If anything was needed to put the last touch to her self-abasement 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 and freedom alternated with long hours of subjection.
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 answer–let 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 which implied that, after all, she had proved herself unfit for higher uses.
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 country-house. 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, hollowed-eyed and drooping, but with an edge of malice under her indifference.
She raised her eyebrows as she looked about the table. “How few of us are left! I do so enjoy the quiet–don’t you, Lily? I wish the men would always stop away–it’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 boy–I 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 old-fashioned 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 invest!”
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 compelled to study the laws of his country.”
Mrs. Dorset glanced at her quietly. “I think he has studied the divorce laws. He told me he had promised the Bishop to sign some kind of a petition against divorce.”
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 devil! It isn’t the ship that will do for him, it’s the crew.”
“Or the stowaways,” said Miss Corby brightly. “If I contemplated a voyage with him I should try to start with a friend in the hold.”
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 always have enough to be comfortable.”
She looked puzzled at the redoubled laughter which hailed her words, but it might have consoled her to know how deeply they had sunk into the breast of one of her hearers.
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 pin-pricks did not smart, for her own irony cut deeper: no one could hurt her as much as she was hurting herself, for no one else–not even Judy Trenor–knew the full magnitude of her folly.