Edith Wharton: Complete Works. Edith Wharton

rid of me.” “Oh, Papa!” murmured Madeline. But when Guy Hastings appeared an hour later, she was ready in her gray walking dress, with a quantity of light blue veil floating about her leghorn hat & looped around her throat. There was a slight flush on her face, & she had never looked more lovely. “This morning was made for a walk,” said Guy, as he stood by Mrs. Graham’s couch. “But the one we have planned is long. I hope we shall not tire Miss Graham.” “Oh, no,” said Madeline, coming up, “but—Papa can’t come this morning.” “Mr. Graham has some business letters to attend to,” explained Mrs. Graham. Guy glanced at Madeline; “You are dressed,” he said: “won’t you trust to my guidance?” Madeline stood still, blushing; but just then Mr. Graham came in, & overhearing Guy’s words, said warmly: “Yes, indeed she will! Take good care of her, Hastings. I say, she will be glad to have her old father out of the way.” “Oh, Papa,” said Madeline again. So the two started out, Guy carrying her flower-basket & shawl, through the sunny morning weather. A handsome couple they made; & as they walked through the Hôtel garden together, a Russian princess, who was taking an early airing, observed to her little French secretary: “that those English were fiancées; she could see it.” As they reached the gate, a little child who was racing after a hoop, stumbled & fell crying across their path; & Madeline stooped down & picked him up very tenderly. “Are you hurt?” “Not very much, Madame,” said the child; & Madeline felt the blood flying into her face, & wondered whether Guy were very much vexed at having her mistaken for his wife. On through the sunny morning weather: who can tell of that walk, with all its pretty little incidents, & surprises & adventures? It was such a pastoral as drops now & then between the tragedies & farces of life. Madeline was perfectly happy; & if Guy was not as happy as she, he was in a better mood than he had been for many a day, & the bright morning air, the beautiful scenery, the sweet English face at his side, warmed him more & more into hearty enjoyment. As they walked, the flower-basket was filled with new trophies; & when they reached their destination, Guy spread Madeline’s shawl under a nut-tree, & sat down by her side to sketch. “Why not take a drawing lesson today?” he said, as she watched him pointing his pencils & making his slight preparations. “I think one could learn anything in such beautiful weather.” “I had rather watch you,” said Madeline, “& you know I have to arrange my flowers too. Oh, what a beautiful day!” “Perfect. I didn’t know what an attractive little nook Interlaken is before.” “And you are going tomorrow?” asked Madeline, dropping her lashes. “I think so. Every artist is at heart a wanderer—begging Pope’s pardon for taking such a liberty with his line. There, Miss Graham, what do you think of those outlines?” “How quick you are! Oh, how cleverly you have done it.” Guy laughed. “Such injudicious praise as yours would soon spoil me,” he said. “I suppose so,” Madeline returned naively. “You know I am so ignorant.” Guy went on with his sketch; he revelled in the deep, luxurious Summer silence, the whisper of the leaves above his head, the easy consciousness that if he did lift his eyes from his work they would meet nothing less in harmony with the radiant day than Madeline Graham’s fair, sweet face bent above her flowers. Now & then, as the sketch grew beneath his quick pencil, she offered her shy criticism or her shyer praise; but for the most part they were silent, as though afraid by word or movement to break the spell of peacefulness that had fallen upon them. It was not until they had again reached the gate of the Hôtel garden, that either reverted to Guy’s coming departure. “I am glad that our last walk has been so pleasant,” he said. “I wonder how many more walks you will take after I am gone.” “You are really going?” He saw the colour creep upwards, & the long lashes tremble. “I had intended to go,” he answered, leaning against the gate. “I suppose—I suppose it has grown dull,” murmured Madeline. “It has grown so pleasant that I wish I had not reached my limit,” said Guy. “When a man proposes to spend two days at a place, & lengthens his visit to nearly two weeks, as I have done, he must begin to consider how much time he has left for the rest of his tour.” “We shall miss you,” ventured Madeline, overwhelmed with blushes. “Papa, I mean, will …” “Won’t you miss me?” said Guy, very low. Madeline’s half-averted cheek turned a deeper crimson; her heart was beating stormily, & everything seemed to swim before her. “I don’t know,” she whispered, tremblingly. In any other person, at any other time, such an answer would have been bête; in Madeline Graham, with the sunset light striking her pale golden braids, & the church-bells coming softly through the sweet evening air, as they stood by the gate, it seemed to Guy Hastings very sweet & musical. “If I thought you would miss me I should be almost glad to go,” he said, quietly. “And yet, I do not know why I go. It is so peaceful here, that I feel as if life were worth a little—if I go, I shall probably do my best to tumble down a ravine.” Madeline lifted her blue eyes in wonderment; she had never heard him speak so before. “Yes,” he went on, “You do not know what it is to feel that everything is worthless & heartless, as I have done. I envy you. I almost wish that I were going to stay here.” He paused; &, moved by the weary sadness which his voice & words had for the first time betrayed, Madeline gathered heart to say, holding out her hand: “I don’t understand, but I am very sorry for you. You must have had a disappointment. Stay here.” And Guy stayed; why not? As he had said, life seemed worth a little in this friendly atmosphere of peace, & in Madeline’s society. An inexpressible charm, which he scarcely acknowledged to himself, made her society pleasant; the quiet, Arcadian days were an utter contrast to the dash & hurry of his unsatisfied life; he had found a palmtree in the desert-sand & he sat down to rest. As for Madeline, on the day when she met Guy in the covered bridge, that mysterious thing called “love at first sight” had entered in & taken possession of her heart. His manner had, indeed, a great fascination for all; & he was unusually gentle & serious with Madeline; then he was handsome, & Madeline, though she was not, like her Papa, a judge of art, had the good taste common to most girls, to admire a handsome face. As for those words of his by the gate, to say that she was a woman is to say that they aroused her sympathy & admiration as nothing else could have done, & raised Guy into a suffering hero. Nothing could be purer & more childlike than Madeline’s passion; it blent with her life like a strain of sweet music, in which as yet there were no jarring chords; there was nothing noisy or turbulent about it. So the Summer stole on through balmy days & short, warm nights; Guy lingered at Interlaken, & Madeline saw him daily. He certainly treated her with marked admiration, & both Mr. & Mrs. Graham were not slow to draw their conclusions therefrom; but he spoke no word of love, &, as the happy days passed, seemed inclined to remain “half her lover, all her friend.” Nor did Madeline feel the want of a closer appeal to her heart. The present was all-sufficient. Why should this pastoral ever end, or if it was to end, why should she not enjoy it the more fully now? Her love for Guy was as yet almost too idealized & abstract to demand a reciprocation. Enough that he was by her side, & that he was glad to be there. Mr. Graham, too, was quite easy on the subject. Madeline was a pretty girl, & Hastings was evidently very much gone on her; he was of good family & she had money enough for both; no match could be more desirable, & none seemed more likely to prosper. It was natural that they should like to spin out their courtship-days; young people have the whole world before them, & are never in a hurry. But Mrs. Graham was not so well-pleased with the turn affairs had taken. “Don’t be so confident, John,” she said, anxiously. “I had rather trust Maddy with a good, honest business man than one of these fine, fast young fellows. Very likely he is only amusing himself; what does he want with a merchant’s daughter? No, no; it will come to nothing & if it goes on much longer the child’s heart will be broken. I have heard stories enough about Mr. Hastings & his set, & I don’t believe in one of them!” “Nonsense!” said Mr. Graham, angrily. He had set his heart on the match & these warnings of his wife’s, which he could not in his heart despise, made him uneasy.

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XI.

      The End of the Season.

      “Adieu, bal, plaisir, amour! On disait: Pauvre Constance!

      Et on dansait jusqu’au Jour chez l’ambassadeur de France.”

      Delavigne.

      On