Edith Wharton: Complete Works. Edith Wharton

“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 fighting-cocks on their income, and put by a good bit of it too—luckily for me—but 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 think—I mean Judy thinks—I’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 to-day, 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 takes him up.”

      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.

      “But you know Jack did try to take him about, and he was impossible.”

      “Oh, hang it—because he’s fat and shiny, and has a shoppy 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 half-a-million 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 intimacy.

      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 perfect—don’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 people, with some one who won’t mind if I’m a little dull.”

      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 him—not battered wire-pullers like Mrs. Fisher, but a girl that most men would have given their boots to get such a look from.

      “Out of spirits? Why on earth should you ever be out of spirits? Is your last box of Doucet dresses a failure, or did Judy rook you out of everything at bridge last night?”

      Lily shook her head with a sigh. “I have had to give up Doucet; and bridge too—I 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 favour—the very greatest of favours.”

      Her eyes sought his once more, and she smiled inwardly at the tinge of apprehension that she read in them.

      “Why, of course—if it’s anything I can manage——” He broke off, and she guessed that his enjoyment was disturbed by the remembrance of Mrs. Fisher’s methods.

      “The greatest of favours,” she rejoined gently. “The fact is, Judy is angry with me, and I want you to make my peace.”

      “Angry with you? Oh, come, nonsense——” his relief broke through in a laugh. “Why, you know she’s devoted to you.”

      “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 heart—poor dear—on my marrying—marrying a great deal of money.”

      She paused with a slight falter of embarrassment, and Trenor, turning abruptly, fixed on her a look of growing intelligence.

      “A great deal of money? Oh, by Jove—you don’t mean Gryce? What—you do? Oh, no, of course I won’t mention it—you can trust me to keep my mouth shut—but 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 than other women do.”

      “Some men—I’m certain of it! I could have told Judy,” he repeated, exulting in the implied superiority over his wife.

      “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, and dismiss my maid and learn how to mend my own clothes.”

      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. Twenty-four 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 cock-tail, 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