XI
Meanwhile the holidays had gone by and the season was beginning. Fifth Avenue had become a nightly torrent of carriages surging upward to the fashionable quarters about the Park, where illuminated windows and outspread awnings betokened the usual routine of hospitality. Other tributary currents crossed the mainstream, bearing their freight to the theatres, restaurants or opera; and Mrs.┬аPeniston, from the secluded watchtower of her upper window, could tell to a nicety just when the chronic volume of sound was increased by the sudden influx setting toward a Van Osburgh ball, or when the multiplication of wheels meant merely that the opera was over, or that there was a big supper at SherryтАЩs.
Mrs.┬аPeniston followed the rise and culmination of the season as keenly as the most active sharer in its gaieties; and, as a looker-on, she enjoyed opportunities of comparison and generalization such as those who take part must proverbially forego. No one could have kept a more accurate record of social fluctuations, or have put a more unerring finger on the distinguishing features of each season: its dullness, its extravagance, its lack of balls or excess of divorces. She had a special memory for the vicissitudes of the тАЬnew peopleтАЭ who rose to the surface with each recurring tide, and were either submerged beneath its rush or landed triumphantly beyond the reach of envious breakers; and she was apt to display a remarkable retrospective insight into their ultimate fate, so that, when they had fulfilled their destiny, she was almost always able to say to Grace StepneyтБатАФthe recipient of her propheciesтБатАФthat she had known exactly what would happen.
This particular season Mrs.┬аPeniston would have characterized as that in which everybody тАЬfelt poorтАЭ except the Welly Brys and Mr.┬аSimon Rosedale. It had been a bad autumn in Wall Street, where prices fell in accordance with that peculiar law which proves railway stocks and bales of cotton to be more sensitive to the allotment of executive power than many estimable citizens trained to all the advantages of self-government. Even fortunes supposed to be independent of the market either betrayed a secret dependence on it, or suffered from a sympathetic affection: fashion sulked in its country houses, or came to town incognito, general entertainments were discountenanced, and informality and short dinners became the fashion.
But society, amused for a while at playing Cinderella, soon wearied of the hearthside role, and welcomed the Fairy Godmother in the shape of any magician powerful enough to turn the shrunken pumpkin back again into the golden coach. The mere fact of growing richer at a time when most peopleтАЩs investments are shrinking, is calculated to attract envious attention; and according to Wall Street rumours, Welly Bry and Rosedale had found the secret of performing this miracle.
Rosedale, in particular, was said to have doubled his fortune, and there was talk of his buying the newly-finished house of one of the victims of the crash, who, in the space of twelve short months, had made the same number of millions, built a house in Fifth Avenue, filled a picture-gallery with old masters, entertained all New York in it, and been smuggled out of the country between a trained nurse and a doctor, while his creditors mounted guard over the old masters, and his guests explained to each other that they had dined with him only because they wanted to see the pictures. Mr.┬аRosedale meant to have a less meteoric career. He knew he should have to go slowly, and the instincts of his race fitted him to suffer rebuffs and put up with delays. But he was prompt to perceive that the general dullness of the season afforded him an unusual opportunity to shine, and he set about with patient industry to form a background for his growing glory. Mrs.┬аFisher was of immense service to him at this period. She had set off so many newcomers on the social stage that she was like one of those pieces of stock scenery which tell the experienced spectator exactly what is going to take place. But Mr.┬аRosedale wanted, in the long run, a more individual environment. He was sensitive to shades of difference which Miss Bart would never have credited him with perceiving, because he had no corresponding variations of manner; and it was becoming more and more clear to him that Miss Bart herself possessed precisely the complementary qualities needed to round off his social personality.
Such details did not fall within the range of Mrs.┬аPenistonтАЩs vision. Like many minds of panoramic sweep, hers was apt to overlook the minutiae of the foreground, and she was much more likely to know where Carry Fisher had found the Welly BrysтАЩ chef for them, than what was happening to her own niece. She was not, however, without purveyors of information ready to supplement her deficiencies. Grace StepneyтАЩs mind was like a kind of moral flypaper, to which the buzzing items of gossip were drawn by a fatal attraction, and where they hung fast in the toils of an inexorable memory. Lily would have been surprised to know how many trivial facts concerning herself were lodged in Miss StepneyтАЩs head. She was quite aware that she was of interest to dingy people, but she assumed that there is only one form of dinginess, and that admiration for brilliancy is the natural expression of its inferior state. She knew that Gerty Farish admired her blindly, and therefore supposed that she inspired the same sentiments in Grace Stepney, whom she classified as a Gerty Farish without the saving traits of youth and enthusiasm.
In reality, the two differed from each other as much as they differed from the object of their mutual contemplation. Miss FarishтАЩs heart was a fountain of tender illusions, Miss StepneyтАЩs a precise register of facts as manifested in their relation to herself. She had sensibilities which, to Lily, would have seemed comic in a person with a freckled nose and red eyelids, who lived in a boardinghouse and admired Mrs.┬аPenistonтАЩs drawing-room; but poor GraceтАЩs limitations gave them a more concentrated inner life, as poor soil starves certain plants into intenser efflorescence. She had in truth no abstract propensity to malice: she did not dislike Lily because the latter was brilliant and predominant, but because she thought that Lily disliked her. It is less mortifying to believe oneтАЩs self unpopular than insignificant, and vanity prefers to assume that indifference is a latent form of unfriendliness. Even such scant civilities as Lily accorded to Mr.┬аRosedale would have made Miss Stepney her friend for life; but how could she foresee that such a friend was worth cultivating? How, moreover, can a young woman who has never been ignored measure the pang which this injury inflicts? And, lastly, how could Lily, accustomed to choose between a pressure of engagements, guess that she had mortally offended Miss Stepney by causing her to be excluded from one of Mrs.┬аPenistonтАЩs infrequent dinner-parties?
Mrs.┬аPeniston disliked giving dinners, but she had a high sense of family obligation, and on the Jack StepneysтАЩ return from their honeymoon she felt it incumbent upon her to light the drawing-room lamps and extract her best silver from the Safe Deposit vaults. Mrs.┬аPenistonтАЩs rare entertainments were preceded by days of heartrending vacillation as to every detail of the feast, from the seating of the guests to the pattern of the tablecloth, and in the course of one of these preliminary discussions she had imprudently suggested to her cousin Grace that, as the dinner was a family affair, she might be included in it. For a week the prospect had lighted up Miss StepneyтАЩs colourless existence; then she had been given to understand that it would be more convenient to have her another day. Miss Stepney knew exactly what had happened. Lily, to whom family reunions were occasions of unalloyed dullness, had persuaded her aunt that a dinner of тАЬsmartтАЭ people would be much more to the taste of the young couple, and Mrs.┬аPeniston, who leaned helplessly on her niece in social matters, had been prevailed upon to pronounce GraceтАЩs exile. After all, Grace could come any other day; why should she mind being put off?
It was precisely because Miss Stepney could come any other dayтБатАФand because she knew her relations were in the secret of her unoccupied eveningsтБатАФthat this incident loomed gigantically on her horizon. She was aware that she had Lily to thank for it; and dull resentment was turned to active animosity.
Mrs.┬аPeniston, on whom she had looked in a day or two after the dinner, laid down her crochet-work and turned abruptly from her oblique survey of Fifth Avenue.
тАЬGus Trenor?тБатАФLily and Gus Trenor?тАЭ she said, growing so suddenly pale that her visitor was almost alarmed.
тАЬOh, cousin JuliaтБатАКтБатАж of course I donтАЩt meanтБатАКтБатАжтАЭ
тАЬI donтАЩt know what you do mean,тАЭ said Mrs.┬аPeniston, with a frightened quiver in her small fretful voice. тАЬSuch things were never heard of in my day. And my own niece! IтАЩm not sure I understand you. Do people say heтАЩs in love with her?тАЭ
Mrs.┬аPenistonтАЩs horror was genuine. Though she boasted an unequalled familiarity with the secret chronicles of society, she had the innocence of the schoolgirl who regards wickedness as a part of тАЬhistory,тАЭ and to whom it never occurs that the scandals she reads of in lesson-hours may be repeating themselves in the next street. Mrs.┬аPeniston had kept her imagination shrouded, like the drawing-room furniture. She knew, of course, that society was тАЬvery much changed,тАЭ and that many women her mother would have thought тАЬpeculiarтАЭ were now in a position to be critical about their visiting-lists; she had discussed the perils of divorce with her rector, and had felt thankful at times that Lily was still unmarried; but the idea that any scandal could attach to a young girlтАЩs name, above all that it could be lightly coupled with that of a married man, was so new to her that she was as much aghast as if she had been accused of leaving her carpets down all summer, or of violating any of the other cardinal laws of housekeeping.
Miss Stepney, when her first fright had subsided, began to feel the superiority that greater breadth of mind confers. It was really pitiable to be as ignorant of the world as Mrs.┬аPeniston!
She smiled at the latterтАЩs question. тАЬPeople always say unpleasant thingsтБатАФand certainly theyтАЩre a great deal together. A friend of mine met them the other afternoon in the ParkтБатАФquite late, after the lamps were lit. ItтАЩs a pity Lily makes herself so conspicuous.тАЭ
тАЬConspicuous!тАЭ gasped Mrs.┬аPeniston. She bent forward, lowering her voice to mitigate the horror. тАЬWhat sort of things do they say? That he means to get a divorce and marry her?тАЭ
Grace Stepney laughed outright. тАЬDear me, no! He would hardly do that. ItтБатАФitтАЩs a flirtationтБатАФnothing more.тАЭ
тАЬA flirtation? Between my niece and a married man? Do you mean to tell me that, with LilyтАЩs looks and advantages, she could find no better use for her time than to waste it on a fat stupid man almost old enough to be her father?тАЭ This argument had such a convincing ring that it gave Mrs.┬аPeniston sufficient reassurance to pick up her work, while she waited for Grace Stepney to rally her scattered forces.
But Miss Stepney was on the spot in an instant. тАЬThatтАЩs the worst of itтБатАФpeople say she isnтАЩt wasting her time! Everyone knows, as you say, that Lily is too handsome andтБатАФand charmingтБатАФto devote herself to a man like Gus Trenor unlessтБатАФтАЭ
тАЬUnless?тАЭ echoed Mrs.┬аPeniston. Her visitor drew breath nervously. It was agreeable to shock Mrs.┬аPeniston, but not to shock her to the verge of anger. Miss Stepney was not sufficiently familiar with the classic drama to have recalled in advance how bearers of bad tidings are proverbially received, but she now had a rapid vision of forfeited dinners and a reduced wardrobe as the possible consequence of her disinterestedness. To the honour of her sex, however, hatred of Lily prevailed over more personal considerations. Mrs.┬аPeniston had chosen the wrong moment to boast of her nieceтАЩs charms.
тАЬUnless,тАЭ said Grace, leaning forward to speak with low-toned emphasis, тАЬunless there are material advantages to be gained by making herself agreeable to him.тАЭ
She felt that the moment was tremendous, and remembered suddenly that Mrs.┬аPenistonтАЩs black brocade, with the cut jet fringe, would have been hers at the end of the season.
Mrs.┬аPeniston put down her work again. Another aspect of the same idea had presented itself to her, and she felt that it was beneath her dignity to have her nerves racked by a dependent relative who wore her old clothes.
тАЬIf you take pleasure in annoying me by mysterious insinuations,тАЭ she said coldly, тАЬyou might at least have chosen a more suitable time than just as I am recovering from the strain of giving a large dinner.тАЭ
The mention of the dinner dispelled Miss StepneyтАЩs last scruples. тАЬI donтАЩt know why I should be accused of taking pleasure in telling you about Lily. I was sure I shouldnтАЩt get any thanks for it,тАЭ she returned with a flare of temper. тАЬBut I have some family feeling left, and as you are the only person who has any authority over Lily, I thought you ought to know what is being said of her.тАЭ
тАЬWell,тАЭ said Mrs.┬аPeniston, тАЬwhat I complain of is that you havenтАЩt told me yet what is being said.тАЭ
тАЬI didnтАЩt suppose I should have to put it so plainly. People say that Gus Trenor pays her bills.тАЭ
тАЬPays her billsтБатАФher bills?тАЭ Mrs.┬аPeniston broke into a laugh. тАЬI canтАЩt imagine where you can have picked up such rubbish. Lily has her own incomeтБатАФand I provide for her very handsomelyтБатАФтАЭ
тАЬOh, we all know that,тАЭ interposed Miss Stepney drily. тАЬBut Lily wears a great many smart gownsтБатАФтАЭ
тАЬI like her to be well-dressedтБатАФitтАЩs only suitable!тАЭ
тАЬCertainly; but then there are her gambling debts besides.тАЭ
Miss Stepney, in the beginning, had not meant to bring up this point; but Mrs.┬аPeniston had only her own incredulity to blame. She was like the stiff-necked unbelievers of Scripture, who must be annihilated to be convinced.
тАЬGambling debts? Lily?тАЭ Mrs.┬аPenistonтАЩs voice shook with anger and bewilderment. She wondered whether Grace Stepney had gone out of her mind. тАЬWhat do you mean by her gambling debts?тАЭ
тАЬSimply that if one plays bridge for money in LilyтАЩs set one is liable to lose a great dealтБатАФand I donтАЩt suppose Lily always wins.тАЭ
тАЬWho told you that my niece played cards for money?тАЭ
тАЬMercy, cousin Julia, donтАЩt look at me as if I were trying to turn you against Lily! Everybody knows she is crazy about bridge. Mrs.┬аGryce told me herself that it was her gambling that frightened Percy GryceтБатАФit seems he was really taken with her at first. But, of course, among LilyтАЩs friends itтАЩs quite the custom for girls to play for money. In fact, people are inclined to excuse her on that accountтБатАФтАЭ
тАЬTo excuse her for what?тАЭ
тАЬFor being hard upтБатАФand accepting attentions from men like Gus TrenorтБатАФand George DorsetтБатАФтАЭ
Mrs.┬аPeniston gave another cry. тАЬGeorge Dorset? Is there anyone else? I should like to know the worst, if you please.тАЭ
тАЬDonтАЩt put it in that way, cousin Julia. Lately Lily has been a good deal with the Dorsets, and he seems to admire herтБатАФbut of course thatтАЩs only natural. And IтАЩm sure there is no truth in the horrid things people say; but she has been spending a great deal of money this winter. Evie Van Osburgh was at C├йlesteтАЩs ordering her trousseau the other dayтБатАФyes, the marriage takes place next monthтБатАФand she told me that C├йleste showed her the most exquisite things she was just sending home to Lily. And people say that Judy Trenor has quarrelled with her on account of Gus; but IтАЩm sure IтАЩm sorry I spoke, though I only meant it as a kindness.тАЭ
Mrs.┬аPenistonтАЩs genuine incredulity enabled her to dismiss Miss Stepney with a disdain which boded ill for that ladyтАЩs prospect of succeeding to the black brocade; but minds impenetrable to reason have generally some crack through which suspicion filters, and her visitorтАЩs insinuations did not glide off as easily as she had expected. Mrs.┬аPeniston disliked scenes, and her determination to avoid them had always led her to hold herself aloof from the details of LilyтАЩs life. In her youth, girls had not been supposed to require close supervision. They were generally assumed to be taken up with the legitimate business of courtship and marriage, and interference in such affairs on the part of their natural guardians was considered as unwarrantable as a spectatorтАЩs suddenly joining in a game. There had of course been тАЬfastтАЭ girls even in Mrs.┬аPenistonтАЩs early experience; but their fastness, at worst, was understood to be a mere excess of animal spirits, against which there could be no graver charge than that of being тАЬunladylike.тАЭ The modern fastness appeared synonymous with immorality, and the mere idea of immorality was as offensive to Mrs.┬аPeniston as a smell of cooking in the drawing-room: it was one of the conceptions her mind refused to admit.
She had no immediate intention of repeating to Lily what she had heard, or even of trying to ascertain its truth by means of discreet interrogation. To do so might be to provoke a scene; and a scene, in the shaken state of Mrs.┬аPenistonтАЩs nerves, with the effects of her dinner not worn off, and her mind still tremulous with new impressions, was a risk she deemed it her duty to avoid. But there remained in her thoughts a settled deposit of resentment against her niece, all the denser because it was not to be cleared by explanation or discussion. It was horrible of a young girl to let herself be talked about; however unfounded the charges against her, she must be to blame for their having been made. Mrs.┬аPeniston felt as if there had been a contagious illness in the house, and she was doomed to sit shivering among her contaminated furniture.