Edith Wharton: Complete Works. Edith Wharton

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СКАЧАТЬ at this, reseated herself with a cry of alarm. “No, no, no!” she protested.

      He swung round on her distrustfully. “Why not Selden? He’s a lawyer, isn’t he? One will do as well as another in a case like this.”

      “As badly as another, you mean. I thought you relied on me to help you.”

      “You do—by being so sweet and patient with me. If it hadn’t been for you I’d have ended the thing long ago. But now it’s got to end.” He rose suddenly, straightening himself with an effort. “You can’t want to see me ridiculous.”

      She looked at him kindly. “That’s just it.” Then, after a moment’s pondering, almost to her own surprise she broke out with a flash of inspiration: “Well, go over and see Mr. Selden. You’ll have time to do it before dinner.”

      “Oh, dinner ——” he mocked her; but she left him with the smiling rejoinder: “Dinner on board, remember; we’ll put it off till nine if you like.”

      It was past four already; and when a cab had dropped her at the quay, and she stood waiting for the gig to put off for her, she began to wonder what had been happening on the yacht. Of Silverton’s whereabouts there had been no mention. Had he returned to the Sabrina? Or could Bertha—the dread alternative sprang on her suddenly—could Bertha, left to herself, have gone ashore to rejoin him? Lily’s heart stood still at the thought. All her concern had hitherto been for young Silverton, not only because, in such affairs, the woman’s instinct is to side with the man, but because his case made a peculiar appeal to her sympathies. He was so desperately in earnest, poor youth, and his earnestness was of so different a quality from Bertha’s, though hers too was desperate enough. The difference was that Bertha was in earnest only about herself, while he was in earnest about her. But now, at the actual crisis, this difference seemed to throw the weight of destitution on Bertha’s side, since at least he had her to suffer for, and she had only herself. At any rate, viewed less ideally, all the disadvantages of such a situation were for the woman; and it was to Bertha that Lily’s sympathies now went out. She was not fond of Bertha Dorset, but neither was she without a sense of obligation, the heavier for having so little personal liking to sustain it. Bertha had been kind to her, they had lived together, during the last months, on terms of easy friendship, and the sense of friction of which Lily had recently become aware seemed to make it the more urgent that she should work undividedly in her friend’s interest.

      It was in Bertha’s interest, certainly, that she had despatched Dorset to consult with Lawrence Selden. Once the grotesqueness of the situation accepted, she had seen at a glance that it was the safest in which Dorset could find himself. Who but Selden could thus miraculously combine the skill to save Bertha with the obligation of doing so? The consciousness that much skill would be required made Lily rest thankfully in the greatness of the obligation. Since he would have to pull Bertha through she could trust him to find a way; and she put the fulness of her trust in the telegram she managed to send him on her way to the quay.

      Thus far, then, Lily felt that she had done well; and the conviction strengthened her for the task that remained. She and Bertha had never been on confidential terms, but at such a crisis the barriers of reserve must surely fall: Dorset’s wild allusions to the scene of the morning made Lily feel that they were down already, and that any attempt to rebuild them would be beyond Bertha’s strength. She pictured the poor creature shivering behind her fallen defences and awaiting with suspense the moment when she could take refuge in the first shelter that offered. If only that shelter had not already offered itself elsewhere! As the gig traversed the short distance between the quay and the yacht, Lily grew more than ever alarmed at the possible consequences of her long absence. What if the wretched Bertha, finding in all the long hours no soul to turn to—but by this time Lily’s eager foot was on the side-ladder, and her first step on the Sabrina showed the worst of her apprehensions to be unfounded; for there, in the luxurious shade of the after-deck, the wretched Bertha, in full command of her usual attenuated elegance, sat dispensing tea to the Duchess of Beltshire and Lord Hubert.

      The sight filled Lily with such surprise that she felt that Bertha, at least, must read its meaning in her look, and she was proportionately disconcerted by the blankness of the look returned. But in an instant she saw that Mrs. Dorset had, of necessity, to look blank before the others, and that, to mitigate the effect of her own surprise, she must at once produce some simple reason for it. The long habit of rapid transitions made it easy for her to exclaim to the Duchess: “Why, I thought you’d gone back to the Princess!” and this sufficed for the lady she addressed, if it was hardly enough for Lord Hubert.

      At least it opened the way to a lively explanation of how the Duchess was, in fact, going back the next moment, but had first rushed out to the yacht for a word with Mrs. Dorset on the subject of tomorrow’s dinner—the dinner with the Brys, to which Lord Hubert had finally insisted on dragging them.

      “To save my neck, you know!” he explained, with a glance that appealed to Lily for some recognition of his promptness; and the Duchess added, with her noble candour: “Mr. Bry has promised him a tip, and he says if we go he’ll pass it on to us.”

      This led to some final pleasantries, in which, as it seemed to Lily, Mrs. Dorset bore her part with astounding bravery, and at the close of which Lord Hubert, from half way down the side-ladder, called back, with an air of numbering heads: “And of course we may count on Dorset too?”

      “Oh, count on him,” his wife assented gaily. She was keeping up well to the last—but as she turned back from waving her adieux over the side, Lily said to herself that the mask must drop and the soul of fear look out.

      Mrs. Dorset turned back slowly; perhaps she wanted time to steady her muscles; at any rate, they were still under perfect control when, dropping once more into her seat behind the tea-table, she remarked to Miss Bart with a faint touch of irony: “I suppose I ought to say good morning.”

      If it was a cue, Lily was ready to take it, though with only the vaguest sense of what was expected of her in return. There was something unnerving in the contemplation of Mrs. Dorset’s composure, and she had to force the light tone in which she answered: “I tried to see you this morning, but you were not yet up.”

      “No—I got to bed late. After we missed you at the station I thought we ought to wait for you till the last train.” She spoke very gently, but with just the least tinge of reproach.

      “You missed us? You waited for us at the station?” Now indeed Lily was too far adrift in bewilderment to measure the other’s words or keep watch on her own. “But I thought you didn’t get to the station till after the last train had left!”

      Mrs. Dorset, examining her between lowered lids, met this with the immediate query: “Who told you that?”

      “George—I saw him just now in the gardens.”

      “Ah, is that George’s version? Poor George—he was in no state to remember what I told him. He had one of his worst attacks this morning, and I packed him off to see the doctor. Do you know if he found him?”

      Lily, still lost in conjecture, made no reply, and Mrs. Dorset settled herself indolently in her seat. “He’ll wait to see him; he was horribly frightened about himself. It’s very bad for him to be worried, and whenever anything upsetting happens, it always brings on an attack.”

      This time Lily felt sure that a cue was being pressed on her; but it was put forth with such startling suddenness, and with so incredible an air of ignoring what it led up to, that she could only falter out doubtfully: “Anything upsetting?”

      “Yes—such СКАЧАТЬ