3 Books To Know Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Edith Wharton

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СКАЧАТЬ of ten. He could retain the information necessary for such a feat just long enough to give a successful performance; then it would evaporate utterly from his brain, and leave him undisturbed. George, like his “crowd,” not only preferred “being things” to “doing things,” but had contented himself with four years of “being things” as a preparation for going on “being things.” And when Lucy rather shyly pressed him for his friend's probable definition of the “things” it seemed so superior and beautiful to be, George raised his eyebrows slightly, meaning that she should have understood without explanation; but he did explain: “Oh, family and all that—being a gentleman, I suppose.”

      Lucy gave the horizon a long look, but offered no comment.

      Chapter XVI

      “Aunt Fanny doesn't look much better,” George said to his mother, a few minutes after their arrival, on the night they got home. He stood with a towel in her doorway, concluding some sketchy ablutions before going downstairs to a supper which Fanny was hastily preparing for them. Isabel had not telegraphed; Fanny was taken by surprise when they drove up in a station cab at eleven o'clock; and George instantly demanded “a little decent food.” (Some criticisms of his had publicly disturbed the composure of the dining-car steward four hours previously.) “I never saw anybody take things so hard as she seems to,” he observed, his voice muffled by the towel. “Doesn't she get over it at all? I thought she'd feel better when we turned over the insurance to her—gave it to her absolutely, without any strings to it. She looks about a thousand years old!”

      “She looks quite girlish, sometimes, though,” his mother said.

      “Has she looked that way much since father—”

      “Not so much,” Isabel said thoughtfully. “But she will, as times goes on.”

      “Time'll have to hurry, then, it seems to me,” George observed, returning to his own room.

      When they went down to the dining room, he pronounced acceptable the salmon salad, cold beef, cheese, and cake which Fanny made ready for them without disturbing the servants. The journey had fatigued Isabel, she ate nothing, but sat to observe with tired pleasure the manifestations of her son's appetite, meanwhile giving her sister-in-law a brief summary of the events of commencement. But presently she kissed them both good-night—taking care to kiss George lightly upon the side of his head, so as not to disturb his eating—and left aunt and nephew alone together.

      “It never was becoming to her to look pale,” Fanny said absently, a few moments after Isabel's departure.

      “Wha'd you say, Aunt Fanny?”

      “Nothing. I suppose your mother's been being pretty gay? Going a lot?”

      “How could she?” George asked cheerfully. “In mourning, of course all she could do was just sit around and look on. That's all Lucy could do either, for the matter of that.”

      “I suppose so,” his aunt assented. “How did Lucy get home?”

      George regarded her with astonishment. “Why, on the train with the rest of us, of course.”

      “I didn't mean that,” Fanny explained. “I meant from the station. Did you drive out to their house with her before you came here?”

      “No. She drove home with her father, of course.”

      “Oh, I see. So Eugene came to the station to meet you.”

      “To meet us?” George echoed, renewing his attack upon the salmon salad. “How could he?”

      “I don't know what you mean,” Fanny said drearily, in the desolate voice that had become her habit. “I haven't seen him while your mother's been away.”

      “Naturally,” said George. “He's been East himself.”

      At this Fanny's drooping eyelids opened wide.

      “Did you see him?”

      “Well, naturally, since he made the trip home with us!”

      “He did?” she said sharply. “He's been with you all the time?”

      “No; only on the train and the last three days before we left. Uncle George got him to come.”

      Fanny's eyelids drooped again, and she sat silent until George pushed back his chair and lit a cigarette, declaring his satisfaction with what she had provided. “You're a fine housekeeper,” he said benevolently. “You know how to make things look dainty as well as taste the right way. I don't believe you'd stay single very long if some of the bachelors and widowers around town could just once see—”

      She did not hear him. “It's a little odd,” she said.

      “What's odd?”

      “Your mother's not mentioning that Mr. Morgan had been with you.”

      “Didn't think of it, I suppose,” said George carelessly; and, his benevolent mood increasing, he conceived the idea that a little harmless rallying might serve to elevate his aunt's drooping spirits. “I'll tell you something, in confidence,” he said solemnly.

      She looked up, startled. “What?”

      “Well, it struck me that Mr. Morgan was looking pretty absent-minded, most of the time; and he certainly is dressing better than he used to. Uncle George told me he heard that the automobile factory had been doing quite well—won a race, too! I shouldn't be a bit surprised if all the young fellow had been waiting for was to know he had an assured income before he proposed.”

      “What 'young fellow'?”

      “This young fellow Morgan,” laughed George; “Honestly, Aunt Fanny, I shouldn't be a bit surprised to have him request an interview with me any day, and declare that his intentions are honourable, and ask my permission to pay his addresses to you. What had I better tell him?”

      Fanny burst into tears.

      “Good heavens!” George cried. “I was only teasing. I didn't mean—”

      “Let me alone,” she said lifelessly; and, continuing to weep, rose and began to clear away the dishes.

      “Please, Aunt Fanny—”

      “Just let me alone.”

      George was distressed. “I didn't mean anything, Aunt Fanny! I didn't know you'd got so sensitive as all that.”

      “You'd better go up to bed,” she said desolately, going on with her work and her weeping.

      “Anyhow,” he insisted, “do let these things wait. Let the servants 'tend to the table in the morning.”

      “No.”

      “But, why not?”

      “Just let me alone.”

      “Oh, Lord!” George groaned, going to the door. There he turned. “See here, Aunt Fanny, there's not a bit of use your bothering about those dishes tonight. СКАЧАТЬ