Edith Wharton - Novella 01 (2 page)

 
          
Let
it be understood by the reader, in justice to Miss Rivers, that, before she
despatched the note with which our last chapter closes, she shewed it to her
mother. As she had expected, that lady offered some feeble opposition to her
daughter’s bold stroke. It was early the next morning & Mrs. Rivers—a
nervous invalid, of the complainingly resigned sort—was still in her bedroom,
though the younger members of the family, Kate, Julia & Tom, had
breakfasted & been called to their lessons, by Miss Blackstone, their
governess. Georgie therefore found her mother alone, when she entered with the
answer to Lord Breton’s letter in her hand; & it was easy, after one glance
at the small figure on the couch, with faded hair, pink lids & yielding
wrinkles about the mouth, to see why, though “Mamma would be a little
scandalized” it would be easy to “settle that.” If Mrs. Rivers had ever been a
beauty much mourning & malady had effaced all traces thereof from her
gentle, sallow face framed in a heavy widow’s cap; she was one of those meek,
shrinking women who seem always overwhelmed by their
clothes,
& indeed by circumstances in general. She greeted her daughter’s entrance
with a faint smile, & observed in a thin, timid voice “that it was a
beautiful morning.” “Yes,” said Georgie, kissing her, “jolly for hunting.
How did you sleep, little Mamma?”
“Oh, well enough, my dear—as
well as I could have hoped,” said Mrs. Rivers, sighing. “Of course Peters
forgot my sleeping-draught when he went into
West Adamsborough
yesterday, but what else could I expect?” “I
am very sorry! The man never had his proper allowance of brains.” “Nay, my
dear, I do not complain.” “But I do,” said Georgie, impatiently. “I hate to be
resigned!”
“My child!”
“You know I do, Mamma. But I
want to speak to you now. Will Payson be coming in for anything?” “Indeed I can’t
tell, my dear.” (Mrs. Rivers was never in her life known to express a positive
opinion on any subject.) “Very well, then” said Georgie, “I will make sure.”
She locked the door, & then came & sat down at her mother’s feet. “Now,
Mamma, I am going to shock you,” she said. “Oh, my dear, I hope not.” “But I
tell you that I am,” persisted Georgie. “Now listen. I have decided that I
shouldn’t be happy with Guy, & I have written to tell him so.” Mrs. Rivers
looked startled. “What has happened, my love?” she asked anxiously. “I hope you
have not been quarrelling. Guy is a good boy.” “No, we have not been
quarrelling—at least, not exactly. But I have thought it all over. Guy & I
would never get on. And I am going to accept Lord Breton!” “Good gracious, my
dear!” cried Mrs. Rivers, in mingled horror & admiration at her daughter’s
sudden decision. “But what will Guy say
?…
Have you
reflected
?…
” “I have set Guy free; therefore I am at
liberty to accept Lord Breton.”
“But—so soon?
I don’t
understand,” said poor Mrs. Rivers, in humble perplexity. “Of course the
engagement will not be announced at once; but Lord Breton’s letter requires an
answer & I have written it.” She handed the note to her mother, who looked
over it with her usual doubtful frown, but whose only comment was a meek
suggestion that it was very short. “I can’t write four pages to say I’ll accept
him,” said Georgie, sharply; & Mrs. Rivers, reflecting that her unusual
crossness was probably due to concealed agitation, only said mildly, “but poor
Guy.” “Why do you pity Guy, Mamma? He will be rid of me, & if he is really
in love with me—why, men get over those things very quickly.” “But I cannot
help thinking, my dear…” “Don’t, Mamma!” cried Georgie, passionately, “don’t
think. I have made up my mind, & if you talk all day you can only make me
cry.” The last word was almost a sob, & Georgie turned sharply away from
her mother. “I am afraid you are unhappy, darling child.” “Why should I be?”
burst out Georgie, with sudden fierceness. “Don’t be so foolish Mamma! Why
should I be unhappy? It is my own choice, & I don’t want to be pitied!” She
ran out of the room as she ended, & Mrs. Rivers’ anxious ears heard her
bedroom door slam a moment later. The note was sent duly, that morning; &
in the afternoon the various members of the family saw, from their respective
windows, Lord Breton of Lowood ride up to the door of Holly Lodge. Georgie,
with an unusual colour in her face, which was set off by the drooping ruffle of
lace about her soft throat, came in to her mother’s room for a kiss & a
word or two. Now that Guy’s ring had really been sent back, she seemed to have
nerved herself to go through the day resolutely; & with a quick, firm step,
& her head higher than its wont she went downstairs to meet her suitor.
Lord Breton was leaning against the mantel-piece where Guy had stood yesterday;
& it would have been hard to find a greater contrast to that handsome young
gentleman than Georgie’s noble lover. Fifty-eight years of what is commonly
called hard living had left heavy traces on what in its day was known as a fine
figure; & in the Lord Breton whom some few could remember as “that gay
young buck” the present generation saw nothing but a gray gouty old gentleman,
who evidently enjoyed his port wine & sherry generously. He came forward as
Georgie entered, & bending over her hand (it was not the hand that Guy had
kissed) said, pompously: “I need not say how deeply I feel the honour you
confer on me, Miss Rivers. This is indeed a happy day!” “Thank you,” said
Georgie, with a wild desire to draw her hand away; “you are very kind, Lord
Breton.” “No, no,” returned his lordship affably; “I only rejoice in being
allowed to call mine a young lady so abundantly endowed with every charm as
Miss Rivers—as—May I call you Georgina?” Georgie started; no one had ever
called her by her name, preferring the boyish abbreviation which seemed to suit
her lively, plump prettiness best; but, after all, it was better he should not
call her as Guy did.
Georgina
was more suitable for the future Lady
Breton. “You have won the right to do so,” she said, as she sat down, &
Lord Breton took a chair opposite, at an admiring distance. “A most precious
right,” he replied, conjuring up the ghost of what some might recall as a
fascinating smile; but which was more like a bland leer to the eye unassisted
by memory. “Let me assure you,” he continued, “that I know how little a man of
my advanced years deserves to claim the attention of a young lady in the lovely
bloom of youth; but—ahem—I hope that the name, the title—& above all the
respect & esteem which I lay at her feet may compensate—” he paused, &
evidently wondered that Georgie did not reply to this sublime condescension;
but as she was silent, he was forced to take up the thread of his speech. “As I
said in my letter, you will remember, Miss… Ah… Georgina—as I said in my
letter, I do not see why difference of age should be an obstacle to a happy
union; & as—ahem—& since your views so happily coincide with mine,
permit me to—to adorn this lovely hand with—a—with—” here Lord Breton, finding
that his eloquence had for the moment run dry, supplied the lack of speech by
action, & producing a brilliant ruby set in large diamonds, slipped it on
Georgie’s passive hand. “I hope you will accept this, as a slight token of—of…”
“It is very beautiful,” said Georgie, colouring with pleasure, as the dark fire
of the ruby set off the whiteness of her hand. “You are most generous. But you
will forgive me if I do not wear it, at least in public. I should prefer not to
have the engagement announced at once.” Lord Breton looked justly astonished,
as he might have done if a crossing-sweeper to whom he had tossed a shilling
had flung it back in his face. “May I ask why this—this secrecy must be
preserved?” he said, in a tone of profound, but suppressed, indignation;
remembering, just in time, that though the wife is a legitimate object of
wrath, it is wise to restrain one’s self during courtship. “I am going to shew
you what a spoiled child I am, by refusing to tell you,” said Georgie, putting
on an air of imperious mischievousness to hide her growing agitation, “& I
know you will humour me. I am so used to having my own way, that it might be dangerous
to deprive me of it!” If she had not said this with a most enchanting smile,
naughty & yet appealing, Lord Breton might not have been so easily
appeased; but being charmed with this pretty display of wilfulness (as men are
apt to be before marriage) & concluding that her mother might have
something to do with the obstruction she would not name, he only said, with a
bow, “The loss is on my side, however! I shall count the days until I can
proclaim to the world what a prize I have won.” Georgie laughed; a sweet,
little bird-like laugh, which was as resistless as her pout. “You pay me so
many compliments that I shall be more spoiled than ever! But you will not have
to wait long, I promise you.” “No waiting can be very long while I am
privileged to enjoy your companionship,” said Lord Breton, rising to the moment
triumphantly.
“Oh, for shame!
Worse & worse!”
cried Georgie. “But I think Mamma is in the study. Won’t you come in & see
her?”

 
          
  

 
          
Jilted.

 
          
“There can be no reason
Why
, when quietly munching your dry-toast & butter Your
nerves should be suddenly thrown in a flutter At the sight of a neat little
letter addressed In a woman’s handwriting.”
 
Robert Lytton: Lucile.

 
          
Guy
Hastings was finishing an unusually late breakfast at his favourite resort in
London, Swift’s Club, St. James St., on the morning after his parting with
Georgie, when a note addressed in her well-known hand, with its girlish
affectation of masculiness, was handed to him by a Club servant. Although he
was surprised that she should have written so soon, (she seldom, during his
trips to London, wrote to him at all) he was not excited by any stronger
emotion than surprise & slight curiosity, for the words that passed between
them the day before had appeared to him nothing more than a lover’s quarrel
developed by bad weather & ennui & he was too well accustomed to
unaccountable phases in his cousin’s April character to imagine that anything
serious could be its consequence. A man, however, who is as deeply in love as
Guy was, does not have a letter in the beloved one’s handwriting long unopened;
& though a pile of other envelopes “To Guy Hastings Esqr.”
were
pushed aside until fuller leisure after breakfast, he
broke Georgie’s seal at once. One glance at the hurriedly written lines
sufficed to change the aspect of life completely. At first there came a sense
of blank bewilderment, followed, upon reflection, by indignation at this
undeserved slight; & these emotions combined were enough to make him turn
from the breakfast-table, thrusting the package which contained the ring into
his breast-pocket, to escape from the clatter & movement of the breakfast
room. One might have supposed that every member of the club would be off
shooting, fishing, hunting or travelling at this unfashionable time, but of
course, as Guy went down to take refuge in the reading-room he was fastened
upon by a veteran club bore, who talked to him for half an hour by the clock,
while all the time Georgie’s note was burning in his pocket. At last the bore
discovered that he had an engagement, & with deep regret (more for Guy’s
sake than his own) was obliged to break off in the midst of an Indian anecdote;
but he was replaced almost immediately by Capt. Doublequick of the th, who
always had a new scandal to feast his friends on, & now for dearth of
listeners, came to tell Guy the fullest details of “that affair with young
Wiggins & the little French Marquise.” This delectable history, embellished
with the Capt.’s usual art, lasted fully another half hour; & Guy was in
the last stages of slow torture when the unconscious Doublequick espied a
solitary man at the other end of the room who had not heard all about “young
Wiggins.” Left to himself, Guy, with the masculine instinct of being always as
comfortable as possible, settled himself in an armchair, & reread Georgie’s
note, slowly, carefully & repeatedly, as though he fancied it might be an
optical delusion after all. But it was one of Georgie’s virtues to write a
clear hand. The cruel words were there, & remained the same, read them as
he would. At last, as he sat half-stupidly staring at the few lines, a purpose
formed itself within him to write at once & ask the meaning of them. Think
as he would, he could not remember having, by word or act, justified Georgie in
sending him such a letter; & he concluded that the best thing & the
simplest he could do, was to demand an explanation. He loved her too deeply
& reverently to believe that she could mean to throw him over thus; he
thought he knew the depths & shallows of her character, & though he was
not blind to her faults, he would never have accused her, even in the thought,
of such unwarranted heartlessness. Having determined, then, on this first step,
he called for pen & paper, & after tearing up several half-written
sheets, folded & sealed this letter.

 
          
What
have I done to deserve the note I got from you this morning? Why do you send
the ring back? God knows I love you better than anyone on earth, & if I am
at fault, it is ignorantly. If you have found out you don’t care for me, tell
me so—but for Heaven’s sake don’t throw me over in this way without a word of
explanation.
G.H. Miss Rivers.
Holly Lodge,
Morley-near-W.
Adamsbro.