Her lips wavered into a smile–she 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 Gryce–what was it she was planning now?
The blood had risen strongly under Selden’s dark skin, but his emotion showed itself only in an added seriousness of manner.
“You have something to tell me–do you mean to marry?” he said abruptly.
Lily’s eyes did not falter, but a look of wonder, of puzzled self-interrogation, 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 she entered the room.
“You always told me I should have to come to it sooner or later!” she said with a faint smile.
“And you have come to it now?”
“I shall have to come to it–presently. 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 you–we are sure to see each other again–but 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 you–I 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 you–and she’ll be no trouble, she’ll take up no room.”
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. “Lily–can’t I help you?” he exclaimed.
She looked at him gently. “Do you remember what you said to me once? That you could help me only by loving me? Well–you did love me for a moment; and it helped me. It has always helped me. But the moment is gone–it was I who let it go. And one must go on living. Goodbye.”
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 them–the 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 flame: it was the love his love had kindled, the passion of her soul for his.
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 hers.
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 moments which lift the veil from their faces as they pass.
“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 change–but 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 shall feel safe, whatever happens.”
“Whatever happens? What do you mean? What is going to happen?”
She turned away quietly and walked toward the hearth.
“Nothing at present–except that I am very cold, and that before I go you must make up the fire for me.”
She knelt on the hearth-rug, 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 as he bent over her she touched his forehead with her lips.