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House of MirthThe Project Gutenberg EBook of House of Mirth, by Edith WhartonThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: House of MirthAuthor: Edith WhartonRelease Date: April 3, 2008 EBook #284Last updated: January 12, 2014Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: ISO-8859-1. START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOUSE OF MIRTH.The House of MirthBYEDITH WHARTONCONTENTSBOOK ONEBOOK TWOBOOK ONEChapter 1Selden paused in surprise. In the afternoon rush of the Grand CentralStation his eyes had been refreshed by the sight of Miss Lily Bart.It was a Monday in early September, and he was returning to his work froma hurried dip into the country; but what was Miss Bart doing in town atthat season?
If she had appeared to be catching a train, he might haveinferred that he had come on her in the act of transition between one andanother of the country-houses which disputed her presence after the closeof the Newport season; but her desultory air perplexed him. She stoodapart from the crowd, letting it drift by her to the platform or thestreet, 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 shewas 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 withouta faint movement of interest: it was characteristic of her that shealways roused speculation, that her simplest acts seemed the result offar-reaching 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 shewould contrive to elude him; and it amused him to think of putting herskill to the test.' Selden—what good luck!'
She came forward smiling, eager almost, in her resolve to intercept him.One or two persons, in brushing past them, lingered to look; for MissBart was a figure to arrest even the suburban traveller rushing to hislast train.Selden had never seen her more radiant. Her vivid head, relieved againstthe dull tints of the crowd, made her more conspicuous than in aball-room, and under her dark hat and veil she regained the girlishsmoothness, the purity of tint, that she was beginning to lose aftereleven years of late hours and indefatigable dancing. Was it reallyeleven years, Selden found himself wondering, and had she indeed reachedthe nine-and-twentieth birthday with which her rivals credited her?' She repeated. 'How nice of you to come to my rescue!' He responded joyfully that to do so was his mission in life, and askedwhat form the rescue was to take.'
Oh, almost any—even to sitting on a bench and talking to me. One sitsout a cotillion—why not sit out a train?
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It isn't a bit hotter here thanin Mrs. Van Osburgh's conservatory—and some of the women are not a bituglier.' She broke off, laughing, to explain that she had come up totown from Tuxedo, on her way to the Gus Trenors' at Bellomont, and hadmissed the three-fifteen train to Rhinebeck. 'And there isn't anothertill half-past five.' She consulted the little jewelled watch among herlaces. '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 onto Bellomont at one o'clock, and my aunt's house is closed, and I don'tknow a soul in town.' She glanced plaintively about the station. 'It IShotter than Mrs.
Van Osburgh's, after all. If you can spare the time, dotake me somewhere for a breath of air.' He declared himself entirely at her disposal: the adventure struck him asdiverting. As a spectator, he had always enjoyed Lily Bart; and hiscourse lay so far out of her orbit that it amused him to be drawn for amoment into the sudden intimacy which her proposal implied.'
Shall we go over to Sherry's for a cup of tea?' She smiled assentingly, and then made a slight grimace.' So many people come up to town on a Monday—one is sure to meet a lot ofbores. I'm as old as the hills, of course, and it ought not to make anydifference; but if I'M old enough, you're not,' she objected gaily. 'I'mdying for tea—but isn't there a quieter place?'
He answered her smile, which rested on him vividly. Her discretionsinterested him almost as much as her imprudences: he was so sure thatboth were part of the same carefully-elaborated plan. In judging MissBart, he had always made use of the 'argument from design.' 'The resources of New York are rather meagre,' he said; 'but I'll find ahansom first, and then we'll invent something.' He led her through thethrong of returning holiday-makers, past sallow-faced girls inpreposterous hats, and flat-chested women struggling with paper bundlesand palm-leaf fans.
Was it possible that she belonged to the same race?The dinginess, the crudity of this average section of womanhood made himfeel how highly specialized she was.A rapid shower had cooled the air, and clouds still hung refreshinglyover the moist street.' How delicious! Let us walk a little,' she said as they emerged from thestation.They turned into Madison Avenue and began to stroll northward. As shemoved beside him, with her long light step, Selden was conscious oftaking a luxurious pleasure in her nearness: in the modelling of herlittle ear, the crisp upward wave of her hair—was it ever so slightlybrightened by art?—and the thick planting of her straight black lashes.Everything about her was at once vigorous and exquisite, at once strongand fine. He had a confused sense that she must have cost a great deal tomake, that a great many dull and ugly people must, in some mysteriousway, have been sacrificed to produce her. He was aware that the qualitiesdistinguishing her from the herd of her sex were chiefly external: asthough a fine glaze of beauty and fastidiousness had been applied tovulgar clay. Yet the analogy left him unsatisfied, for a coarse texturewill not take a high finish; and was it not possible that the materialwas fine, but that circumstance had fashioned it into a futile shape?As he reached this point in his speculations the sun came out, and herlifted parasol cut off his enjoyment.
A moment or two later she pausedwith a sigh.' Oh, dear, I'm so hot and thirsty—and what a hideous place New York is!' She looked despairingly up and down the dreary thoroughfare. 'Othercities put on their best clothes in summer, but New York seems to sit inits shirtsleeves.' Her eyes wandered down one of the side-streets.'
Someone has had the humanity to plant a few trees over there. Let us gointo the shade.' 'I am glad my street meets with your approval,' said Selden as theyturned the corner.' Do you live here?'
She glanced with interest along the new brick and limestone house-fronts,fantastically varied in obedience to the American craving for novelty,but fresh and inviting with their awnings and flower-boxes.' Ah, yes—to be sure: THE BENEDICK. What a nice-looking building! Idon't think I've ever seen it before.' She looked across at theflat-house with its marble porch and pseudo-Georgian facade. 'Which areyour windows? Those with the awnings down?'
'On the top floor—yes.' 'And that nice little balcony is yours? How cool it looks up there!' He paused a moment. 'Come up and see,' he suggested. 'I can give you acup of tea in no time—and you won't meet any bores.' Her colour deepened—she still had the art of blushing at the righttime—but she took the suggestion as lightly as it was made.'
It's too tempting—I'll take the risk,' she declared.' Oh, I'm not dangerous,' he said in the same key. In truth, he had neverliked her as well as at that moment. He knew she had accepted withoutafterthought: he could never be a factor in her calculations, and therewas a surprise, a refreshment almost, in the spontaneity of her consent.On the threshold he paused a moment, feeling for his latchkey.' There's no one here; but I have a servant who is supposed to come in themornings, and it's just possible he may have put out the tea-things andprovided some cake.' He ushered her into a slip of a hall hung with old prints.
She noticedthe letters and notes heaped on the table among his gloves and sticks;then she found herself in a small library, dark but cheerful, with itswalls of books, a pleasantly faded Turkey rug, a littered desk and, as hehad foretold, a tea-tray on a low table near the window. A breeze hadsprung up, swaying inward the muslin curtains, and bringing a fresh scentof mignonette and petunias from the flower-box on the balcony.Lily sank with a sigh into one of the shabby leather chairs.' How delicious to have a place like this all to one's self! What amiserable thing it is to be a woman.' She leaned back in a luxury ofdiscontent.Selden was rummaging in a cupboard for the cake.' Even women,' he said, 'have been known to enjoy the privileges of aflat.'
'Oh, governesses—or widows. But not girls—not poor, miserable,marriageable girls!' 'I even know a girl who lives in a flat.'
She sat up in surprise. 'I do,' he assured her, emerging from the cupboard with the sought-forcake.'
Oh, I know—you mean Gerty Farish.' She smiled a little unkindly. 'But Isaid MARRIAGEABLE—and besides, she has a horrid little place, and nomaid, and such queer things to eat. Her cook does the washing and thefood tastes of soap.
I should hate that, you know.' 'You shouldn't dine with her on wash-days,' said Selden, cutting the cake.They both laughed, and he knelt by the table to light the lamp under thekettle, while she measured out the tea into a little tea-pot of greenglaze. As he watched her hand, polished as a bit of old ivory, with itsslender pink nails, and the sapphire bracelet slipping over her wrist, hewas struck with the irony of suggesting to her such a life as his cousinGertrude Farish had chosen. She was so evidently the victim of thecivilization which had produced her, that the links of her braceletseemed like manacles chaining her to her fate.She seemed to read his thought. 'It was horrid of me to say that ofGerty,' she said with charming compunction. 'I forgot she was yourcousin. But we're so different, you know: she likes being good, and Ilike being happy.
And besides, she is free and I am not. If I were, Idaresay I could manage to be happy even in her flat. It must be purebliss to arrange the furniture just as one likes, and give all thehorrors to the ash-man. If I could only do over my aunt's drawing-room Iknow I should be a better woman.' 'Is it so very bad?' He asked sympathetically.She smiled at him across the tea-pot which she was holding up to befilled.' That shows how seldom you come there.
Why don't you come oftener?' 'When I do come, it's not to look at Mrs. Peniston's furniture.' 'Nonsense,' she said. 'You don't come at all—and yet we get on so wellwhen we meet.'
'Perhaps that's the reason,' he answered promptly. 'I'm afraid I haven'tany cream, you know—shall you mind a slice of lemon instead?' 'I shall like it better.' She waited while he cut the lemon and dropped athin disk into her cup. 'But that is not the reason,' she insisted.'
The reason for what?' 'For your never coming.' She leaned forward with a shade of perplexity inher charming eyes. 'I wish I knew—I wish I could make you out. Of courseI know there are men who don't like me—one can tell that at a glance.And there are others who are afraid of me: they think I want to marrythem.'
She smiled up at him frankly. 'But I don't think you dislikeme—and you can't possibly think I want to marry you.' 'No—I absolve you of that,' he agreed.' Well, then——?' He had carried his cup to the fireplace, and stood leaning against thechimney-piece and looking down on her with an air of indolent amusement.The provocation in her eyes increased his amusement—he had not supposedshe would waste her powder on such small game; but perhaps she was onlykeeping her hand in; or perhaps a girl of her type had no conversationbut of the personal kind. At any rate, she was amazingly pretty, and hehad asked her to tea and must live up to his obligations.' Well, then,' he said with a plunge, 'perhaps THAT'S the reason.'
'The fact that you don't want to marry me. Perhaps I don't regard it assuch a strong inducement to go and see you.' He felt a slight shiver downhis spine as he ventured this, but her laugh reassured him.' Selden, that wasn't worthy of you.
It's stupid of you to makelove to me, and it isn't like you to be stupid.' She leaned back, sippingher tea with an air so enchantingly judicial that, if they had been inher aunt's drawing-room, he might almost have tried to disprove herdeduction.' Don't you see,' she continued, 'that there are men enough to saypleasant things to me, and that what I want is a friend who won't beafraid to say disagreeable ones when I need them? Sometimes I havefancied you might be that friend—I don't know why, except that you areneither a prig nor a bounder, and that I shouldn't have to pretend withyou or be on my guard against you.' Her voice had dropped to a note ofseriousness, and she sat gazing up at him with the troubled gravity of achild.' You don't know how much I need such a friend,' she said.
'My aunt isfull of copy-book axioms, but they were all meant to apply to conduct inthe early fifties. I always feel that to live up to them would includewearing book-muslin with gigot sleeves. And the other women—my bestfriends—well, they use me or abuse me; but they don't care a straw whathappens to me.
I've been about too long—people are getting tired of me;they are beginning to say I ought to marry.' There was a moment's pause, during which Selden meditated one or tworeplies calculated to add a momentary zest to the situation; but herejected them in favour of the simple question: 'Well, why don't you?'
She coloured and laughed. 'Ah, I see you ARE a friend after all, and thatis one of the disagreeable things I was asking for.' 'It wasn't meant to be disagreeable,' he returned amicably. 'Isn'tmarriage your vocation? Isn't it what you're all brought up for?'
'I suppose so. What else is there?' And so why not take the plunge and have it over?' She shrugged her shoulders. 'You speak as if I ought to marry the firstman who came along.' 'I didn't mean to imply that you are as hard put to it as that. But theremust be some one with the requisite qualifications.'
She shook her head wearily. 'I threw away one or two good chances when Ifirst came out—I suppose every girl does; and you know I am horriblypoor—and very expensive.
I must have a great deal of money.' Selden had turned to reach for a cigarette-box on the mantelpiece.' What's become of Dillworth?' Oh, his mother was frightened—she was afraid I should have all thefamily jewels reset. And she wanted me to promise that I wouldn't do overthe drawing-room.'
'The very thing you are marrying for!' So she packed him off to India.' 'Hard luck—but you can do better than Dillworth.'
He offered the box, and she took out three or four cigarettes, puttingone between her lips and slipping the others into a little gold caseattached to her long pearl chain.' Just a whiff, then.' She leaned forward, holding the tip ofher cigarette to his. As she did so, he noted, with a purely impersonalenjoyment, how evenly the black lashes were set in her smooth white lids,and how the purplish shade beneath them melted into the pure pallour ofthe cheek.She began to saunter about the room, examining the bookshelves betweenthe puffs of her cigarette-smoke. Some of the volumes had the ripe tintsof good tooling and old morocco, and her eyes lingered on themcaressingly, not with the appreciation of the expert, but with thepleasure in agreeable tones and textures that was one of her inmostsusceptibilities. Suddenly her expression changed from desultoryenjoyment to active conjecture, and she turned to Selden with a question.' You collect, don't you—you know about first editions and things?'
'As much as a man may who has no money to spend. Now and then I pick upsomething in the rubbish heap; and I go and look on at the big sales.' She had again addressed herself to the shelves, but her eyes now sweptthem inattentively, and he saw that she was preoccupied with a new idea.' And Americana—do you collect Americana?' Selden stared and laughed.'
No, that's rather out of my line. I'm not really a collector, you see; Isimply like to have good editions of the books I am fond of.' She made a slight grimace. 'And Americana are horribly dull, I suppose?' 'I should fancy so—except to the historian. But your real collectorvalues a thing for its rarity.
I don't suppose the buyers of Americanasit up reading them all night—old Jefferson Gryce certainly didn't.' She was listening with keen attention. 'And yet they fetch fabulousprices, don't they? It seems so odd to want to pay a lot for an uglybadly-printed book that one is never going to read!
And I suppose mostof the owners of Americana are not historians either?' 'No; very few of the historians can afford to buy them. They have to usethose in the public libraries or in private collections. It seems to bethe mere rarity that attracts the average collector.'
Ask not for whom the Beltway bandits tow. They troll for thee.Photographs by Darrow MontgomeryIt's bumper-to-bumper as far as the eye can see this morning on the outer loop of the Capital Beltway approaching Connecticut Avenue, and, as usual, everyone is stewing in the daily congestion. But bouncing merrily along in the cab of his big tow truck, David Fortunoff—aka 'Ace,' of Ace Towing and Recovery—looks like an overgrown kid driving a Tonka toy. A muscular 42-year-old with a shaved head, Fortunoff has his radio turned up high, tuned to WTOP traffic reporter Lisa Baden, who is announcing a vehicle fire in the right lane near Rockville Pike and 'delays from 95 to Georgia Avenue and then from Old Georgetown up to the American Legion Bridge.' 'Man bent on hell is bound to get there,' Fortunoff observes, dishing out some fortune-cookie wisdom to sum up the madness of Washington-area commuters. Like everyone else inching along in the lanes, Fortunoff is dressed for work, in his case in torn jeans and paint-splattered shirt.
Unlike everyone else, he isn't actually en route to anywhere. He's just cruising through the fetid smog in search of the next wreck or vehicle breakdown, the cab of his International tow truck vibrating so violently that his soda went flat 30 minutes ago.'
Look, listen, and learn' are the basics of the biz, as Fortunoff explains it, plying his trade on the Capital Beltway, a perimeter highway brimming with more vehicles than any U.S. Interstate outside of Los Angeles.