenoon, were dispersing themselves over the grounds in quest of the various

distractions the place afforded: distractions ranging from tenniscourts to shootinggalleries, from bridge and

whiskey within doors to motors and steamlaunches without. Lily had the odd sense of having been caught

up into the crowd as carelessly as a passenger is gathered in by an express train. The blonde and genial Mrs.

Gormer might, indeed, have figured the conductor, calmly assigning seats to the rush of travellers, while

Carry Fisher represented the porter pushing their bags into place, giving them their numbers for the

diningcar, and warning them when their station was at hand. The train, meanwhile, had scarcely slackened

speedlife whizzed on with a deafening' rattle and roar, in which one traveller at least found a welcome

refuge from the sound of her own thoughts. The Gormer MILIEU represented a social outskirt which Lily

had always fastidiously avoided; but it struck her, now that she was in it, as only a flamboyant copy of her

own world, a caricature approximating the real thing as the "society play" approaches the manners of the

drawingroom. The people about her were doing the same things as the Trenors, the Van Osburghs and the

Dorsets: the difference lay in a hundred shades of aspect and manner, from the pattern of the men's waistcoats

to the inflexion of the women's voices. Everything was pitched in a higher key, and there was more of each

thing: more noise, more colour, more champagne, more familiaritybut also greater goodnature, less

Miss Bart's arrival had been welcomed with an uncritical friendliness that first irritated her pride and then

brought her to a sharp sense of her own situationof the place in life which, for the moment, she must

accept and make the best of. These people knew her storyof that her first long talk with Carry Fisher had

left no doubt: she was publicly branded as the heroine of a "queer" episodebut instead of shrinking from

her as her own friends had done, they received her without question into the easy promiscuity of their lives.

They swallowed her past as easily as they did Miss Anstell's, and with no apparent sense of any difference in

the size of the mouthful: all they asked was that she shouldin her own way, for they recognized a diversity

of giftscontribute as much to the general amusement as that graceful actress, whose talents, when off the

stage, were of the most varied order. Lily felt at once that any tendency to be "stuckup," to mark a sense of

differences and distinctions, would be fatal to her continuance in the Gormer set. To be taken in on such

termsand into such a world!was hard enough to the lingering pride in her; but she realized, with a pang

of selfcontempt, that to be excluded from it would, after all, be harder still. For, almost at once, she had felt

the insidious charm of slipping back into a life where every material difficulty was smoothed away. The

sudden escape from a stifling hotel in a dusty deserted city to the space and luxury of a great countryhouse

fanned by sea breezes, had produced a state of moral lassitude agreeable enough after the nervous tension and

physical discomfort of the past weeks. For the moment she must yield to the refreshment her senses

cravedafter that she would reconsider her situation, and take counsel with her dignity. Her enjoyment of

her surroundings was, indeed, tinged by the unpleasant consideration that she was accepting the hospitality

and courting the approval of people she had disdained under other conditions. But she was growing less

sensitive on such points: a hard glaze of indifference was fast forming over her delicacies and susceptibilities,

On the Monday, when the party disbanded with uproarious adieux, the return to town threw into stronger

relief the charms of the life she was leaving. The other guests were dispersing to take up the same existence

in a different setting: some at Newport, some at Bar Harbour, some in the elaborate rusticity of an

Adirondack camp. Even Gerty Farish, who welcomed Lily's return with tender solicitude, would soon be

preparing to join the aunt with whom she spent her summers on Lake George: only Lily herself remained

without plan or purpose, stranded in a backwater of the great current of pleasure. But Carry Fisher, who had

insisted on transporting her to her own house, where she herself was to perch for a day or two on the way to

"Look here, LilyI'll tell you what it is: I want you to take my place with Mattie Gormer this summer.

They're taking a party out to Alaska next month in their private car, and Mattie, who is the laziest woman

alive, wants me to go with them, and relieve her of the bother of arranging things; but the Brys want me

toooh, yes, we've made it up: didn't I tell you?and, to put it frankly, though I like the Gormers best,

there's more profit for me in the Brys. The fact is, they want to try Newport this summer, and if I can make it

a success for them theywell, they'll make it a success for me." Mrs. Fisher clasped her hands

enthusiastically. "Do you know, Lily, the more I think of my idea the better I like itquite as much for you

as for myself. The Gormers have both taken a tremendous fancy to you, and the trip to Alaska iswellthe

Miss Bart lifted her eyes with a keen glance. "To take me out of my friends' way, you mean?" she said

quietly; and Mrs. Fisher responded with a deprecating kiss: "To keep you out of their sight till they realize

Miss Bart went with the Gormers to Alaska; and the expedition, if it did not produce the effect anticipated by

her friend, had at least the negative advantage of removing her from the fiery centre of criticism and

discussion. Gerty Farish had opposed the plan with all the energy of her somewhat inarticulate nature. She

had even offered to give up her visit to Lake George, and remain in town with Miss Bart, if the latter would

renounce her journey; but Lily could disguise her real distaste for this plan under a sufficiently valid reason.

"You dear innocent, don't you see," she protested, "that Carry is quite right, and that I must take Up my usual

life, and go about among people as much as possible? If my old friends choose to believe lies about me I shall

have to make new ones, that's all; and you know beggars mustn't be choosers. Not that I don't like Mattie

GormerI DO like her: she's kind and honest and unaffected; and don't you suppose I feel grateful to her for

making me welcome at a time when, as you've yourself seen, my own family have unanimously washed their

Gerty shook her head, mutely unconvinced. She felt not only that Lily was cheapening herself by making use

of an intimacy she would never have cultivated from choice, but that, in drifting back now to her former

manner of life, she was forfeiting her last chance of ever escaping from it. Gerty had but an obscure

conception of what Lily's actual experience had been: but its consequences had established a lasting hold on

her pity since the memorable night when she had offered up her own secret hope to her friend's extremity. To

characters like Gerty's such a sacrifice constitutes a moral claim on the part of the person in whose behalf it

has been made. Having once helped Lily, she must continue to help her; and helping her, must believe in her,

because faith is the mainspring of such natures. But even if Miss Bart, after her renewed taste of the

amenities of life, could have returned to the barrenness of a New York August, mitigated only by poor

Gerty's presence, her worldly wisdom would have counselled her against such an act of abnegation. She knew

that Carry Fisher was right: that an opportune absence might be the first step toward rehabilitation, and that,

at any rate, to linger on in town out of season was a fatal admission of defeat. From the Gormers' tumultuous

progress across their native continent, she returned with an altered view of her situation. The renewed habit of

luxurythe daily waking to an assured absence of care and presence of material easegradually blunted her

appreciation of these values, and left her more conscious of the void they could not fill. Mattie Gormer's

undiscriminating goodnature, and the slapdash sociability of her friends, who treated Lily precisely as they

treated each otherall these characteristic notes of difference began to wear upon her endurance; and the

more she saw to criticize in her companions, the less justification she found for making use of them. The

longing to get back to her former surroundings hardened to a fixed idea; but with the strengthening of her

purpose came the inevitable perception that, to attain it, she must exact fresh concessions from her pride.

These, for the moment, took the unpleasant form of continuing to cling to her hosts after their return from

Alaska. Little as she was in the key of their MILIEU, her immense social facility, her long habit of adapting

herself to others without suffering her own outline to be blurred, the skilled manipulation of all the polished

implements of her craft, had won for her an important place in the Gormer group. If their resonant hilarity

could never be hers, she contributed a note of easy elegance more valuable to Mattie Gormer than the louder

passages of the band. Sam Gormer and his special cronies stood indeed a little in awe of her; but Mattie's

following, headed by Paul Morpeth, made her feel that they prized her for the very qualities they most

conspicuously lacked. If Morpeth, whose social indolence was as great as his artistic activity, had abandoned

himself to the easy current of the Gormer existence, where the minor exactions of politeness were unknown

or ignored, and a man could either break his engagements, or keep them in a paintingjacket and slippers, he

still preserved his sense of differences, and his appreciation of graces he had no time to cultivate. During the

preparations for the Brys' TABLEAUX he had been immensely struck by Lily's plastic possibilities"not

the face: too selfcontrolled for expression; but the rest of hergad, what a model she'd make!"and

though his abhorrence of the world in which he had seen her was too great for him to think of seeking her

there, he was fully alive to the privilege of having her to look at and listen to while he lounged in Mattie

Lily had thus formed, in the tumult of her surroundings, a little nucleus of friendly relations which mitigated

the crudeness of her course in lingering with the Gormers after their return. Nor was she without pale

glimpses of her own world, especially since the breakingup of the Newport season had set the social current

once more toward Long Island. Kate Corby, whose tastes made her as promiscuous as Carry Fisher was

rendered by her necessities, occasionally descended on the Gormers, where, after a first stare of surprise, she

took Lily's presence almost too much as a matter of course. Mrs. Fisher, too, appearing frequently in the

neighbourhood, drove over to impart her experiences and give Lily what she called the latest report from the

weatherbureau; and the latter, who had never directly invited her confidence, could yet talk with her more

freely than with Gerty Farish, in whose presence it was impossible even to admit the existence of much that

Mrs. Fisher, moreover, had no embarrassing curiosity. She did not wish to probe the inwardness of Lily's

situation, but simply to view it from the outside, and draw her conclusions accordingly; and these

conclusions, at the end of a confidential talk, she summed up to her friend in the succinct remark: "You must

Lily uttered a faint laughfor once Mrs. Fisher lacked originality. "Do you mean, like Gerty Farish, to

"NoI don't think either of my candidates would answer to that description," said Mrs. Fisher after a pause

Miss Bart received this with increasing amusement. "Other things being equal, I think I should prefer a

halfhusband: who is he?" "Don't fly out at me till you hear my reasonsGeorge Dorset."

"Oh" Lily murmured reproachfully; but Mrs. Fisher pressed on unrebuffed. "Well, why not? They had a

few weeks' honeymoon when they first got back from Europe, but now things are going badly with them

again. Bertha has been behaving more than ever like a madwoman, and George's powers of credulity are very

nearly exhausted. They're at their place here, you know, and I spent last Sunday with them. It was a ghastly

partyno one else but poor Neddy Silverton, who looks like a galleyslave (they used to talk of my making

that poor boy unhappy!)and after luncheon George carried me off on a long walk, and told me the end

Miss Bart made an incredulous gesture. "As far as that goes, the end will never comeBertha will always

Mrs. Fisher continued to observe her tentatively. "Not if he has any one else to turn to! Yesthat's just what

it comes to: the poor creature can't stand alone. And I remember him such a good fellow, full of life and

enthusiasm." She paused, and went on, dropping her glance from Lily's: "He wouldn't stay with her ten

"What YOU must, for instancewith the opportunities you've had! If he had positive proof, I mean"

Lily interrupted her with a deep blush of displeasure. "Please let us drop the subject, Carry: it's too odious to

me." And to divert her companion's attention she added, with an attempt at lightness: "And your second

Mrs. Fisher echoed her laugh. "I wonder if you'll cry out just as loud if I saySim Rosedale?"

Miss Bart did not cry out: she sat silent, gazing thoughtfully at her friend. The suggestion, in truth, gave

expression to a possibility which, in the last weeks, had more than once recurred to her; but after a moment

she said carelessly: "Mr. Rosedale wants a wife who can establish him in the bosom of the Van Osburghs and

Mrs. Fisher caught her up eagerly. "And so YOU couldwith his money! Don't you see how beautifully it

"I don't see any way of making him see it," Lily returned, with a laugh intended to dismiss the subject.

But in reality it lingered with her long after Mrs. Fisher had taken leave. She had seen very little of Rosedale

since her annexation by the Gormers, for he was still steadily bent on penetrating to the inner Paradise from

which she was now excluded; but once or twice, when nothing better offered, he had turned up for a Sunday,

and on these occasions he had left her in no doubt as to his view of her situation. That he still admired her

was, more than ever, offensively evident; for in the Gormer circle, where he expanded as in his native

element, there were no puzzling conventions to check the full expression of his approval. But it was in the

quality of his admiration that she read his shrewd estimate of her case. He enjoyed letting the Gormers see

that he had known "Miss Lily"she was "Miss Lily" to him nowbefore they had had the faintest social

existence: enjoyed more especially impressing Paul Morpeth with the distance to which their intimacy dated

back. But he let it be felt that that intimacy was a mere ripple on the surface of a rushing social current, the

kind of relaxation which a man of large interests and manifold preoccupations permits himself in his hours of

The necessity of accepting this view of their past relation, and of meeting it in the key of pleasantry prevalent

among her new friends, was deeply humiliating to Lily. But she dared less than ever to quarrel with Rosedale.

She suspected that her rejection rankled among the most unforgettable of his rebuffs, and the fact that he

knew something of her wretched transaction with Trenor, and was sure to put the basest construction on it,

seemed to place her hopelessly in his power. Yet at Carry Fisher's suggestion a new hope had stirred in her.

Much as she disliked Rosedale, she no longer absolutely despised him. For he was gradually attaining his

object in life, and that, to Lily, was always less despicable than to miss it. With the slow unalterable

persistency which she had always felt in him, he was making his way through the dense mass of social

antagonisms. Already his wealth, and the masterly use he had made of it, were giving him an enviable

prominence in the world of affairs, and placing Wall Street under obligations which only Fifth Avenue could

repay. In response to these claims, his name began to figure on municipal committees and charitable boards;

he appeared at banquets to distinguished strangers, and his candidacy at one of the fashionable clubs was

discussed with diminishing opposition. He had figured once or twice at the Trenor dinners, and had learned to

speak with just the right note of disdain of the big Van Osburgh crushes; and all he now needed was a wife

whose affiliations would shorten the last tedious steps of his ascent. It was with that object that, a year earlier,

he had fixed his affections on Miss Bart; but in the interval he had mounted nearer to the goal, while she had

lost the power to abbreviate the remaining steps of the way. All this she saw with the clearness of vision that

came to her in moments of despondency. It was success that dazzled hershe could distinguish facts plainly

enough in the twilight of failure. And the twilight, as she now sought to pierce it, was gradually lighted by a

faint spark of reassurance. Under the utilitarian motive of Rosedale's wooing she had felt, clearly enough, the

heat of personal inclination. She would not have detested him so heartily had she not known that he dared to

admire her. What, then, if the passion persisted, though the other motive had ceased to sustain it? She had

never even tried to please himhe had been drawn to her in spite of her manifest disdain. What if she now

chose to exert the power which, even in its passive state, he had felt so strongly? What if she made him marry

As became persons of their rising consequence, the Gormers were engaged in building a countryhouse on

Long Island; and it was a part of Miss Bart's duty to attend her hostess on frequent visits of inspection to the

new estate. There, while Mrs. Gormer plunged into problems of lighting and sanitation, Lily had leisure to

wander, in the bright autumn air, along the treefringed bay to which the land declined. Little as she was

addicted to solitude, there had come to be moments when it seemed a welcome escape from the empty noises

of her life. She was weary of being swept passively along a current of pleasure and business in which she had

no share; weary of seeing other people pursue amusement and squander money, while she felt herself of no

It was in this frame of mind that, striking back from the shore one morning into the windings of an unfamiliar

lane, she came suddenly upon the figure of George Dorset. The Dorset place was in the immediate

neighbourhood of the Gormers' newlyacquired estate, and in her motorflights thither with Mrs. Gormer,

Lily had caught one or two passing glimpses of the couple; but they moved in so different an orbit that she

Dorset, swinging along with bent head, in moody abstraction, did not see Miss Bart till he was close upon

her; but the sight, instead of bringing him to a halt, as she had halfexpected, sent him toward her with an

"Miss Bart!You'll shake hands, won't you? I've been hoping to meet youI should have written to you if

I'd dared." His face, with its tossed red hair and straggling moustache, had a driven uneasy look, as though

life had become an unceasing race between himself and the thoughts at his heels.

The look drew a word of compassionate greeting from Lily, and he pressed on, as if encouraged by her tone:

She checked him with a quick gesture. "Don't let us speak of it: I was very sorry for you," she said, with a

He flushed to his haggard eyes, flushed so cruelly that she repented the thrust. "You might well be; you don't

"I am still more sorry for you, then," she interposed, without irony; "but you must see that I am not exactly

He met this with a look of genuine wonder. "Why not? Isn't it to you, of all people, that I owe an

"Ah" he murmured, his head drooping again, and his irresolute hand switching at the underbrush along

the lane. But as Lily made a movement to pass on, he broke out with fresh vehemence: "Miss Bart, for God's

sake don't turn from me! We used to be good friendsyou were always kind to meand you don't know

The lamentable weakness of the words roused a motion of pity in Lily's breast. She too needed friendsshe

had tasted the pang of loneliness; and her resentment of Bertha Dorset's cruelty softened her heart to the poor

"I still wish to be kind; I feel no illwill toward you," she said. "But you must understand that after what has

"Ah, you ARE kindyou're mercifulyou always were!" He fixed his miserable gaze on her. "But why

can't we be friendswhy not, when I've repented in dust and ashes? Isn't it hard that you should condemn me

to suffer for the falseness, the treachery of others? I was punished enough at the timeis there to be no

"I should have thought you had found complete respite in the reconciliation which was effected at my

expense," Lily began, with renewed impatience; but he broke in imploringly: "Don't put it in that waywhen

that's been the worst of my punishment. My God! what could I dowasn't I powerless? You were singled

out as a sacrifice: any word I might have said would have been turned against you"

"I have told you I don't blame you; all I ask you to understand is that, after the use Bertha chose to make of

meafter all that her behaviour has since impliedit's impossible that you and I should meet."

He continued to stand before her, in his dogged weakness. "Is itneed it be? Mightn't there be

circumstances?" he checked himself, slashing at the wayside weeds in a wider radius. Then he began

again: "Miss Bart, listengive me a minute. If we're not to meet again, at least let me have a hearing now.

You say we can't be friends afterafter what has happened. But can't I at least appeal to your pity? Can't I

move you if I ask you to think of me as a prisonera prisoner you alone can set free?"

Lily's inward start betrayed itself in a quick blush: was it possible that this was really the sense of Carry

"I can't see how I can possibly be of any help to you," she murmured, drawing back a little from the mounting

Her tone seemed to sober him, as it had so often done in his stormiest moments. The stubborn lines of his

face relaxed, and he said, with an abrupt drop to docility: "You WOULD see, if you'd be as merciful as you

She paused a moment, moved in spite of herself by this reminder of her influence over him. Her fibres had

been softened by suffering, and the sudden glimpse into his mocked and broken life disarmed her contempt

"I am very sorry for youI would help you willingly; but you must have other friends, other advisers."

"I never had a friend like you," he answered simply. "And besidescan't you see?you're the only

Again she felt her colour change; again her heart rose in precipitate throbs to meet what she felt was coming.

He lifted his eyes to her entreatingly. "You do see, don't you? You understand? I'm desperateI'm at the end

of my tether. I want to be free, and you can free me. I know you can. You don't want to keep me bound fast in

hell, do you? You can't want to take such a vengeance as that. You were always kindyour eyes are kind

now. You say you're sorry for me. Well, it rests with you to show it; and heaven knows there's nothing to

keep you back. You understand, of coursethere wouldn't be a hint of publicitynot a sound or a syllable

to connect you with the thing. It would never come to that, you know: all I need is to be able to say

definitely:'I know thisand thisand this'and the fight would drop, and the way be cleared, and the

He spoke pantingly, like a tired runner, with breaks of exhaustion between his words; and through the breaks

she caught, as through the shifting rents of a fog, great golden vistas of peace and safety. For there was no

mistaking the definite intention behind his vague appeal; she could have filled up the blanks without the help

of Mrs. Fisher's insinuations. Here was a man who turned to her in the extremity of his loneliness and his

humiliation: if she came to him at such a moment he would be hers with all the force of his deluded faith.

And the power to make him so lay in her handlay there in a completeness he could not even remotely

conjecture. Revenge and rehabilitation might be hers at a strokethere was something dazzling in the

She stood silent, gazing away from him down the autumnal stretch of the deserted lane. And suddenly fear

possessed herfear of herself, and of the terrible force of the temptation. All her past weaknesses were like

so many eager accomplices drawing her toward the path their feet had already smoothed. She turned quickly,

"Nothing? Ah, don't say that," he cried; "say what's true: that you abandon me like the others. You, the only

"Goodbyegoodbye," she repeated hurriedly; and as she moved away she heard him cry out on a last note of

Lily, on regaining the Gormer grounds, struck rapidly across the lawn toward the unfinished house, where she

fancied that her hostess might be speculating, not too resignedly, on the cause of her delay; for, like many

As Miss Bart reached the avenue, however, she saw a smart phaeton with a highstepping pair disappear

behind the shrubbery in the direction of the gate; and on the doorstep stood Mrs. Gormer, with a glow of

retrospective pleasure on her open countenance. At sight of Lily the glow deepened to an embarrassed red,

and she said with a slight laugh: "Did you see my visitor? Oh, I thought you came back by the avenue. It was

Lily met the announcement with her usual composure, though her experience of Bertha's idiosyncrasies

would not have led her to include the neighbourly instinct among them; and Mrs. Gormer, relieved to see that

she gave no sign of surprise, went on with a deprecating laugh: "Of course what really brought her was

curiosityshe made me take her all over the house. But no one could have been nicerno airs, you know,

This surprising event, coinciding too completely with her meeting with Dorset to be regarded as contingent

upon it, had yet immediately struck Lily with a vague sense of foreboding. It was not in Bertha's habits to be

neighbourly, much less to make advances to any one outside the immediate circle of her affinities. She had

always consistently ignored the world of outer aspirants, or had recognized its individual members only when

prompted by motives of selfinterest; and the very capriciousness of her condescensions had, as Lily was

aware, given them special value in the eyes of the persons she distinguished. Lily saw this now in Mrs.

Gormer's unconcealable complacency, and in the happy irrelevance with which, for the next day or two, she

quoted Bertha's opinions and speculated on the origin of her gown. All the secret ambitions which Mrs.

Gormer's native indolence, and the attitude of her companions, kept in habitual abeyance, were now

germinating afresh in the glow of Bertha's advances; and whatever the cause of the latter, Lily saw that, if

they were followed up, they were likely to have a disturbing effect upon her own future.

She had arranged to break the length of her stay with her new friends by one or two visits to other

acquaintances as recent; and on her return from this somewhat depressing excursion she was immediately

conscious that Mrs. Dorset's influence was still in the air. There had been another exchange of visits, a tea at

a countryclub, an encounter at a hunt ball; there was even a rumour of an approaching dinner, which Mattie

Gormer, with an unnatural effort at discretion, tried to smuggle out of the conversation whenever Miss Bart

The latter had already planned to return to town after a farewell Sunday with her friends; and, with Gerty

Farish's aid, had discovered a small private hotel where she might establish herself for the winter. The hotel

being on the edge of a fashionable neighbourhood, the price of the few square feet she was to occupy was

considerably in excess of her means; but she found a justification for her dislike of poorer quarters in the

argument that, at this particular juncture, it was of the utmost importance to keep up a show of prosperity. In

reality, it was impossible for her, while she had the means to pay her way for a week ahead, to lapse into a

form of existence like Gerty Farish's. She had never been so near the brink of insolvency; but she could at

least manage to meet her weekly hotel bill, and having settled the heaviest of her previous debts out of the

money she had received from Trenor, she had a still fair margin of credit to go upon. The situation, however,

was not agreeable enough to lull her to complete unconsciousness of its insecurity. Her rooms, with their

cramped outlook down a sallow vista of brick walls and fireescapes, her lonely meals in the dark restaurant

with its surcharged ceiling and haunting smell of coffeeall these material discomforts, which were yet to

be accounted as so many privileges soon to be withdrawn, kept constantly before her the disadvantages of her

state; and her mind reverted the more insistently to Mrs. Fisher's counsels. Beat about the question as she

would, she knew the outcome of it was that she must try to marry Rosedale; and in this conviction she was

She found him, on the first Sunday after her return to town, pacing her narrow sittingroom to the imminent

peril of the few knickknacks with which she had tried to disguise its plush exuberances; but the sight of her

seemed to quiet him, and he said meekly that he hadn't come to bother herthat he asked only to be allowed

to sit for half an hour and talk of anything she liked. In reality, as she knew, he had but one subject: himself

and his wretchedness; and it was the need of her sympathy that had drawn him back. But he began with a

pretence of questioning her about herself, and as she replied, she saw that, for the first time, a faint realization

of her plight penetrated the dense surface of his selfabsorption. Was it possible that her old beast of an aunt

had actually cut her off? That she was living alone like this because there was no one else for her to go to,

and that she really hadn't more than enough to keep alive on till the wretched little legacy was paid? The

fibres of sympathy were nearly atrophied in him, but he was suffering so intensely that he had a faint glimpse

of what other sufferings might meanand, as she perceived, an almost simultaneous perception of the way

When at length she dismissed him, on the pretext that she must dress for dinner, he lingered entreatingly on

the threshold to blurt out: "It's been such a comfortdo say you'll let me see you again" But to this direct

appeal it was impossible to give an assent; and she said with friendly decisiveness: "I'm sorrybut you know

He coloured to the eyes, pushed the door shut, and stood before her embarrassed but insistent. "I know how

you might, if you wouldif things were differentand it lies with you to make them so. It's just a word to

Their eyes met, and for a second she trembled again with the nearness of the temptation. "You're mistaken; I

know nothing; I saw nothing," she exclaimed, striving, by sheer force of reiteration, to build a barrier

between herself and her peril; and as he turned away, groaning out "You sacrifice us both," she continued to

Lily had seen little of Rosedale since her illuminating talk with Mrs. Fisher, but on the two or three occasions

when they had met she was conscious of having distinctly advanced in his favour. There could be no doubt

that he admired her as much as ever, and she believed it rested with herself to raise his admiration to the point

where it should bear down the lingering counsels of expediency. The task was not an easy one; but neither

was it easy, in her long sleepless nights, to face the thought of what George Dorset was so clearly ready to

offer. Baseness for baseness, she hated the other least: there were even moments when a marriage with

Rosedale seemed the only honourable solution of her difficulties. She did not indeed let her imagination

range beyond the day of plighting: after that everything faded into a haze of material wellbeing, in which

the personality of her benefactor remained mercifully vague. She had learned, in her long vigils, that there

were certain things not good to think of, certain midnight images that must at any cost be exorcisedand one

Carry Fisher, on the strength, as she frankly owned, of the Brys' Newport success, had taken for the autumn

months a small house at Tuxedo; and thither Lily was bound on the Sunday after Dorset's visit. Though it was

nearly dinnertime when she arrived, her hostess was still out, and the firelit quiet of the small silent house

descended on her spirit with a sense of peace and familiarity. It may be doubted if such an emotion had ever

before been evoked by Carry Fisher's surroundings; but, contrasted to the world in which Lily had lately

lived, there was an air of repose and stability in the very placing of the furniture, and in the quiet competence

of the parlourmaid who led her up to her room. Mrs. Fisher's unconventionality was, after all, a merely

superficial divergence from an inherited social creed, while the manners of the Gormer circle represented

It was the first time since her return from Europe that Lily had found herself in a congenial atmosphere, and

the stirring of familiar associations had almost prepared her, as she descended the stairs before dinner, to

enter upon a group of her old acquaintances. But this expectation was instantly checked by the reflection that

the friends who remained loyal were precisely those who would be least willing to expose her to such

encounters; and it was hardly with surprise that she found, instead, Mr. Rosedale kneeling domestically on

Rosedale in the paternal role was hardly a figure to soften Lily; yet she could not but notice a quality of

homely goodness in his advances to the child. They were not, at any rate, the premeditated and perfunctory

endearments of the guest under his hostess's eye, for he and the little girl had the room to themselves; and

something in his attitude made him seem a simple and kindly being compared to the small critical creature

who endured his homage. Yes, he would be kindLily, from the threshold, had time to feelkind in his

gross, unscrupulous, rapacious way, the way of the predatory creature with his mate. She had but a moment

in which to consider whether this glimpse of the fireside man mitigated her repugnance, or gave it, rather, a

more concrete and intimate form; for at sight of her he was immediately on his feet again, the florid and

It was no surprise to Lily to find that he had been selected as her only fellowguest. Though she and her

hostess had not met since the latter's tentative discussion of her future, Lily knew that the acuteness which

enabled Mrs. Fisher to lay a safe and pleasant course through a world of antagonistic forces was not

infrequently exercised for the benefit of her friends. It was, in fact, characteristic of Carry that, while she

actively gleaned her own stores from the fields of affluence, her real sympathies were on the other

sidewith the unlucky, the unpopular, the unsuccessful, with all her hungry fellowtoilers in the shorn

Mrs. Fisher's experience guarded her against the mistake of exposing Lily, for the first evening, to the

unmitigated impression of Rosedale's personality. Kate Corby and two or three men dropped in to dinner, and

Lily, alive to every detail of her friend's method, saw that such opportunities as had been contrived for her

were to be deferred till she had, as it were, gained courage to make effectual use of them. She had a sense of

acquiescing in this plan with the passiveness of a sufferer resigned to the surgeon's touch; and this feeling of

almost lethargic helplessness continued when, after the departure of the guests, Mrs. Fisher followed her

"May I come in and smoke a cigarette over your fire? If we talk in my room we shall disturb the child." Mrs.

Fisher looked about her with the eye of the solicitous hostess. "I hope you've managed to make yourself

comfortable, dear? Isn't it a jolly little house? It's such a blessing to have a few quiet weeks with the baby."

Carry, in her rare moments of prosperity, became so expansively maternal that Miss Bart sometimes

wondered whether, if she could ever get time and money enough, she would not end by devoting them both to

It's a wellearned rest: I'll say that for myself," she continued, sinking down with a sigh of content on the

pillowed lounge near the fire. "Louisa Bry is a stern taskmaster: I often used to wish myself back with the

Gormers. Talk of love making people jealous and suspiciousit's nothing to social ambition! Louisa used to

lie awake at night wondering whether the women who called on us called on ME because I was with her, or

on HER because she was with me; and she was always laying traps to find out what I thought. Of course I

had to disown my oldest friends, rather than let her suspect she owed me the chance of making a single

acquaintancewhen, all the while, that was what she had me there for, and what she wrote me a handsome

Mrs. Fisher was not a woman who talked of herself without cause, and the practice of direct speech, far from

precluding in her an occasional resort to circuitous methods, served rather, at crucial moments, the purpose of

the juggler's chatter while he shifts the contents of his sleeves. Through the haze of her cigarette smoke she

continued to gaze meditatively at Miss Bart, who, having dismissed her maid, sat before the toilettable

"Your hair's wonderful, Lily. Thinner? What does that matter, when it's so light and alive? So many

women's worries seem to go straight to their hairbut yours looks as if there had never been an anxious

thought under it. I never saw you look better than you did this evening. Mattie Gormer told me that Morpeth

Miss Bart's immediate answer was to address a critical glance to the reflection of the countenance under

discussion. Then she said, with a slight touch of irritation: "I don't care to accept a portrait from Paul

Mrs. Fisher mused. "Nno. And just now, especiallywell, he can do you after you're married." She

waited a moment, and then went on: "By the way, I had a visit from Mattie the other day. She turned up here

She paused again to measure the effect of this announcement on her hearer, but the brush in Miss Bart's lifted

"I never was more astonished," Mrs. Fisher pursued. "I don't know two women less predestined to

intimacyfrom Bertha's standpoint, that is; for of course poor Mattie thinks it natural enough that she should

be singled outI've no doubt the rabbit always thinks it is fascinating the anaconda. Well, you know I've

always told you that Mattie secretly longed to bore herself with the really fashionable; and now that the

chance has come, I see that she's capable of sacrificing all her old friends to it."

Lily laid aside her brush and turned a penetrating glance upon her friend. "Including ME?" she suggested.

"That's what Bertha means, isn't it?" Miss Bart went on steadily. "For of course she always means something;

and before I left Long Island I saw that she was beginning to lay her toils for Mattie."

Mrs. Fisher sighed evasively. "She has her fast now, at any rate. To think of that loud independence of

Mattie's being only a subtler form of snobbishness! Bertha can already make her believe anything she

pleasesand I'm afraid she's begun, my poor child, by insinuating horrors about you."

Lily flushed under the shadow of her drooping hair. "The world is too vile," she murmured, averting herself

"It's not a pretty place; and the only way to keep a footing in it is to fight it on its own termsand above all,

my dear, not alone!" Mrs. Fisher gathered up her floating implications in a resolute grasp. "You've told me so

little that I can only guess what has been happening; but in the rush we all live in there's no time to keep on

hating any one without a cause, and if Bertha is still nasty enough to want to injure you with other people it

must be because she's still afraid of you. From her standpoint there's only one reason for being afraid of you;

and my own idea is that, if you want to punish her, you hold the means in your hand. I believe you can marry

George Dorset tomorrow; but if you don't care for that particular form of retaliation, the only thing to save

The light projected on the situation by Mrs. Fisher had the cheerless distinctness of a winter dawn. It outlined

the facts with a cold precision unmodified by shade or colour, and refracted, as it were, from the blank walls

of the surrounding limitations: she had opened windows from which no sky was ever visible. But the idealist

subdued to vulgar necessities must employ vulgar minds to draw the inferences to which he cannot stoop; and

it was easier for Lily to let Mrs. Fisher formulate her case than to put it plainly to herself. Once confronted

with it, however, she went the full length of its consequences; and these had never been more clearly present

It was one of those still November days when the air is haunted with the light of summer, and something in

the lines of the landscape, and in the golden haze which bathed them, recalled to Miss Bart the September

afternoon when she had climbed the slopes of Bellomont with Selden. The importunate memory was kept

before her by its ironic contrast to her present situation, since her walk with Selden had represented an

irresistible flight from just such a climax as the present excursion was designed to bring about. But other

memories importuned her also; the recollection of similar situations, as skillfully led up to, but through some

malice of fortune, or her own unsteadiness of purpose, always failing of the intended result. Well, her purpose

was steady enough now. She saw that the whole weary work of rehabilitation must begin again, and against

far greater odds, if Bertha Dorset should succeed in breaking up her friendship with the Gormers; and her

longing for shelter and security was intensified by the passionate desire to triumph over Bertha, as only

wealth and predominance could triumph over her. As the wife of Rosedalethe Rosedale she felt it in her

She had to draw upon this thought, as upon some fiery stimulant, to keep up her part in the scene toward

which Rosedale was too frankly tending. As she walked beside him, shrinking in every nerve from the way in

which his look and tone made free of her, yet telling herself that this momentary endurance of his mood was

the price she must pay for her ultimate power over him, she tried to calculate the exact point at which

concession must turn to resistance, and the price HE would have to pay be made equally clear to him. But his

dapper selfconfidence seemed impenetrable to such hints, and she had a sense of something hard and

They had been seated for some time in the seclusion of a rocky glen above the lake, when she suddenly cut

short the culmination of an impassioned period by turning upon him the grave loveliness of her gaze.

"I DO believe what you say, Mr. Rosedale," she said quietly; "and I am ready to marry you whenever you

Rosedale, reddening to the roots of his glossy hair, received this announcement with a recoil which carried

him to his feet, where he halted before her in an attitude of almost comic discomfiture.

"For I suppose that is what you do wish," she continued, in the same quiet tone. "And, though I was unable to

consent when you spoke to me in this way before, I am ready, now that I know you so much better, to trust

She spoke with the noble directness which she could command on such occasions, and which was like a large

steady light thrown across the tortuous darkness of the situation. In its inconvenient brightness Rosedale

seemed to waver a moment, as though conscious that every avenue of escape was unpleasantly illuminated.

Then he gave a short laugh, and drew out a gold cigarettecase, in which, with plump jewelled fingers, he

groped for a goldtipped cigarette. Selecting one, he paused to contemplate it a moment before saying: "My

dear Miss Lily, I'm sorry if there's been any little misapprehension between usbut you made me feel my suit

Lily's blood tingled with the grossness of the rebuff; but she checked the first leap of her anger, and said in a

tone of gentle dignity: "I have no one but myself to blame if I gave you the impression that my decision was

Her wordplay was always too quick for him, and this reply held him in puzzled silence while she extended

her hand and added, with the faintest inflection of sadness in her voice: "Before we bid each other goodbye, I

The touch of her hand, the moving softness of her look, thrilled a vulnerable fibre in Rosedale. It was her

exquisite inaccessibleness, the sense of distance she could convey without a hint of disdain, that made it most

"Why do you talk of saying goodbye? Ain't we going to be good friends all the same?" he urged, without

She drew it away quietly. "What is your idea of being good friends?" she returned with a slight smile.

"Making love to me without asking me to marry you?" Rosedale laughed with a recovered sense of ease.

"Well, that's about the size of it, I suppose. I can't help making love to youI don't see how any man could;

She continued to smile. "I like your frankness; but I am afraid our friendship can hardly continue on those

terms." She turned away, as though to mark that its final term had in fact been reached, and he followed her

for a few steps with a baffled sense of her having after all kept the game in her own hands.

"Miss Lily" he began impulsively; but she walked on without seeming to hear him.

He overtook her in a few quick strides, and laid an entreating hand on her arm. "Miss Lilydon't hurry away

like that. You're beastly hard on a fellow; but if you don't mind speaking the truth I don't see why you

She had paused a moment with raised brows, drawing away instinctively from his touch, though she made no

"I was under the impression," she rejoined, "that you had done so without waiting for my permission."

"Wellwhy shouldn't you hear my reasons for doing it, then? We're neither of us such new hands that a little

plain speaking is going to hurt us. I'm all broken up on you: there's nothing new in that. I'm more in love with

you than I was this time last year; but I've got to face the fact that the situation is changed."

She continued to confront him with the same air of ironic composure. "You mean to say that I'm not as

"Yes; that's what I do mean," he answered resolutely. "I won't go into what's happened. I don't believe the

stories about youI don't WANT to believe them. But they're there, and my not believing them ain't going to

She flushed to her temples, but the extremity of her need checked the retort on her lip and she continued to

face him composedly. "If they are not true," she said, "doesn't THAT alter the situation?"

He met this with a steady gaze of his small stocktaking eyes, which made her feel herself no more than

some superfine human merchandise. "I believe it does in novels; but I'm certain it don't in real life. You know

that as well as I do: if we're speaking the truth, let's speak the whole truth. Last year I was wild to marry you,

and you wouldn't look at me: this yearwell, you appear to be willing. Now, what has changed in the

interval? Your situation, that's all. Then you thought you could do better; now"

"Why, yes, I do: in one way, that is." He stood before her, his hands in his pockets, his chest sturdily

expanded under its vivid waistcoat. "It's this way, you see: I've had a pretty steady grind of it these last years,

working up my social position. Think it's funny I should say that? Why should I mind saying I want to get

into society? A man ain't ashamed to say he wants to own a racing stable or a picture gallery. Well, a taste for

society's just another kind of hobby. Perhaps I want to get even with some of the people who

coldshouldered me last yearput it that way if it sounds better. Anyhow, I want to have the run of the best

houses; and I'm getting it too, little by little. But I know the quickest way to queer yourself with the right

people is to be seen with the wrong ones; and that's the reason I want to avoid mistakes."

Miss Bart continued to stand before him in a silence that might have expressed either mockery or a

halfreluctant respect for his candour, and after a moment's pause he went on: "There it is, you see. I'm more

in love with you than ever, but if I married you now I'd queer myself for good and all, and everything I've

She received this with a look from which all tinge of resentment had faded. After the tissue of social

falsehoods in which she had so long moved it was refreshing to step into the open daylight of an avowed

"I understand you," she said. "A year ago I should have been of use to you, and now I should be an

encumbrance; and I like you for telling me so quite honestly." She extended her hand with a smile.

Again the gesture had a disturbing effect upon Mr. Rosedale's selfcommand. "By George, you're a dead

game sport, you are!" he exclaimed; and as she began once more to move away, he broke out

suddenly"Miss Lilystop. You know I don't believe those storiesI believe they were all got up by a

Lily drew away with a movement of quick disdain: it was easier to endure his insolence than his

But Rosedale's natural imperviousness to hints made it easy for him to brush such resistance aside. "I don't

want to discuss anything; I just want to put a plain case before you," he persisted.

She paused in spite of herself, held by the note of a new purpose in his look and tone; and he went on,

keeping his eyes firmly upon her: "The wonder to me is that you've waited so long to get square with that

woman, when you've had the power in your hands." She continued silent under the rush of astonishment that

his words produced, and he moved a step closer to ask with lowtoned directness: "Why don't you use those

Lily stood speechless under the shock of the interrogation. In the words preceding it she had conjectured, at

most, an allusion to her supposed influence over George Dorset; nor did the astonishing indelicacy of the

reference diminish the likelihood of Rosedale's resorting to it. But now she saw how far short of the mark she

had fallen; and the surprise of learning that he had discovered the secret of the letters left her, for the moment,

unconscious of the special use to which he was in the act of putting his knowledge.

Her temporary loss of selfpossession gave him time to press his point; and he went on quickly, as though to

secure completer control of the situation: "You see I know where you standI know how completely she's in

your power. That sounds like stagetalk, don't it?but there's a lot of truth in some of those old gags; and I

don't suppose you bought those letters simply because you're collecting autographs."

She continued to look at him with a deepening bewilderment: her only clear impression resolved itself into a

"You're wondering how I found out about 'em?" he went on, answering her look with a note of conscious

pride. "Perhaps you've forgotten that I'm the owner of the Benedickbut never mind about that now. Getting

on to things is a mighty useful accomplishment in business, and I've simply extended it to my private affairs.

For this IS partly my affair, you seeat least, it depends on you to make it so. Let's look the situation

straight in the eye. Mrs. Dorset, for reasons we needn't go into, did you a beastly bad turn last spring.

Everybody knows what Mrs. Dorset is, and her best friends wouldn't believe her on oath where their own

interests were concerned; but as long as they're out of the row it's much easier to follow her lead than to set

themselves against it, and you've simply been sacrificed to their laziness and selfishness. Isn't that a pretty

fair statement of the case?Well, some people say you've got the neatest kind of an answer in your hands:

that George Dorset would marry you tomorrow, if you'd tell him all you know, and give him the chance to

show the lady the door. I daresay he would; but you don't seem to care for that particular form of getting

even, and, taking a purely business view of the question, I think you're right. In a deal like that, nobody

comes out with perfectly clean hands, and the only way for you to start fresh is to get Bertha Dorset to back

He paused long enough to draw breath, but not to give her time for the expression of her gathering resistance;

and as he pressed on, expounding and elucidating his idea with the directness of the man who has no doubts

of his cause, she found the indignation gradually freezing on her lip, found herself held fast in the grasp of his

argument by the mere cold strength of its presentation. There was no time now to wonder how he had heard

of her obtaining the letters: all her world was dark outside the monstrous glare of his scheme for using them.

And it was not, after the first moment, the horror of the idea that held her spellbound, subdued to his will; it

was rather its subtle affinity to her own inmost cravings. He would marry her tomorrow if she could regain

Bertha Dorset's friendship; and to induce the open resumption of that friendship, and the tacit retractation of

all that had caused its withdrawal, she had only to put to the lady the latent menace contained in the packet so

miraculously delivered into her hands. Lily saw in a flash the advantage of this course over that which poor

Dorset had pressed upon her. The other plan depended for its success on the infliction of an open injury,

while this reduced the transaction to a private understanding, of which no third person need have the remotest

hint. Put by Rosedale in terms of businesslike giveandtake, this understanding took on the harmless air of

a mutual accommodation, like a transfer of property or a revision of boundary lines. It certainly simplified

life to view it as a perpetual adjustment, a play of party politics, in which every concession had its recognized

equivalent: Lily's tired mind was fascinated by this escape from fluctuating ethical estimates into a region of

Rosedale, as she listened, seemed to read in her silence not only a gradual acquiescence in his plan, but a

dangerously far reaching perception of the chances it offered; for as she continued to stand before him

without speaking, he broke out, with a quick return upon himself: "You see how simple it is, don't you? Well,

don't be carried away by the idea that it's TOO simple. It isn't exactly as if you'd started in with a clean bill of

health. Now we're talking let's call things by their right names, and clear the whole business up. You know

well enough that Bertha Dorset couldn't have touched you if there hadn't beenwellquestions asked

beforelittle points of interrogation, eh? Bound to happen to a goodlooking girl with stingy relatives, I

suppose; anyhow, they DID happen, and she found the ground prepared for her. Do you see where I'm

coming out? You don't want these little questions cropping up again. It's one thing to get Bertha Dorset into

linebut what you want is to keep her there. You can frighten her fast enoughbut how are you going to

keep her frightened? By showing her that you're as powerful as she is. All the letters in the world won't do

that for you as you are now; but with a big backing behind you, you'll keep her just where you want her to be.

That's MY share in the businessthat's what I'm offering you. You can't put the thing through without

medon't run away with any idea that you can. In six months you'd be back again among your old worries,

or worse ones; and here I am, ready to lift you out of 'em tomorrow if you say so. DO you say so, Miss Lily?"

The words, and the movement which accompanied them, combined to startle Lily out of the state of tranced

subservience into which she had insensibly slipped. Light comes in devious ways to the groping

consciousness, and it came to her now through the disgusted perception that her wouldbe accomplice

assumed, as a matter of course, the likelihood of her distrusting him and perhaps trying to cheat him of his

share of the spoils. This glimpse of his inner mind seemed to present the whole transaction in a new aspect,

and she saw that the essential baseness of the act lay in its freedom from risk.

She drew back with a quick gesture of rejection, saying, in a voice that was a surprise to her own ears: "You

Rosedale stared a moment, puzzled by her sudden dash in a direction so different from that toward which she

"Now what on earth does that mean? I thought we understood each other!" he exclaimed; and to her murmur

of "Ah, we do NOW," he retorted with a sudden burst of violence: "I suppose it's because the letters are to

The autumn days declined to winter. Once more the leisure world was in transition between country and

town, and Fifth Avenue, still deserted at the weekend, showed from Monday to Friday a broadening stream

The Horse Show, some two weeks earlier, had produced a passing semblance of reanimation, filling the

theatres and restaurants with a human display of the same costly and highstepping kind as circled daily

about its ring. In Miss Bart's world the Horse Show, and the public it attracted, had ostensibly come to be

classed among the spectacles disdained of the elect; but, as the feudal lord might sally forth to join in the

dance on his village green, so society, unofficially and incidentally, still condescended to look in upon the

scene. Mrs. Gormer, among the rest, was not above seizing such an occasion for the display of herself and her

horses; and Lily was given one or two opportunities of appearing at her friend's side in the most conspicuous

box the house afforded. But this lingering semblance of intimacy made her only the more conscious of a

change in the relation between Mattie and herself, of a dawning discrimination, a gradually formed social

standard, emerging from Mrs. Gormer's chaotic view of life. It was inevitable that Lily herself should

constitute the first sacrifice to this new ideal, and she knew that, once the Gormers were established in town,

the whole drift of fashionable life would facilitate Mattie's detachment from her. She had, in short, failed to

make herself indispensable; or rather, her at tempt to do so had been thwarted by an influence stronger than

any she could exert. That influence, in its last analysis, was simply the power of money: Bertha Dorset's

Lily knew that Rosedale had overstated neither the difficulty of her own position nor the completeness of the

vindication he offered. once Bertha's match in material resources, her superior gifts would make it easy for

her to dominate her adversary. An understanding of what such domination would mean, and of the

disadvantages accruing from her rejection of it, was brought home to Lily with increasing clearness during

the early weeks of the winter. Hitherto, she had kept up a semblance of movement outside the main flow of

the social current; but with the return to town, and the concentrating of scattered activities, the mere fact of

not slipping back naturally into her old habits of life marked her as being unmistakably excluded from them.

If one were not a part of the season's fixed routine, one swung unsphered in a void of social nonexistence.

Lily, for all her dissatisfied dreaming, had never really conceived the possibility of revolving about a

different centre: it was easy enough to despise the world, but decidedly difficult to find any other habitable

region. Her sense of irony never quite deserted her, and she could still note, with selfdirected derision, the

abnormal value suddenly acquired by the most tiresome and insignificant details of her former life. Its very

drudgeries had a charm now that she was involuntarily released from them: cardleaving, notewriting,

enforced civilities to the dull and elderly, and the smiling endurance of tedious dinnershow pleasantly such

obligations would have filled the emptiness of her days! She did indeed leave cards in plenty; she kept

herself, with a smiling and valiant persistence, well in the eye of her world; nor did she suffer any of those

gross rebuffs which sometimes produce a wholesome reaction of contempt in their victim. Society did not

turn away from her, it simply drifted by, preoccupied and inattentive, letting her feel, to the full measure of

She had rejected Rosedale's suggestion with a promptness of scorn almost surprising to herself: she had not

lost her capacity for high flashes of indignation. But she could not breathe long on the heights; there had been

nothing in her training to develop any continuity of moral strength: what she craved, and really felt herself

entitled to, was a situation in which the noblest attitude should also be the easiest. Hitherto her intermittent

impulses of resistance had sufficed to maintain her selfrespect. If she slipped she recovered her footing, and

it was only afterward that she was aware of having recovered it each time on a slightly lower level. She had

rejected Rosedale's offer without conscious effort; her whole being had risen against it; and she did not yet

perceive that, by the mere act of listening to him, she had learned to live with ideas which would once have

To Gerty Farish, keeping watch over her with a tenderer if less discerning eye than Mrs. Fisher's, the results

of the struggle were already distinctly visible. She did not, indeed, know what hostages Lily had already

given to expediency; but she saw her passionately and irretrievably pledged to the ruinous policy of "keeping

up." Gerty could smile now at her own early dream of her friend's renovation through adversity: she

understood clearly enough that Lily was not of those to whom privation teaches the unimportance of what

they have lost. But this very fact, to Gerty, made her friend the more piteously in want of aid, the more

Lily, since her return to town, had not often climbed Miss Farish's stairs. There was something irritating to

her in the mute interrogation of Gerty's sympathy: she felt the real difficulties of her situation to be

incommunicable to any one whose theory of values was so different from her own, and the restrictions of

Gerty's life, which had once had the charm of contrast, now reminded her too painfully of the limits to which

her own existence was shrinking. When at length, one afternoon, she put into execution the belated resolve to

visit her friend, this sense of shrunken opportunities possessed her with unusual intensity. The walk up Fifth

Avenue, unfolding before her, in the brilliance of the hard winter sunlight, an interminable procession of

fastidiouslyequipped carriagesgiving her, through the little squares of broughamwindows, peeps of

familiar profiles bent above visitinglists, of hurried hands dispensing notes and cards to attendant

footmenthis glimpse of the everrevolving wheels of the great social machine made Lily more than ever

conscious of the steepness and narrowness of Gerty's stairs, and of the cramped blind alley of life to which

they led. Dull stairs destined to be mounted by dull people: how many thousands of insignificant figures were

going up and down such stairs all over the world at that very momentfigures as shabby and uninteresting

as that of the middleaged lady in limp black who descended Gerty's flight as Lily climbed to it!

"That was poor Miss Jane Silvertonshe came to talk things over with me: she and her sister want to do

something to support themselves," Gerty explained, as Lily followed her into the sittingroom.

"To support themselves? Are they so hard up?" Miss Bart asked with a touch of irritation: she had not come

"I'm afraid they have nothing left: Ned's debts have swallowed up everything. They had such hopes, you

know, when he broke away from Carry Fisher; they thought Bertha Dorset would be such a good influence,

because she doesn't care for cards, andwell, she talked quite beautifully to poor Miss Jane about feeling as

if Ned were her younger brother, and wanting to carry him off on the yacht, so that he might have a chance to

Miss Farish paused with a sigh which reflected the perplexity of her departing visitor. "But that isn't all; it

isn't even the worst. It seems that Ned has quarrelled with the Dorsets; or at least Bertha won't allow him to

see her, and he is so unhappy about it that he has taken to gambling again, and going about with all sorts of

queer people. And cousin Grace Van Osburgh accuses him of having had a very bad influence on Freddy,

who left Harvard last spring, and has been a great deal with Ned ever since. She sent for Miss Jane, and made

a dreadful scene; and Jack Stepney and Herbert Melson, who were there too, told Miss Jane that Freddy was

threatening to marry some dreadful woman to whom Ned had introduced him, and that they could do nothing

with him because now he's of age he has his own money. You can fancy how poor Miss Jane feltshe came

to me at once, and seemed to think that if I could get her something to do she could earn enough to pay Ned's

debts and send him awayI'm afraid she has no idea how long it would take her to pay for one of his

evenings at bridge. And he was horribly in debt when he came back from the cruiseI can't see why he

should have spent so much more money under Bertha's influence than Carry's: can you?"

Lily met this query with an impatient gesture. "My dear Gerty, I always understand how people can spend

She loosened her furs and settled herself in Gerty's easychair, while her friend busied herself with the

"But what can they dothe Miss Silvertons? How do they mean to support themselves?" she asked,

conscious that the note of irritation still persisted in her voice. It was the very last topic she had meant to

discussit really did not interest her in the leastbut she was seized by a sudden perverse curiosity to know

how the two colourless shrinking victims of young Silverton's sentimental experiments meant to cope with

"I don't knowI am trying to find something for them. Miss Jane reads aloud very nicelybut it's so hard to

"Oh, I knowappleblossoms on blottingpaper; just the kind of thing I shall be doing myself before long!"

exclaimed Lily, starting up with a vehemence of movement that threatened destruction to Miss Farish's

Lily bent over to steady the cups; then she sank back into her seat. "I'd forgotten there was no room to dash

about inhow beautifully one does have to behave in a small flat! Oh, Gerty, I wasn't meant to be good," she

Gerty lifted an apprehensive look to her pale face, in which the eyes shone with a peculiar sleepless lustre.

"You look horribly tired, Lily; take your tea, and let me give you this cushion to lean against."

Miss Bart accepted the cup of tea, but put back the cushion with an impatient hand.

"Nono; don't be quiet; talk to mekeep me awake! I don't sleep at night, and in the afternoon a dreadful

"I don't knowI can't remember." She rose and put the empty cup on the teatray. "Another, and stronger,

"No, nogive it to me; and don't preach, please," Lily returned imperiously. Her voice had a dangerous

edge, and Gerty noticed that her hand shook as she held it out to receive the second cup.

Miss Bart set down her cup with a start. "Do I look ill? Does my face show it?" She rose and walked quickly

toward the little mirror above the writingtable. "What a horrid lookingglassit's all blotched and

discoloured. Any one would look ghastly in it!" She turned back, fixing her plaintive eyes on Gerty. "You

stupid dear, why do you say such odious things to me? It's enough to make one ill to be told one looks so!

And looking ill means looking ugly." She caught Gerty's wrists, and drew her close to the window. "After all,

I'd rather know the truth. Look me straight in the face, Gerty, and tell me: am I perfectly frightful?"

"You're perfectly beautiful now, Lily: your eyes are shining, and your cheeks have grown so pink all of a

"Ah, they WERE pale, thenghastly pale, when I came in? Why don't you tell me frankly that I'm a wreck?

My eyes are bright now because I'm so nervousbut in the mornings they look like lead. And I can see the

lines coming in my facethe lines of worry and disappointment and failure! Every sleepless night leaves a

"Dreadful thingswhat things?" asked Gerty, gently detaching her wrists from her friend's feverish fingers.

"What things? Well, poverty, for oneand I don't know any that's more dreadful." Lily turned away and

sank with sudden weariness into the easychair near the teatable. "You asked me just now if I could

understand why Ned Silverton spent so much money. Of course I understandhe spends it on living with the

rich. You think we live ON the rich, rather than with them: and so we do, in a sensebut it's a privilege we

have to pay for! We eat their dinners, and drink their wine, and smoke their cigarettes, and use their carriages

and their operaboxes and their private carsyes, but there's a tax to pay on every one of those luxuries. The

man pays it by big tips to the servants, by playing cards beyond his means, by flowers and

presentsandandlots of other things that cost; the girl pays it by tips and cards toooh, yes, I've had

to take up bridge againand by going to the best dressmakers, and having just the right dress for every

She leaned back for a moment, closing her eyes, and as she sat there, her pale lips slightly parted, and the lids

dropped above her fagged brilliant gaze, Gerty had a startled perception of the change in her faceof the

way in which an ashen daylight seemed suddenly to extinguish its artificial brightness. She looked up, and

"It doesn't sound very amusing, does it? And it isn'tI'm sick to death of it! And yet the thought of giving it

all up nearly kills meit's what keeps me awake at night, and makes me so crazy for your strong tea. For I

can't go on in this way much longer, you knowI'm nearly at the end of my tether. And then what can I

dohow on earth am I to keep myself alive? I see myself reduced to the fate of that poor Silverton

womanslinking about to employment agencies, and trying to sell painted blottingpads to Women's

Exchanges! And there are thousands and thousands of women trying to do the same thing already, and not

She rose again with a hurried glance at the clock. "It's late, and I must be offI have an appointment with

Carry Fisher. Don't look so worried, you dear thingdon't think too much about the nonsense I've been

talking." She was before the mirror again, adjusting her hair with a light hand, drawing down her veil, and

giving a dexterous touch to her furs. "Of course, you know, it hasn't come to the employment agencies and

the painted blottingpads yet; but I'm rather hardup just for the moment, and if I could find something to

donotes to write and visitinglists to make up, or that kind of thingit would tide me over till the legacy

And Carry has promised to find somebody who wants a kind of social secretaryyou know she makes a

Miss Bart had not revealed to Gerty the full extent of her anxiety. She was in fact in urgent and immediate

need of money: money to meet the vulgar weekly claims which could neither be deferred nor evaded. To give

up her apartment, and shrink to the obscurity of a boardinghouse, or the provisional hospitality of a bed in

Gerty Farish's sittingroom, was an expedient which could only postpone the problem confronting her; and it

seemed wiser as well as more agreeable to remain where she was and find some means of earning her living.

The possibility of having to do this was one which she had never before seriously considered, and the

discovery that, as a breadwinner, she was likely to prove as helpless and ineffectual as poor Miss Silverton,

Having been accustomed to take herself at the popular valuation, as a person of energy and resource,

naturally fitted to dominate any situation in which she found herself, she vaguely imagined that such gifts

would be of value to seekers after social guidance; but there was unfortunately no specific head under which

the art of saying and doing the right thing could be offered in the market, and even Mrs. Fisher's

resourcefulness failed before the difficulty of discovering a workable vein in the vague wealth of Lily's

graces. Mrs. Fisher was full of indirect expedients for enabling her friends to earn a living, and could

conscientiously assert that she had put several opportunities of this kind before Lily; but more legitimate

methods of breadwinning were as much out of her line as they were beyond the capacity of the sufferers she

was generally called upon to assist. Lily's failure to profit by the chances already afforded her might,

moreover, have justified the abandonment of farther effort on her behalf; but Mrs. Fisher's inexhaustible

goodnature made her an adept at creating artificial demands in response to an actual supply. In the

pursuance of this end she at once started on a voyage of discovery in Miss Bart's behalf; and as the result of

her explorations she now summoned the latter with the announcement that she had "found something."

Left to herself, Gerty mused distressfully upon her friend's plight, and her own inability to relieve it. It was

clear to her that Lily, for the present, had no wish for the kind of help she could give. Miss Farish could see

no hope for her friend but in a life completely reorganized and detached from its old associations; whereas all

Lily's energies were centred in the determined effort to hold fast to those associations, to keep herself visibly

identified with them, as long as the illusion could be maintained. Pitiable as such an attitude seemed to Gerty,

she could not judge it as harshly as Selden, for instance, might have done. She had not forgotten the night of

emotion when she and Lily had lain in each other's arms, and she had seemed to feel her very heart's blood

passing into her friend. The sacrifice she had made had seemed unavailing enough; no trace remained in Lily

of the subduing influences of that hour; but Gerty's tenderness, disciplined by long years of contact with

obscure and inarticulate suffering, could wait on its object with a silent forbearance which took no account of

time. She could not, however, deny herself the solace of taking anxious counsel with Lawrence Selden, with

whom, since his return from Europe, she had renewed her old relation of cousinly confidence.

Selden himself had never been aware of any change in their relation. He found Gerty as he had left her,

simple, undemanding and devoted, but with a quickened intelligence of the heart which he recognized

without seeking to explain it. To Gerty herself it would once have seemed impossible that she should ever

again talk freely with him of Lily Bart; but what had passed in the secrecy of her own breast seemed to

resolve itself, when the mist of the struggle cleared, into a breaking down of the bounds of self, a deflecting

It was not till some two weeks after her visit from Lily that Gerty had the opportunity of communicating her

fears to Selden. The latter, having presented himself on a Sunday afternoon, had lingered on through the

dowdy animation of his cousin's teahour, conscious of something in her voice and eye which solicited a

word apart; and as soon as the last visitor was gone Gerty opened her case by asking how lately he had seen

"I haven't seen her at allI've perpetually missed seeing her since she came back."

This unexpected admission made Gerty pause too; and she was still hesitating on the brink of her subject

when he relieved her by adding: "I've wanted to see herbut she seems to have been absorbed by the

"Oh, I don't defend her intimacy with the Gormers; but that too is at an end now, I think. You know people

"Ah" Selden exclaimed, rising abruptly to walk to the window, where he remained with his eyes on the

darkening street while his cousin continued to explain: "Judy Trenor and her own family have deserted her

tooand all because Bertha Dorset has said such horrible things. And she is very pooryou know Mrs.

Peniston cut her off with a small legacy, after giving her to understand that she was to have everything."

"YesI know," Selden assented curtly, turning back into the room, but only to stir about with restless steps

in the circumscribed space between door and window. "Yesshe's been abominably treated; but it's

unfortunately the precise thing that a man who wants to show his sympathy can't say to her."

His words caused Gerty a slight chill of disappointment. "There would be other ways of showing your

Selden, with a slight laugh, sat down beside her on the little sofa which projected from the hearth. "What are

Gerty's colour rose, and her blush was for a moment her only answer. Then she made it more explicit by

saying: "I am thinking of the fact that you and she used to be great friendsthat she used to care immensely

for what you thought of herand that, if she takes your staying away as a sign of what you think now, I can

"My dear child, don't add to it still moreat least to your conception of itby attributing to her all sorts of

susceptibilities of your own." Selden, for his life, could not keep a note of dryness out of his voice; but he met

Gerty's look of perplexity by saying more mildly: "But, though you immensely exaggerate the importance of

anything I could do for Miss Bart, you can't exaggerate my readiness to do itif you ask me to." He laid his

hand for a moment on hers, and there passed between them, on the current of the rare contact, one of those

exchanges of meaning which fill the hidden reservoirs of affection. Gerty had the feeling that he measured

the cost of her request as plainly as she read the significance of his reply; and the sense of all that was

"I do ask you, then; I ask you because she once told me that you had been a help to her, and because she

needs help now as she has never needed it before. You know how dependent she has always been on ease and

luxuryhow she has hated what was shabby and ugly and uncomfortable. She can't help itshe was

brought up with those ideas, and has never been able to find her way out of them. But now all the things she

cared for have been taken from her, and the people who taught her to care for them have abandoned her too;

and it seems to me that if some one could reach out a hand and show her the other sideshow her how much

is left in life and in herself" Gerty broke off, abashed at the sound of her own eloquence, and impeded by

the difficulty of giving precise expression to her vague yearning for her friend's retrieval. "I can't help her

myself: she's passed out of my reach," she continued. "I think she's afraid of being a burden to me. When she

was last here, two weeks ago, she seemed dreadfully worried about her future: she said Carry Fisher was

trying to find something for her to do. A few days later she wrote me that she had taken a position as private

secretary, and that I was not to be anxious, for everything was all right, and she would come in and tell me

about it when she had time; but she has never come, and I don't like to go to her, because I am afraid of

forcing myself on her when I'm not wanted. Once, when we were children, and I had rushed up after a long

separation, and thrown my arms about her, she said:'Please don't kiss me unless I ask you to, Gerty'and she

Selden had listened in silence, with the concentrated look which his thin dark face could assume when he

wished to guard it against any involuntary change of expression. When his cousin ended, he said with a slight

smile: "Since you've learned the wisdom of waiting, I don't see why you urge me to rush in_ n but the

troubled appeal of her eyes made him add, as he rose to take leave: "Still, I'll do what you wish, and not hold

you responsible for my failure." Selden's avoidance of Miss Bart had not been as unintentional as he had

allowed his cousin to think. At first, indeed, while the memory of their last hour at Monte Carlo still held the

full heat of his indignation, he had anxiously watched for her return; but she had disappointed him by

lingering in England, and when she finally reappeared it happened that business had called him to the West,

whence he came back only to learn that she was starting for Alaska with the Gormers. The revelation of this

suddenlyestablished intimacy effectually chilled his desire to see her. If, at a moment when her whole life

seemed to be breaking up, she could cheerfully commit its reconstruction to the Gormers, there was no reason

why such accidents should ever strike her as irreparable. Every step she took seemed in fact to carry her

farther from the region where, once or twice, he and she had met for an illumined moment; and the

recognition of this fact, when its first pang had been surmounted, produced in him a sense of negative relief.

It was much simpler for him to judge Miss Bart by her habitual conduct than by the rare deviations from it

which had thrown her so disturbingly in his way; and every act of hers which made the recurrence of such

deviations more unlikely, confirmed the sense of relief with which he returned to the conventional view of

But Gerty Farish's words had sufficed to make him see how little this view was really his, and how

impossible it was for him to live quietly with the thought of Lily Bart. To hear that she was in need of

helpeven such vague help as he could offerwas to be at once repossessed by that thought; and by the

time he reached the street he had sufficiently convinced himself of the urgency of his cousin's appeal to turn

There his zeal met a check in the unforeseen news that Miss Bart had moved away; but, on his pressing his

enquiries, the clerk remembered that she had left an address, for which he presently began to search through

It was certainly strange that she should have taken this step without letting Gerty Farish know of her decision;

and Selden waited with a vague sense of uneasiness while the address was sought for. The process lasted long

enough for uneasiness to turn to apprehension; but when at length a slip of paper was handed him, and he

read on it: "Care of Mrs. Norma Hatch, Emporium Hotel," his apprehension passed into an incredulous stare,

and this into the gesture of disgust with which he tore the paper in two, and turned to walk quickly

When Lily woke on the morning after her translation to the Emporium Hotel, her first feeling was one of

purely physical satisfaction. The force of contrast gave an added keenness to the luxury of lying once more in

a softpillowed bed, and looking across a spacious sunlit room at a breakfasttable set invitingly near the

fire. Analysis and introspection might come later; but for the moment she was not even troubled by the

excesses of the upholstery or the restless convolutions of the furniture. The sense of being once more lapped

and folded in ease, as in some dense mild medium impenetrable to discomfort, effectually stilled the faintest

When, the afternoon before, she had presented herself to the lady to whom Carry Fisher had directed her, she

had been conscious of entering a new world. Carry's vague presentment of Mrs. Norma Hatch (whose

reversion to her Christian name was explained as the result of her latest divorce), left her under the

implication of coming "from the West," with the not unusual extenuation of having brought a great deal of

money with her. She was, in short, rich, helpless, unplaced: the very subject for Lily's hand. Mrs. Fisher had

not specified the line her friend was to take; she owned herself unacquainted with Mrs. Hatch, whom she

"knew about" through Melville Stancy, a lawyer in his leisure moments, and the Falstaff of a certain section

of festive dub life. Socially, Mr. Stancy might have been said to form a connecting link between the Gormer

world and the more dimlylit region on which Miss Bart now found herself entering. It was, however, only

figuratively that the illumination of Mrs. Hatch's world could be described as dim: in actual fact, Lily found

her seated in a blaze of electric light, impartially projected from various ornamental excrescences on a vast

concavity of pink damask and gilding, from which she rose like Venus from her shell. The analogy was

justified by the appearance of the lady, whose largeeyed prettiness had the fixity of something impaled and

shown under glass. This did not preclude the immediate discovery that she was some years younger than her

visitor, and that under her showiness, her ease, the aggression of her dress and voice, there persisted that

ineradicable innocence which, in ladies of her nationality, so curiously coexists with startling extremes of

The environment in which Lily found herself was as strange to her as its inhabitants. She was unacquainted

with the world of the fashionable New York hotela world overheated, overupholstered, and overfitted

with mechanical appliances for the gratification of fantastic requirements, while the comforts of a civilized

life were as unattainable as in a desert. Through this atmosphere of torrid splendour moved wan beings as

richly upholstered as the furniture, beings without definite pursuits or permanent relations, who drifted on a

languid tide of curiosity from restaurant to concerthall, from palmgarden to musicroom, from "art

exhibit" to dressmaker's opening. Highstepping horses or elaborately equipped motors waited to carry

these ladies into vague metropolitan distances, whence they returned, still more wan from the weight of their

sables, to be sucked back into the stifling inertia of the hotel routine. Somewhere behind them, in the

background of their lives, there was doubtless a real past, peopled by real human activities: they themselves

were probably the product of strong ambitions, persistent energies, diversified contacts with the wholesome

roughness of life; yet they had no more real existence than the poet's shades in limbo.

Lily had not been long in this pallid world without discovering that Mrs. Hatch was its most substantial

figure. That lady, though still floating in the void, showed faint symptoms of developing an outline; and in

this endeavour she was actively seconded by Mr. Melville Stancy. It was Mr. Stancy, a man of large

resounding presence, suggestive of convivial occasions and of a chivalry finding expression in "firstnight"

boxes and thousand dollar bonbonnieres, who had transplanted Mrs. Hatch from the scene of her first

development to the higher stage of hotel life in the metropolis. It was he who had selected the horses with

which she had taken the blue ribbon at the Show, had introduced her to the photographer whose portraits of

her formed the recurring ornament of "Sunday Supplements," and had got together the group which

constituted her social world. It was a small group still, with heterogeneous figures suspended in large

unpeopled spaces; but Lily did not take long to learn that its regulation was no longer in Mr. Stancy's hands.

As often happens, the pupil had outstripped the teacher, and Mrs. Hatch was already aware of heights of

elegance as well as depths of luxury beyond the world of the Emporium. This discovery at once produced in

her a craving for higher guidance, for the adroit feminine hand which should give the right turn to her

correspondence, the right "look" to her hats, the right succession to the items of her MENUS. It was, in short,

as the regulator of a germinating social life that Miss Bart's guidance was required; her ostensible duties as

secretary being restricted by the fact that Mrs. Hatch, as yet, knew hardly any one to write to.

The daily details of Mrs. Hatch's existence were as strange to Lily as its general tenor. The lady's habits were

marked by an Oriental indolence and disorder peculiarly trying to her companion. Mrs. Hatch and her friends

seemed to float together outside the bounds of time and space. No definite hours were kept; no fixed

obligations existed: night and day flowed into one another in a blur of confused and retarded engagements, so

that one had the impression of lunching at the teahour, while dinner was often merged in the noisy

Through this jumble of futile activities came and went a strange throng of hangersonmanicures,

beautydoctors, hairdressers, teachers of bridge, of French, of "physical development": figures sometimes

indistinguishable, by their appearance, or by Mrs. Hatch's relation to them, from the visitors constituting her

recognized society. But strangest of all to Lily was the encounter, in this latter group, of several of her

acquaintances. She had supposed, and not without relief, that she was passing, for the moment, completely

out of her own circle; but she found that Mr. Stancy, one side of whose sprawling existence overlapped the

edge of Mrs. Fisher's world, had drawn several of its brightest ornaments into the circle of the Emporium. To

find Ned Silverton among the habitual frequenters of Mrs. Hatch's drawingroom was one of Lily's first

astonishments; but she soon discovered that he was not Mr. Stancy's most important recruit. It was on little

Freddy Van Osburgh, the small slim heir of the Van Osburgh millions, that the attention of Mrs. Hatch's

group was centred. Freddy, barely out of college, had risen above the horizon since Lily's eclipse, and she

now saw with surprise what an effulgence he shed on the outer twilight of Mrs. Hatch's existence. This, then,

was one of the things that young men "went in" for when released from the official social routine; this was

the kind of "previous engagement" that so frequently caused them to disappoint the hopes of anxious

hostesses. Lily had an odd sense of being behind the social tapestry, on the side where the threads were

knotted and the loose ends hung. For a moment she found a certain amusement in the show, and in her own

share of it: the situation had an ease and unconventionality distinctly refreshing after her experience of the

irony of conventions. But these flashes of amusement were but brief reactions from the long disgust of her

days. Compared with the vast gilded void of Mrs. Hatch's existence, the life of Lily's former friends seemed

packed with ordered activities. Even the most irresponsible pretty woman of her acquaintance had her

inherited obligations, her conventional benevolences, her share in the working of the great civic machine; and

all hung together in the solidarity of these traditional functions. The performance of specific duties would

have simplified Miss Bart's position; but the vague attendance on Mrs. Hatch was not without its perplexities.

It was not her employer who created these perplexities. Mrs. Hatch showed from the first an almost touching

desire for Lily's approval. Far from asserting the superiority of wealth, her beautiful eyes seemed to urge the

plea of inexperience: she wanted to do what was "nice," to be taught how to be "lovely." The difficulty was to

Mrs. Hatch swam in a haze of indeterminate enthusiasms, of aspirations culled from the stage, the

newspapers, the fashion journals, and a gaudy world of sport still more completely beyond her companion's

ken. To separate from these confused conceptions those most likely to advance the lady on her way, was

Lily's obvious duty; but its performance was hampered by rapidlygrowing doubts. Lily was in fact

becoming more and more aware of a certain ambiguity in her situation. It was not that she had, in the

conventional sense, any doubt of Mrs. Hatch's irreproachableness. The lady's offences were always against

taste rather than conduct; her divorce record seemed due to geographical rather than ethical conditions; and

her worst laxities were likely to proceed from a wandering and extravagant goodnature. But if Lily did not

mind her detaining her manicure for luncheon, or offering the "BeautyDoctor" a seat in Freddy Van

Osburgh's box at the play, she was not equally at ease in regard to some less apparent lapses from convention.

Ned Silverton's relation to Stancy seemed, for instance, closer and less clear than any natural affinities would

warrant; and both appeared united in the effort to cultivate Freddy Van Osburgh's growing taste for Mrs.

Hatch. There was as yet nothing definable in the situation, which might well resolve itself into a huge joke on

the part of the other two; but Lily had a vague sense that the subject of their experiment was too young, too

rich and too credulous. Her embarrassment was increased by the fact that Freddy seemed to regard her as

cooperating with himself in the social development of Mrs. Hatch: a view that suggested, on his part, a

permanent interest in the lady's future. There were moments when Lily found an ironic amusement in this

aspect of the case. The thought of launching such a missile as Mrs. Hatch at the perfidious bosom of society

was not without its charm: Miss Bart had even beguiled her leisure with visions of the fair Norma introduced

for the first time to a family banquet at the Van Osburghs'. But the thought of being personally connected

with the transaction was less agreeable; and her momentary flashes of amusement were followed by

The sense of these doubts was uppermost when, late one afternoon, she was surprised by a visit from

Lawrence Selden. He found her alone in the wilderness of pink damask, for in Mrs. Hatch's world the

teahour was not dedicated to social rites, and the lady was in the hands of her masseuse.

Selden's entrance had caused Lily an inward start of embarrassment; but his air of constraint had the effect of

restoring her selfpossession, and she took at once the tone of surprise and pleasure, wondering frankly that

he should have traced her to so unlikely a place, and asking what had inspired him to make the search.

Selden met this with an unusual seriousness: she had never seen him so little master of the situation, so

plainly at the mercy of any obstructions she might put in his way. "I wanted to see you," he said; and she

could not resist observing in reply that he had kept his wishes under remarkable control. She had in truth felt

his long absence as one of the chief bitternesses of the last months: his desertion had wounded sensibilities

Selden met the challenge with directness. "Why should I have come, unless I thought I could be of use to

This struck her as a clumsy evasion, and the thought gave a flash of keenness to her answer. "Then you have

He hesitated again. "Yes: in the modest capacity of a person to talk things over with."

For a clever man it was certainly a stupid beginning; and the idea that his awkwardness was due to the fear of

her attaching a personal significance to his visit, chilled her pleasure in seeing him. Even under the most

adverse conditions, that pleasure always made itself felt: she might hate him, but she had never been able to

wish him out of the room. She was very near hating him now; yet the sound of his voice, the way the light

fell on his thin dark hair, the way he sat and moved and wore his clothesshe was conscious that even these

trivial things were inwoven with her deepest life. In his presence a sudden stillness came upon her, and the

turmoil of her spirit ceased; but an impulse of resistance to this stealing influence now prompted her to say:

"It's very good of you to present yourself in that capacity; but what makes you think I have anything

Though she kept the even tone of light intercourse, the question was framed in a way to remind him that his

good offices were unsought; and for a moment Selden was checked by it. The situation between them was

one which could have been cleared up only by a sudden explosion of feeling; and their whole training and

habit of mind were against the chances of such an explosion. Selden's calmness seemed rather to harden into

resistance, and Miss Bart's into a surface of glittering irony, as they faced each other from the opposite

comers of one of Mrs. Hatch's elephantine sofas. The sofa in question, and the apartment peopled by its

"Gerty told me that you were acting as Mrs. Hatch's secretary; and I knew she was anxious to hear how you

Miss Bart received this explanation without perceptible softening. "Why didn't she look me up herself, then?"

"Because, as you didn't send her your address, she was afraid of being importunate." Selden continued with a

smile: "You see no such scruples restrained me; but then I haven't as much to risk if I incur your displeasure."

Lily answered his smile. "You haven't incurred it as yet; but I have an idea that you are going to."

"That rests with you, doesn't it? You see my initiative doesn't go beyond putting myself at your disposal."

"But in what capacity? What am I to do with you?" she asked in the same light tone.

Selden again glanced about Mrs. Hatch's drawingroom; then he said, with a decision which he seemed to

have gathered from this final inspection: "You are to let me take you away from here."

Lily flushed at the suddenness of the attack; then she stiffened under it and said coldly: "And may I ask where

"Back to Gerty in the first place, if you will; the essential thing is that it should be away from here."

The unusual harshness of his tone might have shown her how much the words cost him; but she was in no

state to measure his feelings while her own were in a flame of revolt. To neglect her, perhaps even to avoid

her, at a time when she had most need of her friends, and then suddenly and unwarrantably to break into her

life with this strange assumption of authority, was to rouse in her every instinct of pride and selfdefence.

"I am very much obliged to you," she said, "for taking such an interest in my plans; but I am quite contented

"Selden had risen, and was standing before her in an attitude of uncontrollable expectancy.

Lily rose also, with a quick flash of anger. "If you have come here to say disagreeable things about Mrs.

"My relation to Mrs. Hatch is one I have no reason to be ashamed of. She has helped me to earn a living

"Nonsense! Starvation is not the only alternative. You know you can always find a home with Gerty till you

"You show such an intimate acquaintance with my affairs that I suppose you meantill my aunt's legacy is

"I do mean that; Gerty told me of it," Selden acknowledged without embarrassment. He was too much in

"But Gerty does not happen to know," Miss Bart rejoined, "that I owe every penny of that legacy."

"Good God!" Selden exclaimed, startled out of his composure by the abruptness of the statement.

"Every penny of it, and more too," Lily repeated; "and you now perhaps see why I prefer to remain with Mrs.

Hatch rather than take advantage of Gerty's kindness. I have no money left, except my small income, and I

Selden hesitated a moment; then he rejoined in a quieter tone: "But with your income and Gerty'ssince you

allow me to go so far into the details of the situationyou and she could surely contrive a life together which

would put you beyond the need of having to support yourself. Gerty, I know, is eager to make such an

"But I should not," Miss Bart interposed. "There are many reasons why it would be neither kind to Gerty nor

wise for myself." She paused a moment, and as he seemed to await a farther explanation, added with a quick

"I have no claim to know them," Selden answered, ignoring her tone; "no claim to offer any comment or

suggestion beyond the one I have already made. And my right to make that is simply the universal right of a

man to enlighten a woman when he sees her unconsciously placed in a false position."

Lily smiled. "I suppose," she rejoined, "that by a false position you mean one outside of what we call society;

but you must remember that I had been excluded from those sacred precincts long before I met Mrs. Hatch.

As far as I can see, there is very little real difference in being inside or out, and I remember your once telling

"She had not been without intention in making this allusion to their memorable talk at Bellomont, and she

waited with an odd tremor of the nerves to see what response it would bring; but the result of the experiment

was disappointing. Selden did not allow the allusion to deflect him from his point; he merely said with

completer fulness of emphasis: "The question of being inside or out is, as you say, a small one, and it happens

to have nothing to do with the case, except in so far as Mrs. Hatch's desire to be inside may put you in the

In spite of the moderation of his tone, each word he spoke had the effect of confirming Lily's resistance. The

very apprehensions he aroused hardened her against him: she had been on the alert for the note of personal

sympathy, for any sign of recovered power over him; and his attitude of sober impartiality, the absence of all

response to her appeal, turned her hurt pride to blind resentment of his interference. The conviction that he

had been sent by Gerty, and that, whatever straits he conceived her to be in, he would never voluntarily have

come to her aid, strengthened her resolve not to admit him a hair's breadth farther into her confidence.

However doubtful she might feel her situation to be, she would rather persist in darkness than owe her

"I don't know," she said, when he had ceased to speak, "why you imagine me to be situated as you describe;

but as you have always told me that the sole object of a bringingup like mine was to teach a girl to get what

The smile with which she summed up her case was like a clear barrier raised against farther confidences: its

brightness held him at such a distance that he had a sense of being almost out of hearing as he rejoined: "I am

not sure that I have ever called you a successful example of that kind of bringingup."

Her colour rose a little at the implication, but she steeled herself with a light laugh."Ah, wait a little

longergive me a little more time before you decide!" And as he wavered before her, still watching for a

break in the impenetrable front she presented: "Don't give me up; I may still do credit to my training!" she

The tall forewoman, a pinched perpendicular figure, dropped the condemned structure of wire and net on the

There were twenty of them in the workroom, their fagged profiles, under exaggerated hair, bowed in the

harsh north light above the utensils of their art; for it was something more than an industry, surely, this

creation of evervaried settings for the face of fortunate womanhood. Their own faces were sallow with the

unwholesomeness of hot air and sedentary toil, rather than with any actual signs of want: they were employed

in a fashionable millinery establishment, and were fairly well clothed and well paid; but the youngest among

them was as dull and colourless as the middleaged. In the whole workroom there was only one skin

beneath which the blood still visibly played; and that now burned with vexation as Miss Bart, under the lash

of the forewoman's comment, began to strip the hatframe of its overlapping spangles.

To Gerty Farish's hopeful spirit a solution appeared to have been reached when she remembered how

beautifully Lily could trim hats. Instances of young ladymilliners establishing themselves under fashionable

patronage, and imparting to their "creations" that indefinable touch which the professional hand can never

give, had flattered Gerty's visions of the future, and convinced even Lily that her separation from Mrs. Norma

The parting had occurred a few weeks after Selden's visit, and would have taken place sooner had it not been

for the resistance set up in Lily by his illstarred offer of advice. The sense of being involved in a transaction

she would not have cared to examine too closely had soon afterward defined itself in the light of a hint from

Mr. Stancy that, if she "saw them through," she would have no reason to be sorry. The implication that such

loyalty would meet with a direct reward had hastened her flight, and flung her back, ashamed and penitent, on

the broad bosom of Gerty's sympathy. She did not, however, propose to lie there prone, and Gerty's

inspiration about the hats at once revived her hopes of profitable activity. Here was, after all, something that

her charming listless hands could really do; she had no doubt of their capacity for knotting a ribbon or placing

a flower to advantage. And of course only these finishing touches would be expected of her: subordinate

fingers, blunt, grey, needlepricked fingers, would prepare the shapes and stitch the linings, while she

presided over the charming little front shopa shop all white panels, mirrors, and mossgreen

hangingswhere her finished creations, hats, wreaths, aigrettes and the rest, perched on their stands like

But at the very outset of Gerty's campaign this vision of the greenandwhite shop had been dispelled. Other

young ladies of fashion had been thus "setup," selling their hats by the mere attraction of a name and the

reputed knack of tying a bow; but these privileged beings could command a faith in their powers materially

expressed by the readiness to pay their shoprent and advance a handsome sum for current expenses. Where

was Lily to find such support? And even could it have been found, how were the ladies on whose approval

she depended to be induced to give her their patronage? Gerty learned that whatever sympathy her friend's

case might have excited a few months since had been imperilled, if not lost, by her association with Mrs.

Hatch. Once again, Lily had withdrawn from an ambiguous situation in time to save her selfrespect, but too

late for public vindication. Freddy Van Osburgh was not to marry Mrs. Hatch; he had been rescued at the

eleventh hoursome said by the efforts of Gus Trenor and Rosedaleand despatched to Europe with old

Ned Van Alstyne; but the risk he had run would always be ascribed to Miss Bart's connivance, and would

somehow serve as a summingup and corroboration of the vague general distrust of her. It was a relief to

those who had hung back from her to find themselves thus justified, and they were inclined to insist a little on

Gerty's quest, at any rate, brought up against a solid wall of resistance; and even when Carry Fisher,

momentarily penitent for her share in the Hatch affair, joined her efforts to Miss Farish's, they met with no

better success. Gerty had tried to veil her failure in tender ambiguities; but Carry, always the soul of candour,

"I went straight to Judy Trenor; she has fewer prejudices than the others, and besides she's always hated

Bertha Dorset. But what HAVE you done to her, Lily? At the very first word about giving you a start she

flamed out about some money you'd got from Gus; I never knew her so hot before. You know she'll let him

do anything but spend money on his friends: the only reason she's decent to me now is that she knows I'm not

hard up.He speculated for you, you say? Well, what's the harm? He had no business to lose. He DIDN'T

The end of it was that, after anxious enquiry and much deliberation, Mrs. Fisher and Gerty, for once oddly

united in their effort to help their friend, decided on placing her in the workroom of Mme. Regina's

renowned millinery establishment. Even this arrangement was not effected without considerable negotiation,

for Mme. Regina had a strong prejudice against untrained assistance, and was induced to yield only by the

fact that she owed the patronage of Mrs. Bry and Mrs. Gormer to Carry Fisher's influence. She had been

willing from the first to employ Lily in the showroom: as a displayer of hats, a fashionable beauty might be

a valuable asset. But to this suggestion Miss Bart opposed a negative which Gerty emphatically supported,

while Mrs. Fisher, inwardly unconvinced, but resigned to this latest proof of Lily's unreason, agreed that

perhaps in the end it would be more useful that she should learn the trade. To Regina's workroom Lily was

therefore committed by her friends, and there Mrs. Fisher left her with a sigh of relief, while Gerty's

Lily had taken up her work early in January: it was now two months later, and she was still being rebuked for

her inability to sew spangles on a hatframe. As she returned to her work she heard a titter pass down the

tables. She knew she was an object of criticism and amusement to the other workwomen. They were, of

course, aware of her historythe exact situation of every girl in the room was known and freely discussed by

all the othersbut the knowledge did not produce in them any awkward sense of class distinction: it merely

explained why her untutored fingers were still blundering over the rudiments of the trade. Lily had no desire

that they should recognize any social difference in her; but she had hoped to be received as their equal, and

perhaps before long to show herself their superior by a special deftness of touch, and it was humiliating to

find that, after two months of drudgery, she still betrayed her lack of early training. Remote was the day when

she might aspire to exercise the talents she felt confident of possessing; only experienced workers were

entrusted with the delicate art of shaping and trimming the hat, and the forewoman still held her inexorably to

She began to rip the spangles from the frame, listening absently to the buzz of talk which rose and fell with

the coming and going of Miss Haines's active figure. The air was closer than usual, because Miss Haines,

who had a cold, had not allowed a window to be opened even during the noon recess; and Lily's head was so

heavy with the weight of a sleepless night that the chatter of her companions had the incoherence of a dream.

"I TOLD her he'd never look at her again; and he didn't. I wouldn't have, eitherI think she acted real mean

to him. He took her to the Arion Ball, and had a hack for her both ways.... She's taken ten bottles, and her

headaches don't seem no betterbut she's written a testimonial to say the first bottle cured her, and she got

five dollars and her picture in the paper.... Mrs. Trenor's hat? The one with the green Paradise? Here, Miss

Hainesit'll be ready right off.... That was one of the Trenor girls here yesterday with Mrs. George Dorset.

How'd I know? Why, Madam sent for me to alter the flower in that Virot hatthe blue tulle: she's tall and

On and on it flowed, a current of meaningless sound, on which, startlingly enough, a familiar name now and

then floated to the surface. It was the strangest part of Lily's strange experience, the hearing of these names,

the seeing the fragmentary and distorted image of the world she had lived in reflected in the mirror of the

workinggirls' minds. She had never before suspected the mixture of insatiable curiosity and contemptuous

freedom with which she and her kind were discussed in this underworld of toilers who lived on their vanity

and selfindulgence. Every girl in Mme. Regina's workroom knew to whom the headgear in her hands was

destined, and had her opinion of its future wearer, and a definite knowledge of the latter's place in the social

system. That Lily was a star fallen from that sky did not, after the first stir of curiosity had subsided,

materially add to their interest in her. She had fallen, she had "gone under," and true to the ideal of their race,

they were awed only by successby the gross tangible image of material achievement. The consciousness of

her different point of view merely kept them at a little distance from her, as though she were a foreigner with

"Miss Bart, if you can't sew those spangles on more regular I guess you'd better give the hat to Miss Kilroy."

Lily looked down ruefully at her handiwork. The forewoman was right: the sewing on of the spangles was

inexcusably bad. What made her so much more clumsy than usual? Was it a growing distaste for her task, or

actual physical disability? She felt tired and confused: it was an effort to put her thoughts together. She rose

Miss Haines offered no comment. From the first she had augured ill of Mme. Regina's consenting to include a

fashionable apprentice among her workers. In that temple of art no raw beginners were wanted, and Miss

Haines would have been more than human had she not taken a certain pleasure in seeing her forebodings

"You'd better go back to binding edges," she said drily. Lily slipped out last among the band of liberated

workwomen. She did not care to be mingled in their noisy dispersal: once in the street, she always felt an

irresistible return to her old standpoint, an instinctive shrinking from all that was unpolished and

promiscuous. In the dayshow distant they now seemed!when she had visited the Girls' Club with Gerty

Farish, she had felt an enlightened interest in the workingclasses; but that was because she looked down on

them from above, from the happy altitude of her grace and her beneficence. Now that she was on a level with

She felt a touch on her arm, and met the penitent eye of Miss Kilroy. "Miss Bart, I guess you can sew those

spangles on as well as I can when you're feeling right. Miss Haines didn't act fair to you."

Lily's colour rose at the unexpected advance: it was a long time since real kindness had looked at her from

"Oh, thank you: I'm not particularly well, but Miss Haines was right. I AM clumsy."

"Well, it's mean work for anybody with a headache." Miss Kilroy paused irresolutely. "You ought to go right

She looked gratefully at Miss Kilroy, but neither knew what more to say. Lily was aware that the other was

on the point of offering to go home with her, but she wanted to be alone and silenteven kindness, the sort

She struck westward through the dreary March twilight, toward the street where her boardinghouse stood.

She had resolutely refused Gerty's offer of hospitality. Something of her mother's fierce shrinking from

observation and sympathy was beginning to develop in her, and the promiscuity of small quarters and close

intimacy seemed, on the whole, less endurable than the solitude of a hall bedroom in a house where she could

come and go unremarked among other workers. For a while she had been sustained by this desire for privacy

and independence; but now, perhaps from increasing physical weariness, the lassitude brought about by hours

of unwonted confinement, she was beginning to feel acutely the ugliness and discomfort of her surroundings.

The day's task done, she dreaded to return to her narrow room, with its blotched wallpaper and shabby paint;

and she hated every step of the walk thither, through the degradation of a New York street in the last stages of

But what she dreaded most of all was having to pass the chemist's at the corner of Sixth Avenue. She had

meant to take another street: she had usually done so of late. But today her steps were irresistibly drawn

toward the flaring plateglass comer; she tried to take the lower crossing, but a laden dray crowded her back,

and she struck across the street obliquely, reaching the sidewalk just opposite the chemist's door.

Over the counter she caught the eye of the clerk who had waited on her before, and slipped the prescription

into his hand. There could be no question about the prescription: it was a copy of one of Mrs. Hatch's,

obligingly furnished by that lady's chemist. Lily was confident that the clerk would fill it without hesitation;

yet the nervous dread of a refusal, or even of an expression of doubt, communicated itself to her restless

hands as she affected to examine the bottles of perfume stacked on the glass case before her.

The clerk had read the prescription without comment; but in the act of handing out the bottle he paused.

"You don't want to increase the dose, you know," he remarked. Lily's heart contracted.

"That's all right: it's a queeracting drug. A drop or two more, and off you gothe doctors don't know why."

The dread lest he should question her, or keep the bottle back, choked the murmur of acquiescence in her

throat; and when at length she emerged safely from the shop she was almost dizzy with the intensity of her

relief. The mere touch of the packet thrilled her tired nerves with the delicious promise of a night of sleep,

and in the reaction from her momentary fear she felt as if the first fumes of drowsiness were already stealing

In her confusion she stumbled against a man who was hurrying down the last steps of the elevated station. He

drew back, and she heard her name uttered with surprise. It was Rosedale, furcoated, glossy and

prosperousbut why did she seem to see him so far off, and as if through a mist of splintered crystals?

Before she could account for the phenomenon she found herself shaking hands with him. They had parted

with scorn on her side and anger upon his; but all trace of these emotions seemed to vanish as their hands

met, and she was only aware of a confused wish that she might continue to hold fast to him.

"Why, what's the matter, Miss Lily? You're not well!" he exclaimed; and she forced her lips into a pallid

"I'm a little tiredit's nothing. Stay with me a moment, please," she faltered. That she should be asking this

He glanced at the dirty and unpropitious comer on which they stood, with the shriek of the "elevated" and the

"We can't stay here; but let me take you somewhere for a cup of tea. The LONGWORTH is only a few yards

A cup of tea in quiet, somewhere out of the noise and ugliness, seemed for the moment the one solace she

could bear. A few steps brought them to the ladies' door of the hotel he had named, and a moment later he

"Not a drop of brandy or whiskey first? You look regularly done up, Miss Lily. Well, take your tea strong,

Lily smiled faintly at the injunction to take her tea strong. It was the temptation she was always struggling to

resist. Her craving for the keen stimulant was forever conflicting with that other craving for sleepthe

midnight craving which only the little phial in her hand could still. But today, at any rate, the tea could hardly

be too strong: she counted on it to pour warmth and resolution into her empty veins.

As she leaned back before him, her lids drooping in utter lassitude, though the first warm draught already

tinged her face with returning life, Rosedale was seized afresh by the poignant surprise of her beauty. The

dark pencilling of fatigue under her eyes, the morbid blueveined pallour of the temples, brought out the

brightness of her hair and lips, as though all her ebbing vitality were centred there. Against the dull

chocolatecoloured background of the restaurant, the purity of her head stood out as it had never done in the

most brightlylit ballroom. He looked at her with a startled uncomfortable feeling, as though her beauty

were a forgotten enemy that had lain in ambush and now sprang out on him unawares.

To clear the air he tried to take an easy tone with her. "Why, Miss Lily, I haven't seen you for an age. I didn't

As he spoke, he was checked by an embarrassing sense of the complications to which this might lead.

Though he had not seen her he had heard of her; he knew of her connection with Mrs. Hatch, and of the talk

resulting from it. Mrs. Hatch's MILIEU was one which he had once assiduously frequented, and now as

Lily, to whom the tea had restored her usual clearness of mind, saw what was in his thoughts and said with a

slight smile: "You would not be likely to know about me. I have joined the working classes."

He stared in genuine wonder. "You don't mean ? Why, what on earth are you doing?"

"Learning to be a millinerat least TRYING to learn," she hastily qualified the statement.

Rosedale suppressed a low whistle of surprise. "Come offyou ain't serious, are you?"

Lily guessed the possibilities of embarrassment which the topic held for him, and raising her eyes to his, she

Rosedale continued to fumble awkwardly with the teapot, and she felt sure that he had heard what had been

"Too softone might have sunk in too deep." Lily rested one arm on the edge of the table, and sat looking at

him more intently than she had ever looked before. An uncontrollable impulse was urging her to put her case

"You know Mrs. Hatch, I think? Well, perhaps you can understand that she might make things too easy for

Rosedale looked faintly puzzled, and she remembered that allusiveness was lost on him.

"It was no place for you, anyhow," he agreed, so suffused and immersed in the light of her full gaze that he

found himself being drawn into strange depths of intimacy. He who had had to subsist on mere fugitive

glances, looks winged in flight and swiftly lost under covert, now found her eyes settling on him with a

"I left," Lily continued, "lest people should say I was helping Mrs. Hatch to marry Freddy Van

Osburghwho is not in the least too good for herand as they still continue to say it, I see that I might as

"Oh, Freddy" Rosedale brushed aside the topic with an air of its unimportance which gave a sense of the

immense perspective he had acquired. "Freddy don't countbut I knew YOU weren't mixed up in that. It

Lily coloured slightly: she could not conceal from herself that the words gave her pleasure. She would have

liked to sit there, drinking more tea, and continuing to talk of herself to Rosedale. But the old habit of

observing the conventions reminded her that it was time to bring their colloquy to an end, and she made a

Rosedale stopped her with a protesting gesture. "Wait a minutedon't go yet; sit quiet and rest a little longer.

You look thoroughly played out. And you haven't told me" He broke off, conscious of going farther than

he had meant. She saw the struggle and understood it; understood also the nature of the spell to which he

yielded as, with his eyes on her face, he began again abruptly: "What on earth did you mean by saying just

"Good LordYOU? But what for? I knew your aunt had turned you down: Mrs. Fisher told me about it. But

"I got ten thousand dollars; but the legacy is not to be paid till next summer."

"Every penny." She paused, and then continued abruptly, with her eyes on his face: "I think Gus Trenor spoke

She waited, and Rosedale, congested with embarrassment, muttered that he remembered something of the

"He made about nine thousand dollars," Lily pursued, in the same tone of eager communicativeness. "At the

time, I understood that he was speculating with my own money: it was incredibly stupid of me, but I knew

nothing of business. Afterward I found out that he had NOT used my moneythat what he said he had made

for me he had really given me. It was meant in kindness, of course; but it was not the sort of obligation one

could remain under. Unfortunately I had spent the money before I discovered my mistake; and so my legacy

will have to go to pay it back. That is the reason why I am trying to learn a trade."

She made the statement clearly, deliberately, with pauses between the sentences, so that each should have

time to sink deeply into her hearer's mind. She had a passionate desire that some one should know the truth

about this transaction, and also that the rumour of her intention to repay the money should reach Judy

Trenor's ears. And it had suddenly occurred to her that Rosedale, who had surprised Trenor's confidence, was

the fitting person to receive and transmit her version of the facts. She had even felt a momentary exhilaration

at the thought of thus relieving herself of her detested secret; but the sensation gradually faded in the telling,

Rosedale continued to stare at her in wonder; but the wonder took the turn she had least expected.

He put it to her as if she had not grasped the consequences of her act; as if her incorrigible ignorance of

He sat silent, his thick hands clasped on the table, his little puzzled eyes exploring the recesses of the deserted

Lily rose from her seat with a deprecating laugh. "Oh, noit's merely a bore," she asserted, gathering

Rosedale remained seated, too intent on his thoughts to notice her movement. "Miss Lily, if you want any

"Thank you." She held out her hand. "Your tea has given me a tremendous backing. I feel equal to anything

Her gesture seemed to show a definite intention of dismissal, but her companion had tossed a bill to the

Lily uttered no protest, and when he had paused to make sure of his change they emerged from the hotel and

crossed Sixth Avenue again. As she led the way westward past a long line of areas which, through the

distortion of their paintless rails, revealed with increasing candour the DISJECTA MEMBRA of bygone

dinners, Lily felt that Rosedale was taking contemptuous note of the neighbourhood; and before the doorstep

He continued to scan the blistered brown stone front, the windows draped with discoloured lace, and the

Pompeian decoration of the muddy vestibule; then he looked back at her face and said with a visible effort:

She smiled, recognizing the heroism of the offer to the point of being frankly touched by it. "Thank youI

shall be very glad," she made answer, in the first sincere words she had ever spoken to him.

That evening in her own room Miss Bartwho had fled early from the heavy fumes of the basement

dinnertablesat musing upon the impulse which had led her to unbosom herself to Rosedale. Beneath it

she discovered an increasing sense of lonelinessa dread of returning to the solitude of her room, while she

could be anywhere else, or in any company but her own. Circumstances, of late, had combined to cut her off

more and more from her few remaining friends. On Carry Fisher's part the withdrawal was perhaps not quite

involuntary. Having made her final effort on Lily's behalf, and landed her safely in Mme. Regina's

workroom, Mrs. Fisher seemed disposed to rest from her labours; and Lily, understanding the reason, could

not condemn her. Carry had in fact come dangerously near to being involved in the episode of Mrs. Norma

Hatch, and it had taken some verbal ingenuity to extricate herself. She frankly owned to having brought Lily

and Mrs. Hatch together, but then she did not know Mrs. Hatchshe had expressly warned Lily that she did

not know Mrs. Hatchand besides, she was not Lily's keeper, and really the girl was old enough to take care

of herself. Carry did not put her own case so brutally, but she allowed it to be thus put for her by her latest

bosom friend, Mrs. Jack Stepney: Mrs. Stepney, trembling over the narrowness of her only brother's escape,

but eager to vindicate Mrs. Fisher, at whose house she could count on the "jolly parties" which had become a

necessity to her since marriage had emancipated her from the Van Osburgh point of view.

Lily understood the situation and could make allowances for it. Carry had been a good friend to her in

difficult days, and perhaps only a friendship like Gerty's could be proof against such an increasing strain.

Gerty's friendship did indeed hold fast; yet Lily was beginning to avoid her also. For she could not go to

Gerty's without risk of meeting Selden; and to meet him now would be pure pain. It was pain enough even to

think of him, whether she considered him in the distinctness of her waking thoughts, or felt the obsession of

his presence through the blur of her tormented nights. That was one of the reasons why she had turned again

to Mrs. Hatch's prescription. In the uneasy snatches of her natural dreams he came to her sometimes in the

old guise of fellowship and tenderness; and she would rise from the sweet delusion mocked and emptied of

her courage. But in the sleep which the phial procured she sank far below such halfwaking visitations, sank

into depths of dreamless annihilation from which she woke each morning with an obliterated past.

Gradually, to be sure, the stress of the old thoughts would return; but at least they did not importune her

waking hour. The drug gave her a momentary illusion of complete renewal, from which she drew strength to

take up her daily work. The strength was more and more needed as the perplexities of her future increased.

She knew that to Gerty and Mrs. Fisher she was only passing through a temporary period of probation, since

they believed that the apprenticeship she was serving at Mme. Regina's would enable her, when Mrs.

Peniston's legacy was paid, to realize the vision of the greenandwhite shop with the fuller competence

acquired by her preliminary training. But to Lily herself, aware that the legacy could not be put to such a use,

the preliminary training seemed a wasted effort. She understood clearly enough that, even if she could ever

learn to compete with hands formed from childhood for their special work, the small pay she received would

not be a sufficient addition to her income to compensate her for such drudgery. And the realization of this

fact brought her recurringly face to face with the temptation to use the legacy in establishing her business.

Once installed, and in command of her own workwomen, she believed she had sufficient tact and ability to

attract a fashionable CLIENTELE; and if the business succeeded she could gradually lay aside money enough

to discharge her debt to Trenor. But the task might take years to accomplish, even if she continued to stint

herself to the utmost; and meanwhile her pride would be crushed under the weight of an intolerable

These were her superficial considerations; but under them lurked the secret dread that the obligation might

not always remain intolerable. She knew she could not count on her continuity of purpose, and what really

frightened her was the thought that she might gradually accommodate herself to remaining indefinitely in

Trenor's debt, as she had accommodated herself to the part allotted her on the Sabrina, and as she had so

nearly drifted into acquiescing with Stancy's scheme for the advancement of Mrs. Hatch. Her danger lay, as

she knew, in her old incurable dread of discomfort and poverty; in the fear of that mounting tide of dinginess

against which her mother had so passionately warned her. And now a new vista of peril opened before her.

She understood that Rosedale was ready to lend her money; and the longing to take advantage of his offer

began to haunt her insidiously. It was of course impossible to accept a loan from Rosedale; but proximate

possibilities hovered temptingly before her. She was quite sure that he would come and see her again, and

almost sure that, if he did, she could bring him to the point of offering to marry her on the terms she had

previously rejected. Would she still reject them if they were offered? More and more, with every fresh

mischance befalling her, did the pursuing furies seem to take the shape of Bertha Dorset; and close at hand,

safely locked among her papers, lay the means of ending their pursuit. The temptation, which her scorn of

Rosedale had once enabled her to reject, now insistently returned upon her; and how much strength was left

What little there was must at any rate be husbanded to the utmost; she could not trust herself again to the

perils of a sleepless night. Through the long hours of silence the dark spirit of fatigue and loneliness crouched

upon her breast, leaving her so drained of bodily strength that her morning thoughts swam in a haze of

weakness. The only hope of renewal lay in the little bottle at her bedside; and how much longer that hope

Lily, lingering for a moment on the corner, looked out on the afternoon spectacle of Fifth Avenue. It was a

day in late April, and the sweetness of spring was in the air. It mitigated the ugliness of the long crowded

thoroughfare, blurred the gaunt rooflines, threw a mauve veil over the discouraging perspective of the side

streets, and gave a touch of poetry to the delicate haze of green that marked the entrance to the Park.

As Lily stood there, she recognized several familiar faces in the passing carriages. The season was over, and

its ruling forces had disbanded; but a few still lingered, delaying their departure for Europe, or passing

through town on their return from the South. Among them was Mrs. Van Osburgh, swaying majestically in

her Cspring barouche, with Mrs. Percy Gryce at her side, and the new heir to the Gryce millions enthroned

before them on his nurse's knees. They were succeeded by Mrs. Hatch's electric victoria, in which that lady

reclined in the lonely splendour of a spring toilet obviously designed for company; and a moment or two later

came Judy Trenor, accompanied by Lady Skiddaw, who had come over for her annual tarpon fishing and a

This fleeting glimpse of her past served to emphasize the sense of aimlessness with which Lily at length

turned toward home. She had nothing to do for the rest of the day, nor for the days to come; for the season

was over in millinery as well as in society, and a week earlier Mme. Regina had notified her that her services

were no longer required. Mme. Regina always reduced her staff on the first of May, and Miss Bart's

attendance had of late been so irregularshe had so often been unwell, and had done so little work when she

Lily did not question the justice of the decision. She was conscious of having been forgetful, awkward and

slow to learn. It was bitter to acknowledge her inferiority even to herself, but the fact had been brought home

to her that as a breadwinner she could never compete with professional ability. Since she had been brought

up to be ornamental, she could hardly blame herself for failing to serve any practical purpose; but the

As she turned homeward her thoughts shrank in anticipation from the fact that there would be nothing to get

up for the next morning. The luxury of lying late in bed was a pleasure belonging to the life of ease; it had no

part in the utilitarian existence of the boardinghouse. She liked to leave her room early, and to return to it as

late as possible; and she was walking slowly now in order to postpone the detested approach to her doorstep.

But the doorstep, as she drew near it, acquired a sudden interest from the fact that it was occupiedand

indeed filledby the conspicuous figure of Mr. Rosedale, whose presence seemed to take on an added

The sight stirred Lily with an irresistible sense of triumph. Rosedale, a day or two after their chance meeting,

had called to enquire if she had recovered from her indisposition; but since then she had not seen or heard

from him, and his absence seemed to betoken a struggle to keep away, to let her pass once more out of his

life. If this were the case, his return showed that the struggle had been unsuccessful, for Lily knew he was not

the man to waste his time in an ineffectual sentimental dalliance. He was too busy, too practical, and above

all too much preoccupied with his own advancement, to indulge in such unprofitable asides.

In the peacockblue parlour, with its bunches of dried pampas grass, and discoloured steel engravings of

sentimental episodes, he looked about him with unconcealed disgust, laying his hat distrustfully on the dusty

Lily sat down on one of the plush and rosewood sofas, and he deposited himself in a rockingchair draped

with a starched antimacassar which scraped unpleasantly against the pink fold of skin above his collar.

Lily smiled at his tone. "I am not sure that I can; but I have gone over my expenses very carefully, and I

"Out of workout of work! What a way for you to talk! The idea of your having to workit's

preposterous." He brought out his sentences in short violent jerks, as though they were forced up from a deep

inner crater of indignation. "It's a farcea crazy farce," he repeated, his eyes fixed on the long vista of the

Lily continued to meet his expostulations with a smile. "I don't know why I should regard myself as an

"Because you ARE; that's why; and your being in a place like this is a damnable outrage. I can't talk of it

She had in truth never seen him so shaken out of his usual glibness; and there was something almost moving

He rose with a start which left the rockingchair quivering on its beam ends, and placed himself squarely

"Look here, Miss Lily, I'm going to Europe next week: going over to Paris and London for a couple of

monthsand I can't leave you like this. I can't do it. I know it's none of my businessyou've let me

understand that often enough; but things are worse with you now than they have been before, and you must

see that you've got to accept help from somebody. You spoke to me the other day about some debt to Trenor.

A blush of surprise rose to Lily's pale face, but before she could interrupt him he had continued eagerly:

"Well, I'll lend you the money to pay Trenor; and I won'tIsee here, don't take me up till I've finished.

What I mean is, it'll be a plain business arrangement, such as one man would make with another. Now, what

Lily's blush deepened to a glow in which humiliation and gratitude were mingled; and both sentiments

"Only this: that it is exactly what Gus Trenor proposed; and that I can never again be sure of understanding

the plainest business arrangement." Then, realizing that this answer contained a germ of injustice, she added,

even more kindly: "Not that I don't appreciate your kindnessthat I'm not grateful for it. But a business

arrangement between us would in any case be impossible, because I shall have no security to give when my

Rosedale received this statement in silence: he seemed to fed the note of finality in her voice, yet to be unable

In the silence Lily had a clear perception of what was passing through his mind. Whatever perplexity he felt

as to the inexorableness of her coursehowever little he penetrated its motiveshe saw that it unmistakably

tended to strengthen her hold over him. It was as though the sense in her of unexplained scruples and

resistances had the same attraction as the delicacy of feature, the fastidiousness of manner, which gave her an

external rarity, an air of being impossible to match. As he advanced in social experience this uniqueness had

acquired a greater value for him, as though he were a collector who had learned to distinguish minor

Lily, perceiving all this, understood that he would marry her at once, on the sole condition of a reconciliation

with Mrs. Dorset; and the temptation was the less easy to put aside because, little by little, circumstances

were breaking down her dislike for Rosedale. The dislike, indeed, still subsisted; but it was penetrated here

and there by the perception of mitigating qualities in him: of a certain gross kindliness, a rather helpless

fidelity of sentiment, which seemed to be struggling through the hard surface of his material ambitions.

Reading his dismissal in her eyes, he held out his hand with a gesture which conveyed something of this

"If you'd only let me, I'd set you up over them allI'd put you where you could wipe your feet on 'em!" he

declared; and it touched her oddly to see that his new passion had not altered his old standard of values.

Lily took no sleepingdrops that night. She lay awake viewing her situation in the crude light which

Rosedale's visit had shed on it. In fending off the offer he was so plainly ready to renew, had she not

sacrificed to one of those abstract notions of honour that might be called the conventionalities of the moral

life? What debt did she owe to a social order which had condemned and banished her without trial? She had

never been heard in her own defence; she was innocent of the charge on which she had been found guilty;

and the irregularity of her conviction might seem to justify the use of methods as irregular in recovering her

lost rights. Bertha Dorset, to save herself, had not scrupled to ruin her by an open falsehood; why should she

hesitate to make private use of the facts that chance had put in her way? After all, half the opprobrium of such

an act lies in the name attached to it. Call it blackmail and it becomes unthinkable; but explain that it injures

no one, and that the rights regained by it were unjustly forfeited, and he must be a formalist indeed who can

The arguments pleading for it with Lily were the old unanswerable ones of the personal situation: the sense of

injury, the sense of failure, the passionate craving for a fair chance against the selfish despotism of society.

She had learned by experience that she had neither the aptitude nor the moral constancy to remake her life on

new lines; to become a worker among workers, and let the world of luxury and pleasure sweep by her

unregarded. She could not hold herself much to blame for this ineffectiveness, and she was perhaps less to

blame than she believed. Inherited tendencies had combined with early training to make her the highly

specialized product she was: an organism as helpless out of its narrow range as the seaanemone torn from

the rock. She had been fashioned to adorn and delight; to what other end does nature round the roseleaf and

paint the hummingbird's breast? And was it her fault that the purely decorative mission is less easily and

harmoniously fulfilled among social beings than in the world of nature? That it is apt to be hampered by

These last were the two antagonistic forces which fought out their battle in her breast during the long watches

of the night; and when she rose the next morning she hardly knew where the victory lay. She was exhausted

by the reaction of a night without sleep, coming after many nights of rest artificially obtained; and in the

distorting light of fatigue the future stretched out before her grey, interminable and desolate.

She lay late in bed, refusing the coffee and fried eggs which the friendly Irish servant thrust through her door,

and hating the intimate domestic noises of the house and the cries and rumblings of the street. Her week of

idleness had brought home to her with exaggerated force these small aggravations of the boardinghouse

world, and she yearned for that other luxurious world, whose machinery is so carefully concealed that one

At length she rose and dressed. Since she had left Mme. Regina's she had spent her days in the streets, partly

to escape from the uncongenial promiscuities of the boardinghouse, and partly in the hope that physical

fatigue would help her to sleep. But once out of the house, she could not decide where to go; for she had

avoided Gerty since her dismissal from the milliner's, and she was not sure of a welcome anywhere else.

The morning was in harsh contrast to the previous day. A cold grey sky threatened rain, and a high wind

drove the dust in wild spirals up and down the streets. Lily walked up Fifth Avenue toward the Park, hoping

to find a sheltered nook where she might sit; but the wind chilled her, and after an hour's wandering under the

tossing boughs she yielded to her increasing weariness, and took refuge in a little restaurant in Fiftyninth

Street. She was not hungry, and had meant to go without luncheon; but she was too tired to return home, and

The room was full of women and girls, all too much engaged in the rapid absorption of tea and pie to remark

her entrance. A hum of shrill voices reverberated against the low ceiling, leaving Lily shut out in a little circle

of silence. She felt a sudden pang of profound loneliness. She had lost the sense of time, and it seemed to her

as though she had not spoken to any one for days. Her eyes sought the faces about her, craving a responsive

glance, some sign of an intuition of her trouble. But the sallow preoccupied women, with their bags and

notebooks and rolls of music, were all engrossed in their own affairs, and even those who sat by themselves

were busy running over proofsheets or devouring magazines between their hurried gulps of tea. Lily alone

She drank several cups of the tea which was served with her portion of stewed oysters, and her brain felt

clearer and livelier when she emerged once more into the street. She realized now that, as she sat in the

restaurant, she had unconsciously arrived at a final decision. The discovery gave her an immediate illusion of

activity: it was exhilarating to think that she had actually a reason for hurrying home. To prolong her

enjoyment of the sensation she decided to walk; but the distance was so great that she found herself glancing

nervously at the clocks on the way. One of the surprises of her unoccupied state was the discovery that time,

when it is left to itself and no definite demands are made on it, cannot be trusted to move at any recognized

pace. Usually it loiters; but just when one has come to count upon its slowness, it may suddenly break into a

She found, however, on reaching home, that the hour was still early enough for her to sit down and rest a few

minutes before putting her plan into execution. The delay did not perceptibly weaken her resolve. She was

frightened and yet stimulated by the reserved force of resolution which she felt within herself: she saw it was

At five o'clock she rose, unlocked her trunk, and took out a sealed packet which she slipped into the bosom of

her dress. Even the contact with the packet did not shake her nerves as she had halfexpected it would. She

seemed encased in a strong armour of indifference, as though the vigorous exertion of her will had finally

She dressed herself once more for the street, locked her door and went out. When she emerged on the

pavement, the day was still high, but a threat of rain darkened the sky and cold gusts shook the signs

projecting from the basement shops along the street. She reached Fifth Avenue and began to walk slowly

northward. She was sufficiently familiar with Mrs. Dorset's habits to know that she could always be found at

home after five. She might not, indeed, be accessible to visitors, especially to a visitor so unwelcome, and

against whom it was quite possible that she had guarded herself by special orders; but Lily had written a note

which she meant to send up with her name, and which she thought would secure her admission.

She had allowed herself time to walk to Mrs. Dorset's, thinking that the quick movement through the cold

evening air would help to steady her nerves; but she really felt no need of being tranquillized. Her survey of

As she reached Fiftieth Street the clouds broke abruptly, and a rush of cold rain slanted into her face. She had

no umbrella and the moisture quickly penetrated her thin spring dress. She was still half a mile from her

destination, and she decided to walk across to Madison Avenue and take the electric car. As she turned into

the side street, a vague memory stirred in her. The row of budding trees, the new brick and limestone

housefronts, the Georgian flathouse with flowerboxes on its balconies, were merged together into the

setting of a familiar scene. It was down this street that she had walked with Selden, that September day two

years ago; a few yards ahead was the doorway they had entered together. The recollection loosened a throng

of benumbed sensationslongings, regrets, imaginings, the throbbing brood of the only spring her heart had

ever known. It was strange to find herself passing his house on such an errand. She seemed suddenly to see

her action as he would see itand the fact of his own connection with it, the fact that, to attain her end, she

must trade on his name, and profit by a secret of his past, chilled her blood with shame. What a long way she

had travelled since the day of their first talk together! Even then her feet had been set in the path she was now

All her resentment of his fancied coldness was swept away in this overwhelming rush of recollection. Twice

he had been ready to help herto help her by loving her, as he had saidand if, the third time, he had

seemed to fail her, whom but herself could she accuse? . . . Well, that part of her life was over; she did not

know why her thoughts still clung to it. But the sudden longing to see him remained; it grew to hunger as she

paused on the pavement opposite his door. The street was dark and empty, swept by the rain. She had a vision

of his quiet room, of the bookshelves, and the fire on the hearth. She looked up and saw a light in his

The library looked as she had pictured it. The greenshaded lamps made tranquil circles of light in the

gathering dusk, a little fire flickered on the hearth, and Selden's easychair, which stood near it, had been

He had checked his first movement of surprise, and stood silent, waiting for her to speak, while she paused a

The scene was unchanged. She recognized the row of shelves from which he had taken down his La Bruyere,

and the worn arm of the chair he had leaned against while she examined the precious volume. But then the

wide September light had filled the room, making it seem a part of the outer world: now the shaded lamps

and the warm hearth, detaching it from the gathering darkness of the street, gave it a sweeter touch of

Becoming gradually aware of the surprise under Selden's silence, Lily turned to him and said simply: "I came

to tell you that I was sorry for the way we partedfor what I said to you that day at Mrs. Hatch's."

The words rose to her lips spontaneously. Even on her way up the stairs, she had not thought of preparing a

pretext for her visit, but she now felt an intense longing to dispel the cloud of misunderstanding that hung

Selden returned her look with a smile. "I was sorry too that we should have parted in that way; but I am not

"So that I was prepared for the consequences," he corrected goodhumouredly. "But we'll talk of all this later.

Do come and sit by the fire. I can recommend that armchair, if you'll let me put a cushion behind you."

While he spoke she had moved slowly to the middle of the room, and paused near his writingtable, where

the lamp, striking upward, cast exaggerated shadows on the pallour of her delicatelyhollowed face.

She did not seem to hear the request. "I wanted you to know that I left Mrs. Hatch immediately after I saw

"And that I did so because you told me to. Before you came I had already begun to see that it would be

impossible to remain with herfor the reasons you gave me; but I wouldn't admit itI wouldn't let you see

"Ah, I might have trusted you to find your own way outdon't overwhelm me with the sense of my

His light tone, in which, had her nerves been steadier, she would have recognized the mere effort to bridge

over an awkward moment, jarred on her passionate desire to be understood. In her strange state of

extralucidity, which gave her the sense of being already at the heart of the situation, it seemed incredible

that any one should think it necessary to linger in the conventional outskirts of wordplay and evasion.

"It was not thatI was not ungrateful," she insisted. But the power of expression failed her suddenly; she felt

Selden moved forward and took her hand. "You are very tired. Why won't you sit down and let me make you

He drew her to the armchair near the fire, and placed a cushion behind her shoulders.

"And now you must let me make you some tea: you know I always have that amount of hospitality at my

She shook her head, and two more tears ran over. But she did not weep easily, and the long habit of

"You know I can coax the water to boil in five minutes," Selden continued, speaking as though she were a

His words recalled the vision of that other afternoon when they had sat together over his teatable and talked

jestingly of her future. There were moments when that day seemed more remote than any other event in her

She made a gesture of refusal. "No: I drink too much tea. I would rather sit quietI must go in a moment,"

Selden continued to stand near her, leaning against the mantelpiece. The tinge of constraint was beginning to

be more distinctly perceptible under the friendly ease of his manner. Her selfabsorption had not allowed her

to perceive it at first; but now that her consciousness was once more putting forth its eager feelers, she saw

that her presence was becoming an embarrassment to him. Such a situation can be saved only by an

immediate outrush of feeling; and on Selden's side the determining impulse was still lacking.

The discovery did not disturb Lily as it might once have done. She had passed beyond the phase of wellbred

reciprocity, in which every demonstration must be scrupulously proportioned to the emotion it elicits, and

generosity of feeling is the only ostentation condemned. But the sense of loneliness returned with redoubled

force as she saw herself forever shut out from Selden's inmost self. She had come to him with no definite

purpose; the mere longing to see him had directed her; but the secret hope she had carried with her suddenly

"I must go," she repeated, making a motion to rise from her chair. "But I may not see you again for a long

time, and I wanted to tell you that I have never forgotten the things you said to me at Bellomont, and that

sometimessometimes when I seemed farthest from remembering themthey have helped me, and kept me

Strive as she would to put some order in her thoughts, the words would not come more clearly; yet she felt

that she could not leave him without trying to make him understand that she had saved herself whole from the

A change had come over Selden's face as she spoke. Its guarded look had yielded to an expression still

"I am glad to have you tell me that; but nothing I have said has really made the difference. The difference is

in yourselfit will always be there. And since it IS there, it can't really matter to you what people think: you

"Ah, don't say thatdon't say that what you have told me has made no difference. It seems to shut me

outto leave me all alone with the other people." She had risen and stood before him, once more completely

mastered by the inner urgency of the moment. The consciousness of his halfdivined reluctance had

vanished. Whether he wished it or not, he must see her wholly for once before they parted.

Her voice had gathered strength, and she looked him gravely in the eyes as she continued.

"Oncetwiceyou gave me the chance to escape from my life, and I refused it: refused it because I was a

coward. Afterward I saw my mistakeI saw I could never be happy with what had contented me before. But

it was too late: you had judged meI understood. It was too late for happinessbut not too late to be helped

by the thought of what I had missed. That is all I have lived ondon't take it from me now! Even in my

worst moments it has been like a little light in the darkness. Some women are strong enough to be good by

themselves, but I needed the help of your belief in me. Perhaps I might have resisted a great temptation, but

the little ones would have pulled me down. And then I rememberedI remembered your saying that such a

life could never satisfy me; and I was ashamed to admit to myself that it could. That is what you did for

methat is what I wanted to thank you for. I wanted to tell you that I have always remembered; and that I

She broke off suddenly. Her tears had risen again, and in drawing out her handkerchief her fingers touched

the packet in the folds of her dress. A wave of colour suffused her, and the words died on her lips. Then she

"I have tried hardbut life is difficult, and I am a very useless person. I can hardly be said to have an

independent existence. I was just a screw or a cog in the great machine I called life, and when I dropped out

of it I found I was of no use anywhere else. What can one do when one finds that one only fits into one hole?

One must get back to it or be thrown out into the rubbish heapand you don't know what it's like in the

Her lips wavered into a smileshe had been distracted by the whimsical remembrance of the confidences

she had made to him, two years earlier, in that very room. Then she had been planning to marry Percy

The blood had risen strongly under Selden's dark skin, but his emotion showed itself only in an added

Lily's eyes did not falter, but a look of wonder, of puzzled selfinterrogation, formed itself slowly in their

depths. In the light of his question, she had paused to ask herself if her decision had really been taken when

"You always told me I should have to come to it sooner or later!" she said with a faint smile.

"I shall have to come to itpresently. But there is something else I must come to first." She paused again,

trying to transmit to her voice the steadiness of her recovered smile. "There is some one I must say goodbye

to. Oh, not YOUwe are sure to see each other againbut the Lily Bart you knew. I have kept her with me

all this time, but now we are going to part, and I have brought her back to youI am going to leave her here.

When I go out presently she will not go with me. I shall like to think that she has stayed with youand she'll

She went toward him, and put out her hand, still smiling. "Will you let her stay with you?" she asked.

He caught her hand, and she felt in his the vibration of feeling that had not yet risen to his lips. "Lilycan't I

She looked at him gently. "Do you remember what you said to me once? That you could help me only by

loving me? Wellyou did love me for a moment; and it helped me. It has always helped me. But the

She laid her other hand on his, and they looked at each other with a kind of solemnity, as though they stood in

the presence of death. Something in truth lay dead between themthe love she had killed in him and could

no longer call to life. But something lived between them also, and leaped up in her like an imperishable

In its light everything else dwindled and fell away from her. She understood now that she could not go forth

and leave her old self with him: that self must indeed live on in his presence, but it must still continue to be

Selden had retained her hand, and continued to scrutinize her with a strange sense of foreboding. The external

aspect of the situation had vanished for him as completely as for her: he felt it only as one of those rare

"Lily," he said in a low voice, "you mustn't speak in this way. I can't let you go without knowing what you

mean to do. Things may changebut they don't pass. You can never go out of my life."

She met his eyes with an illumined look. "No," she said. "I see that now. Let us always be friends. Then I

"Nothing at presentexcept that I am very cold, and that before I go you must make up the fire for me."

She knelt on the hearthrug, stretching her hands to the embers. Puzzled by the sudden change in her tone, he

mechanically gathered a handful of wood from the basket and tossed it on the fire. As he did so, he noticed

how thin her hands looked against the rising light of the flames. He saw too, under the loose lines of her

dress, how the curves of her figure had shrunk to angularity; he remembered long afterward how the red play

of the flame sharpened the depression of her nostrils, and intensified the blackness of the shadows which

struck up from her cheekbones to her eyes. She knelt there for a few moments in silence; a silence which he

dared not break. When she rose he fancied that he saw her draw something from her dress and drop it into the

fire; but he hardly noticed the gesture at the time. His faculties seemed tranced, and he was still groping for

the word to break the spell. She went up to him and laid her hands on his shoulders. "Goodbye," she said, and

The streetlamps were lit, but the rain had ceased, and there was a momentary revival of light in the upper

sky. Lily walked on unconscious of her surroundings. She was still treading the buoyant ether which

emanates from the high moments of life. But gradually it shrank away from her and she felt the dull

pavement beneath her feet. The sense of weariness returned with accumulated force, and for a moment she

felt that she could walk no farther. She had reached the corner of Fortyfirst Street and Fifth Avenue, and she

That melancholy pleasureground was almost deserted when she entered it, and she sank down on an empty

bench in the glare of an electric streetlamp. The warmth of the fire had passed out of her veins, and she told

herself that she must not sit long in the penetrating dampness which struck up from the wet asphalt. But her

willpower seemed to have spent itself in a last great effort, and she was lost in the blank reaction which

follows on an unwonted expenditure of energy. And besides, what was there to go home to? Nothing but the

silence of her cheerless roomthat silence of the night which may be more racking to tired nerves than the

most discordant noises: that, and the bottle of chloral by her bed. The thought of the chloral was the only spot

of light in the dark prospect: she could feel its lulling influence stealing over her already. But she was

troubled by the thought that it was losing its powershe dared not go back to it too soon. Of late the sleep it

had brought her had been more broken and less profound; there had been nights when she was perpetually

floating up through it to consciousness. What if the effect of the drug should gradually fail, as all narcotics

were said to fail? She remembered the chemist's warning against increasing the dose; and she had heard

before of the capricious and incalculable action of the drug. Her dread of returning to a sleepless night was so

great that she lingered on, hoping that excessive weariness would reinforce the waning power of the chloral.

Night had now closed in, and the roar of traffic in Fortysecond Street was dying out. As complete darkness

fell on the square the lingering occupants of the benches rose and dispersed; but now and then a stray figure,

hurrying homeward, struck across the path where Lily sat, looming black for a moment in the white circle of

electric light. One or two of these passersby slackened their pace to glance curiously at her lonely figure;

Suddenly, however, she became aware that one of the passing shadows remained stationary between her line

of vision and the gleaming asphalt; and raising her eyes she saw a young woman bending over her.

Lily looked up. The speaker was a poorlydressed young woman with a bundle under her arm. Her face had

the air of unwholesome refinement which illhealth and overwork may produce, but its common prettiness

"You don't remember me," she continued, brightening with the pleasure of recognition, "but I'd know you

anywhere, I've thought of you such a lot. I guess my folks all know your name by heart. I was one of the girls

at Miss Farish's clubyou helped me to go to the country that time I had lungtrouble. My name's Nettie

Struther. It was Nettie Crane thenbut I daresay you don't remember that either."

Yes: Lily was beginning to remember. The episode of Nettie Crane's timely rescue from disease had been one

of the most satisfying incidents of her connection with Gerty's charitable work. She had furnished the girl

with the means to go to a sanatorium in the mountains: it struck her now with a peculiar irony that the money

She tried to reply, to assure the speaker that she had not forgotten; but her voice failed in the effort, and she

felt herself sinking under a great wave of physical weakness. Nettie Struther, with a startled exclamation, sat

A faint glow of returning strength seemed to pass into Lily from the pressure of the supporting arm.

"I'm only tiredit is nothing," she found voice to say in a moment; and then, as she met the timid appeal of

her companion's eyes, she added involuntarily: "I have been unhappyin great trouble."

"YOU in trouble? I've always thought of you as being so high up, where everything was just grand.

Sometimes, when I felt real mean, and got to wondering why things were so queerly fixed in the world, I used

to remember that you were having a lovely time, anyhow, and that seemed to show there was a kind of justice

somewhere. But you mustn't sit here too longit's fearfully damp. Don't you feel strong enough to walk on a

Her eyes rested wonderingly on the thin shabby figure at her side. She had known Nettie Crane as one of the

discouraged victims of overwork and anaemic parentage: one of the superfluous fragments of life destined

to be swept prematurely into that social refuseheap of which Lily had so lately expressed her dread. But

Nettie Struther's frail envelope was now alive with hope and energy: whatever fate the future reserved for her,

"I am very glad to have seen you," Lily continued, summoning a smile to her unsteady lips. "It'll be my turn

"Oh, but I can't leave you like thisyou're not fit to go home alone. And I can't go with you either!" Nettie

Struther wailed with a start of recollection. "You see, it's my husband's nightshifthe's a motormanand

the friend I leave the baby with has to step upstairs to get HER husband's supper at seven. I didn't tell you I

had a baby, did I? She'll be four months old day after tomorrow, and to look at her you wouldn't think I'd ever

had a sick day. I'd give anything to show you the baby, Miss Bart, and we live right down the street hereit's

only three blocks off." She lifted her eyes tentatively to Lily's face, and then added with a burst of courage:

"Why won't you get right into the cars and come home with me while I get baby's supper? It's real warm in

our kitchen, and you can rest there, and I'll take YOU home as soon as ever she drops off to sleep."

It WAS warm in the kitchen, which, when Nettie Struther's match had made a flame leap from the gasjet

above the table, revealed itself to Lily as extraordinarily small and almost miraculously clean. A fire shone

through the polished flanks of the iron stove, and near it stood a crib in which a baby was sitting upright, with

incipient anxiety struggling for expression on a countenance still placid with sleep.

Having passionately celebrated her reunion with her offspring, and excused herself in cryptic language for the

lateness of her return, Nettie restored the baby to the crib and shyly invited Miss Bart to the rockingchair

"We've got a parlour too," she explained with pardonable pride; "but I guess it's warmer in here, and I don't

On receiving Lily's assurance that she much preferred the friendly proximity of the kitchen fire, Mrs. Struther

proceeded to prepare a bottle of infantile food, which she tenderly applied to the baby's impatient lips; and

while the ensuing degustation went on, she seated herself with a beaming countenance beside her visitor.

"You're sure you won't let me warm up a drop of coffee for you, Miss Bart? There's some of baby's fresh milk

left overwell, maybe you'd rather just sit quiet and rest a little while. It's too lovely having you here. I've

thought of it so often that I can't believe it's really come true. I've said to George again and again: 'I just wish

Miss Bart could see me NOW' and I used to watch for your name in the papers, and we'd talk over what

you were doing, and read the descriptions of the dresses you wore. I haven't seen your name for a long time,

though, and I began to be afraid you were sick, and it worried me so that George said I'd get sick myself,

fretting about it." Her lips broke into a reminiscent smile. "Well, I can't afford to be sick again, that's a fact:

the last spell nearly finished me. When you sent me off that time I never thought I'd come back alive, and I

didn't much care if I did. You see I didn't know about George and the baby then."

"You preciousdon't you be in too much of a hurry! Was it mad with mommer for getting its supper so late?

Marry Anto'nettethat's what we call her: after the French queen in that play at the GardenI told George

the actress reminded me of you, and that made me fancy the name . . . I never thought I'd get married, you

She broke off again, and meeting the encouragement in Lily's eyes, went on, with a flush rising under her

anaemic skin: "You see I wasn't only just SICK that time you sent me offI was dreadfully unhappy too. I'd

known a gentleman where I was employedI don't know as you remember I did typewriting in a big

importing firmandwellI thought we were to be married: he'd gone steady with me six months and

given me his mother's wedding ring. But I presume he was too stylish for mehe travelled for the firm, and

had seen a great deal of society. Work girls aren't looked after the way you are, and they don't always know

how to look after themselves. I didn't . . . and it pretty near killed me when he went away and left off writing .

. . It was then I came down sickI thought it was the end of everything. I guess it would have been if you

hadn't sent me off. But when I found I was getting well I began to take heart in spite of myself. And then,

when I got back home, George came round and asked me to marry him. At first I thought I couldn't, because

we'd been brought up together, and I knew he knew about me. But after a while I began to see that that made

it easier. I never could have told another man, and I'd never have married without telling; but if George cared

for me enough to have me as I was, I didn't see why I shouldn't begin over againand I did."

The strength of the victory shone forth from her as she lifted her irradiated face from the child on her knees.

"But, mercy, I didn't mean to go on like this about myself, with you sitting there looking so fagged out. Only

it's so lovely having you here, and letting you see just how you've helped me." The baby had sunk back

blissfully replete, and Mrs. Struther softly rose to lay the bottle aside. Then she paused before Miss Bart.

"I only wish I could help YOUbut I suppose there's nothing on earth I could do," she murmured wistfully.

Lily, instead of answering, rose with a smile and held out her arms; and the mother, understanding the

The baby, feeling herself detached from her habitual anchorage, made an instinctive motion of resistance; but

the soothing influences of digestion prevailed, and Lily felt the soft weight sink trustfully against her breast.

The child's confidence in its safety thrilled her with a sense of warmth and returning life, and she bent over,

wondering at the rosy blur of the little face, the empty clearness of the eyes, the vague tendrilly motions of

the folding and unfolding fingers. At first the burden in her arms seemed as light as a pink cloud or a heap of

down, but as she continued to hold it the weight increased, sinking deeper, and penetrating her with a strange

sense of weakness, as though the child entered into her and became a part of herself.

She looked up, and saw Nettie's eyes resting on her with tenderness and exultation.

"Wouldn't it be too lovely for anything if she could grow up to be just like you? Of course I know she never

Lily clasped the child close for a moment and laid her back in her mother's arms.

"Oh, she must not do thatI should be afraid to come and see her too often!" she said with a smile; and then,

resisting Mrs. Struther's anxious offer of companionship, and reiterating the promise that of course she would

come back soon, and make George's acquaintance, and see the baby in her bath, she passed out of the kitchen

As she reached the street she realized that she felt stronger and happier: the little episode had done her good.

It was the first time she had ever come across the results of her spasmodic benevolence, and the surprised

It was not till she entered her own door that she felt the reaction of a deeper loneliness. It was long after seven

o'clock, and the light and odours proceeding from the basement made it manifest that the boardinghouse

dinner had begun. She hastened up to her room, lit the gas, and began to dress. She did not mean to pamper

herself any longer, to go without food because her surroundings made it unpalatable. Since it was her fate to

live in a boardinghouse, she must learn to fall in with the conditions of the life. Nevertheless she was glad

that, when she descended to the heat and glare of the diningroom, the repast was nearly over.

In her own room again, she was seized with a sudden fever of activity. For weeks past she had been too

listless and indifferent to set her possessions in order, but now she began to examine systematically the

contents of her drawers and cupboard. She had a few handsome dresses leftsurvivals of her last phase of

splendour, on the Sabrina and in Londonbut when she had been obliged to part with her maid she had

given the woman a generous share of her castoff apparel. The remaining dresses, though they had lost their

freshness, still kept the long unerring lines, the sweep and amplitude of the great artist's stroke, and as she

spread them out on the bed the scenes in which they had been worn rose vividly before her. An association

lurked in every fold: each fall of lace and gleam of embroidery was like a letter in the record of her past. She

was startled to find how the atmosphere of her old life enveloped her. But, after all, it was the life she had

been made for: every dawning tendency in her had been carefully directed toward it, all her interests and

activities had been taught to centre around it. She was like some rare flower grown for exhibition, a flower

Last of all, she drew forth from the bottom of her trunk a heap of white drapery which fell shapelessly across

her arm. It was the Reynolds dress she had worn in the Bry TABLEAUX. It had been impossible for her to

give it away, but she had never seen it since that night, and the long flexible folds, as she shook them out,

gave forth an odour of violets which came to her like a breath from the floweredged fountain where she had

stood with Lawrence Selden and disowned her fate. She put back the dresses one by one, laying away with

each some gleam of light, some note of laughter, some stray waft from the rosy shores of pleasure. She was

still in a state of highlywrought impressionability, and every hint of the past sent a lingering tremor along

She had just closed her trunk on the white folds of the Reynolds dress when she heard a tap at her door, and

the red fist of the Irish maidservant thrust in a belated letter. Carrying it to the light, Lily read with surprise

the address stamped on the upper comer of the envelope. It was a business communication from the office of

her aunt's executors, and she wondered what unexpected development had caused them to break silence

before the appointed time. She opened the envelope and a cheque fluttered to the floor. As she stooped to

pick it up the blood rushed to her face. The cheque represented the full amount of Mrs. Peniston's legacy, and

the letter accompanying it explained that the executors, having adjusted the business of the estate with less

delay than they had expected, had decided to anticipate the date fixed for the payment of the bequests.

Lily sat down beside the desk at the foot of her bed, and spreading out the cheque, read over and over the

TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS written across it in a steely business hand. Ten months earlier the amount it

stood for had represented the depths of penury; but her standard of values had changed in the interval, and

now visions of wealth lurked in every flourish of the pen. As she continued to gaze at it, she felt the glitter of

the visions mounting to her brain, and after a while she lifted the lid of the desk and slipped the magic

formula out of sight. It was easier to think without those five figures dancing before her eyes; and she had a

She opened her chequebook, and plunged into such anxious calculations as had prolonged her vigil at

Bellomont on the night when she had decided to marry Percy Gryce. Poverty simplifies bookkeeping, and

her financial situation was easier to ascertain than it had been then; but she had not yet learned the control of

money, and during her transient phase of luxury at the Emporium she had slipped back into habits of

extravagance which still impaired her slender balance. A careful examination of her chequebook, and of the

unpaid bills in her desk, showed that, when the latter had been settled, she would have barely enough to live

on for the next three or four months; and even after that, if she were to continue her present way of living,

without earning any additional money, all incidental expenses must be reduced to the vanishing point. She

hid her eyes with a shudder, beholding herself at the entrance of that evernarrowing perspective down which

It was no longer, however, from the vision of material poverty that she turned with the greatest shrinking. She

had a sense of deeper empoverishmentof an inner destitution compared to which outward conditions

dwindled into insignificance. It was indeed miserable to be poorto look forward to a shabby, anxious

middleage, leading by dreary degrees of economy and selfdenial to gradual absorption in the dingy

communal existence of the boardinghouse. But there was something more miserable stillit was the clutch

of solitude at her heart, the sense of being swept like a stray uprooted growth down the heedless current of the

years. That was the feeling which possessed her nowthe feeling of being something rootless and

ephemeral, mere spindrift of the whirling surface of existence, without anything to which the poor little

tentacles of self could cling before the awful flood submerged them. And as she looked back she saw that

there had never been a time when she had had any real relation to life. Her parents too had been rootless,

blown hither and thither on every wind of fashion, without any personal existence to shelter them from its

shifting gusts. She herself had grown up without any one spot of earth being dearer to her than another: there

was no centre of early pieties, of grave endearing traditions, to which her heart could revert and from which it

could draw strength for itself and tenderness for others. In whatever form a slowlyaccumulated past lives in

the bloodwhether in the concrete image of the old house stored with visual memories, or in the conception

of the house not built with hands, but made up of inherited passions and loyaltiesit has the same power of

broadening and deepening the individual existence, of attaching it by mysterious links of kinship to all the

Such a vision of the solidarity of life had never before come to Lily. She had had a premonition of it in the

blind motions of her matinginstinct; but they had been checked by the disintegrating influences of the life

about her. All the men and women she knew were like atoms whirling away from each other in some wild

centrifugal dance: her first glimpse of the continuity of life had come to her that evening in Nettie Struther's

The poor little workinggirl who had found strength to gather up the fragments of her life, and build herself a

shelter with them, seemed to Lily to have reached the central truth of existence. It was a meagre enough life,

on the grim edge of poverty, with scant margin for possibilities of sickness or mischance, but it had the frail

audacious permanence of a bird's nest built on the edge of a cliffa mere wisp of leaves and straw, yet so

Yesbut it had taken two to build the nest; the man's faith as well as the woman's courage. Lily remembered

Nettie's words: I KNEW HE KNEW ABOUT ME. Her husband's faith in her had made her renewal

possibleit is so easy for a woman to become what the man she loves believes her to be! WellSelden had

twice been ready to stake his faith on Lily Bart; but the third trial had been too severe for his endurance. The

very quality of his love had made it the more impossible to recall to life. If it had been a simple instinct of the

blood, the power of her beauty might have revived it. But the fact that it struck deeper, that it was inextricably

wound up with inherited habits of thought and feeling, made it as impossible to restore to growth as a

deeprooted plant tom from its bed. Selden had given her of his best; but he was as incapable as herself of an

There remained to her, as she had told him, the uplifting memory of his faith in her; but she had not reached

the age when a woman can live on her memories. As she held Nettie Struther's child in her arms the frozen

currents of youth had loosed themselves and run warm in her veins: the old lifehunger possessed her, and all

her being clamoured for its share of personal happiness. Yesit was happiness she still wanted, and the

glimpse she had caught of it made everything else of no account. One by one she had detached herself from

the baser possibilities, and she saw that nothing now remained to her but the emptiness of renunciation.

It was growing late, and an immense weariness once more possessed her. It was not the stealing sense of

sleep, but a vivid wakeful fatigue, a wan lucidity of mind against which all the possibilities of the future were

shadowed forth gigantically. She was appalled by the intense cleanness of the vision; she seemed to have

broken through the merciful veil which intervenes between intention and action, and to see exactly what she

would do in all the long days to come. There was the cheque in her desk, for instanceshe meant to use it in

paying her debt to Trenor; but she foresaw that when the morning came she would put off doing so, would

slip into gradual tolerance of the debt. The thought terrified hershe dreaded to fall from the height of her

last moment with Lawrence Selden. But how could she trust herself to keep her footing? She knew the

strength of the opposing impulsesshe could feel the countless hands of habit dragging her back into some

fresh compromise with fate. She felt an intense longing to prolong, to perpetuate, the momentary exaltation of

her spirit. If only life could end nowend on this tragic yet sweet vision of lost possibilities, which gave her

She reached out suddenly and, drawing the cheque from her writingdesk, enclosed it in an envelope which

she addressed to her bank. She then wrote out a cheque for Trenor, and placing it, without an accompanying

word, in an envelope inscribed with his name, laid the two letters side by side on her desk. After that she

continued to sit at the table, sorting her papers and writing, till the intense silence of the house reminded her

of the lateness of the hour. In the street the noise of wheels had ceased, and the rumble of the "elevated" came

only at long intervals through the deep unnatural hush. In the mysterious nocturnal separation from all

outward signs of life, she felt herself more strangely confronted with her fate. The sensation made her brain

reel, and she tried to shut out consciousness by pressing her hands against her eyes. But the terrible silence

and emptiness seemed to symbolize her futureshe felt as though the house, the street, the world were all

But this was the verge of delirium . . . she had never hung so near the dizzy brink of the unreal. Sleep was

what she wantedshe remembered that she had not closed her eyes for two nights. The little bottle was at

her bedside, waiting to lay its spell upon her. She rose and undressed hastily, hungering now for the touch of

her pillow. She felt so profoundly tired that she thought she must fall asleep at once; but as soon as she had

lain down every nerve started once more into separate wakefulness. It was as though a great blaze of electric

light had been turned on in her head, and her poor little anguished self shrank and cowered in it, without

She had not imagined that such a multiplication of wakefulness was possible: her whole past was reenacting

itself at a hundred different points of consciousness. Where was the drug that could still this legion of

insurgent nerves? The sense of exhaustion would have been sweet compared to this shrill beat of activities;

but weariness had dropped from her as though some cruel stimulant had been forced into her veins.

She could bear ityes, she could bear it; but what strength would be left her the next day? Perspective had

disappearedthe next day pressed close upon her, and on its heels came the days that were to followthey

swarmed about her like a shrieking mob. She must shut them out for a few hours; she must take a brief bath

of oblivion. She put out her hand, and measured the soothing drops into a glass; but as she did so, she knew

they would be powerless against the supernatural lucidity of her brain. She had long since raised the dose to

its highest limit, but tonight she felt she must increase it. She knew she took a slight risk in doing soshe

remembered the chemist's warning. If sleep came at all, it might be a sleep without waking. But after all that

was but one chance in a hundred: the action of the drug was incalculable, and the addition of a few drops to

the regular dose would probably do no more than procure for her the rest she so desperately needed....

She did not, in truth, consider the question very closelythe physical craving for sleep was her only

sustained sensation. Her mind shrank from the glare of thought as instinctively as eyes contract in a blaze of

lightdarkness, darkness was what she must have at any cost. She raised herself in bed and swallowed the

She lay very still, waiting with a sensuous pleasure for the first effects of the soporific. She knew in advance

what form they would takethe gradual cessation of the inner throb, the soft approach of passiveness, as

though an invisible hand made magic passes over her in the darkness. The very slowness and hesitancy of the

effect increased its fascination: it was delicious to lean over and look down into the dim abysses of

unconsciousness. Tonight the drug seemed to work more slowly than usual: each passionate pulse had to be

stilled in turn, and it was long before she felt them dropping into abeyance, like sentinels falling asleep at

their posts. But gradually the sense of complete subjugation came over her, and she wondered languidly what

had made her feel so uneasy and excited. She saw now that there was nothing to be excited aboutshe had

returned to her normal view of life. Tomorrow would not be so difficult after all: she felt sure that she would

have the strength to meet it. She did not quite remember what it was that she had been afraid to meet, but the

uncertainty no longer troubled her. She had been unhappy, and now she was happyshe had felt herself

She stirred once, and turned on her side, and as she did so, she suddenly understood why she did not feel

herself alone. It was oddbut Nettie Struther's child was lying on her arm: she felt the pressure of its little

head against her shoulder. She did not know how it had come there, but she felt no great surprise at the fact,

only a gentle penetrating thrill of warmth and pleasure. She settled herself into an easier position, hollowing

her arm to pillow the round downy head, and holding her breath lest a sound should disturb the sleeping

As she lay there she said to herself that there was something she must tell Selden, some word she had found

that should make life clear between them. She tried to repeat the word, which lingered vague and luminous

on the far edge of thoughtshe was afraid of not remembering it when she woke; and if she could only

Slowly the thought of the word faded, and sleep began to enfold her. She struggled faintly against it, feeling

that she ought to keep awake on account of the baby; but even this feeling was gradually lost in an indistinct

sense of drowsy peace, through which, of a sudden, a dark flash of loneliness and terror tore its way.

She started up again, cold and trembling with the shock: for a moment she seemed to have lost her hold of the

child. But noshe was mistakenthe tender pressure of its body was still close to hers: the recovered

warmth flowed through her once more, she yielded to it, sank into it, and slept.

The next morning rose mild and bright, with a promise of summer in the air. The sunlight slanted joyously

down Lily's street, mellowed the blistered housefront, gilded the paintless railings of the doorstep, and

When such a day coincides with the inner mood there is intoxication in its breath; and Selden, hastening

along the street through the squalor of its morning confidences, felt himself thrilling with a youthful sense of

adventure. He had cut loose from the familiar shores of habit, and launched himself on uncharted seas of

emotion; all the old tests and measures were left behind, and his course was to be shaped by new stars.

That course, for the moment, led merely to Miss Bart's boardinghouse; but its shabby doorstep had

suddenly become the threshold of the untried. As he approached he looked up at the triple row of windows,

wondering boyishly which one of them was hers. It was nine o'clock, and the house, being tenanted by

workers, already showed an awakened front to the street. He remembered afterward having noticed that only

one blind was down. He noticed too that there was a pot of pansies on one of the window sills, and at once

concluded that the window must be hers: it was inevitable that he should connect her with the one touch of

Nine o'clock was an early hour for a visit, but Selden had passed beyond all such conventional observances.

He only knew that he must see Lily Bart at oncehe had found the word he meant to say to her, and it could

not wait another moment to be said. It was strange that it had not come to his lips soonerthat he had let her

pass from him the evening before without being able to speak it. But what did that matter, now that a new day

Selden ran eagerly up the steps and pulled the bell; and even in his state of selfabsorption it came as a sharp

surprise to him that the door should open so promptly. It was still more of a surprise to see, as he entered, that

it had been opened by Gerty Farishand that behind her, in an agitated blur, several other figures ominously

"Lawrence!" Gerty cried in a strange voice, "how could you get here so quickly?"and the trembling hand

He noticed the other faces, vague with fear and conjecturehe saw the landlady's imposing bulk sway

professionally toward him; but he shrank back, putting up his hand, while his eyes mechanically mounted the

steep black walnut stairs, up which he was immediately aware that his cousin was about to lead him.

A voice in the background said that the doctor might be back at any minuteand that nothing, upstairs, was

to be disturbed. Some one else exclaimed: "It was the greatest mercy" then Selden felt that Gerty had taken

In silence they mounted the three flights, and walked along the passage to a closed door. Gerty opened the

door, and Selden went in after her. Though the blind was down, the irresistible sunlight poured a tempered

golden flood into the room, and in its light Selden saw a narrow bed along the wall, and on the bed, with

That it was her real self, every pulse in him ardently denied. Her real self had lain warm on his heart but a

few hours earlierwhat had he to do with this estranged and tranquil face which, for the first time, neither

Gerty, strangely tranquil too, with the conscious selfcontrol of one who has ministered to much pain, stood

"The doctor found a bottle of chloralshe had been sleeping badly for a long time, and she must have taken

an overdose by mistake.... There is no doubt of thatno doubtthere will be no questionhe has been very

kind. I told him that you and I would like to be left alone with herto go over her things before any one else

Selden was hardly conscious of what she said. He stood looking down on the sleeping face which seemed to

lie like a delicate impalpable mask over the living lineaments he had known. He felt that the real Lily was

still there, close to him, yet invisible and inaccessible; and the tenuity of the barrier between them mocked

him with a sense of helplessness. There had never been more than a little impalpable barrier between

themand yet he had suffered it to keep them apart! And now, though it seemed slighter and frailer than

ever, it had suddenly hardened to adamant, and he might beat his life out against it in vain.

He had dropped on his knees beside the bed, but a touch from Gerty aroused him. He stood up, and as their

"You understand what the doctor has gone for? He has promised that there shall be no troublebut of course

the formalities must be gone through. And I asked him to give us time to look through her things first"

He nodded, and she glanced about the small bare room. "It won't take long," she concluded.

She held his hand in hers a moment longer, and then, with a last look at the bed, moved silently toward the

door. On the threshold she paused to add: "You will find me downstairs if you want me."

Selden roused himself to detain her. "But why are you going? She would have wished"

Gerty shook her head with a smile. "No: this is what she would have wished" and as she spoke a light

broke through Selden's stony misery, and he saw deep into the hidden things of love.

The door closed on Gerty, and he stood alone with the motionless sleeper on the bed. His impulse was to

return to her side, to fall on his knees, and rest his throbbing head against the peaceful cheek on the pillow.

They had never been at peace together, they two; and now he felt himself drawn downward into the strange

But he remembered Gerty's warning wordshe knew that, though time had ceased in this room, its feet were

hastening relentlessly toward the door. Gerty had given him this supreme halfhour, and he must use it as she

He turned and looked about him, sternly compelling himself to regain his consciousness of outward things.

There was very little furniture in the room. The shabby chest of drawers was spread with a lace cover, and set

out with a few goldtopped boxes and bottles, a rosecoloured pincushion, a glass tray strewn with

tortoiseshell hairpinshe shrank from the poignant intimacy of these trifles, and from the blank surface of

These were the only traces of luxury, of that clinging to the minute observance of personal seemliness, which

showed what her other renunciations must have cost. There was no other token of her personality about the

room, unless it showed itself in the scrupulous neatness of the scant articles of furniture: a washingstand,

two chairs, a small writingdesk, and the little table near the bed. On this table stood the empty bottle and

The desk was closed, but on its slanting lid lay two letters which he took up. One bore the address of a bank,

and as it was stamped and sealed, Selden, after a moment's hesitation, laid it aside. On the other letter he read

Temptation leapt on him like the stab of a knife. He staggered under it, steadying himself against the desk.

Why had she been writing to Trenorwriting, presumably, just after their parting of the previous evening?

The thought unhallowed the memory of that last hour, made a mock of the word he had come to speak, and

defiled even the reconciling silence upon which it fell. He felt himself flung back on all the ugly uncertainties

from which he thought he had cast loose forever. After all, what did he know of her life? Only as much as she

had chosen to show him, and measured by the world's estimate, how little that was! By what rightthe letter

in his hand seemed to askby what right was it he who now passed into her confidence through the gate

which death had left unbarred? His heart cried out that it was by right of their last hour together, the hour

when she herself had placed the key in his hand. Yesbut what if the letter to Trenor had been written

He put it from him with sudden loathing, and setting his lips, addressed himself resolutely to what remained

of his task. After all, that task would be easier to perform, now that his personal stake in it was annulled.

He raised the lid of the desk, and saw within it a chequebook and a few packets of bills and letters, arranged

with the orderly precision which characterized all her personal habits. He looked through the letters first,

because it was the most difficult part of the work. They proved to be few and unimportant, but among them

he found, with a strange commotion of the heart, the note he had written her the day after the Brys'

"When may I come to you?"his words overwhelmed him with a realization of the cowardice which had

driven him from her at the very moment of attainment. Yeshe had always feared his fate, and he was too

honest to disown his cowardice now; for had not all his old doubts started to life again at the mere sight of

He laid the note in his cardcase, folding it away carefully, as something made precious by the fact that she

had held it so; then, growing once more aware of the lapse of time, he continued his examination of the

To his surprise, he found that all the bills were receipted; there was not an unpaid account among them. He

opened the chequebook, and saw that, the very night before, a cheque of ten thousand dollars from Mrs.

Peniston's executors had been entered in it. The legacy, then, had been paid sooner than Gerty had led him to

expect. But, turning another page or two, he discovered with astonishment that, in spite of this recent

accession of funds, the balance had already declined to a few dollars. A rapid glance at the stubs of the last

cheques, all of which bore the date of the previous day, showed that between four or five hundred dollars of

the legacy had been spent in the settlement of bills, while the remaining thousands were comprehended in one

Selden laid the book aside, and sank into the chair beside the desk. He leaned his elbows on it, and hid his

face in his hands. The bitter waters of life surged high about him, their sterile taste was on his lips. Did the

cheque to Trenor explain the mystery or deepen it? At first his mind refused to acthe felt only the taint of

such a transaction between a man like Trenor and a girl like Lily Bart. Then, gradually, his troubled vision

cleared, old hints and rumours came back to him, and out of the very insinuations he had feared to probe, he

constructed an explanation of the mystery. It was true, then, that she had taken money from Trenor; but true

also, as the contents of the little desk declared, that the obligation had been intolerable to her, and that at the

first opportunity she had freed herself from it, though the act left her face to face with bare unmitigated

That was all he knewall he could hope to unravel of the story. The mute lips on the pillow refused him

more than thisunless indeed they had told him the rest in the kiss they had left upon his forehead. Yes, he

could now read into that farewell all that his heart craved to find there; he could even draw from it courage

He saw that all the conditions of life had conspired to keep them apart; since his very detachment from the

external influences which swayed her had increased his spiritual fastidiousness, and made it more difficult for

him to live and love uncritically. But at least he HAD loved herhad been willing to stake his future on his

faith in herand if the moment had been fated to pass from them before they could seize it, he saw now that,

It was this moment of love, this fleeting victory over themselves, which had kept them from atrophy and

extinction; which, in her, had reached out to him in every struggle against the influence of her surroundings,

and in him, had kept alive the faith that now drew him penitent and reconciled to her side.

He knelt by the bed and bent over her, draining their last moment to its lees; and in the silence there passed