The Glimpses of the Moon by Edith Wharton (ebook smartphone .txt) 📖

….”

 

He stopped, as if his courage failed him; and she moaned out:

“But your writing—if your book’s a success ….”

 

“My poor Susy—that’s all part of the humbug. We both know that

my sort of writing will never pay. And what’s the alternative

except more of the same kind of baseness? And getting more and

more blunted to it? At least, till now, I’ve minded certain

things; I don’t want to go on till I find myself taking them for

granted.”

 

She reached out a timid hand. “But you needn’t ever, dear …

if you’d only leave it to me ….”

 

He drew back sharply. “That seems simple to you, I suppose?

Well, men are different.” He walked toward the dressing-table

and glanced at the little enamelled clock which had been one of

her wedding-presents.

 

“Time to dress, isn’t it? Shall you mind if I leave you to dine

with Streffy, and whoever else is coming? I’d rather like a

long tramp, and no more talking just at present except with

myself.”

 

He passed her by and walked rapidly out of the room. Susy stood

motionless, unable to lift a detaining hand or to find a final

word of appeal. On her disordered dressing-table Mrs.

Vanderlyn’s gifts glittered in the rosy lamp-light.

 

Yes: men were different, as he said.

 

XI.

 

BUT there were necessary accommodations, there always had been;

Nick in old times, had been the first to own it …. How they

had laughed at the Perpendicular People, the people who went by

on the other side (since you couldn’t be a good Samaritan

without stooping over and poking into heaps of you didn’t know

what)! And now Nick had suddenly become perpendicular ….

 

Susy, that evening, at the head of the dinner table, saw—in the

breaks between her scudding thoughts—the nauseatingly familiar

faces of the people she called her friends: Strefford, Fred

Gillow, a giggling fool of a young Breckenridge, of their New

York group, who had arrived that day, and Prince Nerone

Altineri, Ursula’s Prince, who, in Ursula’s absence at a

tiresome cure, had, quite simply and naturally, preferred to

join her husband at Venice. Susy looked from one to the other

of them, as if with newly-opened eyes, and wondered what life

would be like with no faces but such as theirs to furnish

it ….

 

Ah, Nick had become perpendicular! …. After all, most people

went through life making a given set of gestures, like dance-steps learned in advance. If your dancing manual told you at a

given time to be perpendicular, you had to be, automatically—

and that was Nick!

 

“But what on earth, Susy,” Gillow’s puzzled voice suddenly came

to her as from immeasurable distances, “Are you going to do in

this beastly stifling hole for the rest of the summer?”

 

“Ask Nick, my dear fellow,” Strefford answered for her; and:

“By the way, where is Nick—if one may ask?” young Breckenridge

interposed, glancing up to take belated note of his host’s

absence.

 

“Dining out,” said Susy glibly. “People turned up: blighting

bores that I wouldn’t have dared to inflict on you.” How easily

the old familiar fibbing came to her !

 

“The kind to whom you say, ‘Now mind you look me up’; and then

spend the rest of your life dodging-like our good Hickses,”

Strefford amplified.

 

The Hickses—but, of course, Nick was with the Hickses! It went

through Susy like a knife, and the dinner she had so lightly

fibbed became a hateful truth. She said to herself feverishly:

“I’ll call him up there after dinner—and then he will feel

silly”—but only to remember that the Hickses, in their

mediaeval setting, had of course sternly denied themselves a

telephone.

 

The fact of Nick’s temporary inaccessibility—since she was now

convinced that he was really at the Hickses’—turned her

distress to a mocking irritation. Ah, that was where he carried

his principles, his standards, or whatever he called the new set

of rules he had suddenly begun to apply to the old game! It was

stupid of her not to have guessed it at once.

 

“Oh, the Hickses—Nick adores them, you know. He’s going to

marry Coral next,” she laughed out, flashing the joke around the

table with all her practiced flippancy.

 

“Lord!” grasped Gillow, inarticulate: while the Prince

displayed the unsurprised smile which Susy accused him of

practicing every morning with his Mueller exercises.

 

Suddenly Susy felt Strefford’s eyes upon her.

 

“What’s the matter with me? Too much rouge?” she asked, passing

her arm in his as they left the table.

 

“No: too little. Look at yourself,” he answered in a low tone.

 

“Oh, in these cadaverous old looking-glasses-everybody looks

fished up from the canal!”

 

She jerked away from him to spin down the long floor of the

sala, hands on hips, whistling a rag-time tune. The Prince and

young Breckenridge caught her up, and she spun back with the

latter, while Gillow-it was believed to be his sole

accomplishment-snapped his fingers in simulation of bones, and

shuffled after the couple on stamping feet.

 

Susy sank down on a sofa near the window, fanning herself with a

floating scarf, and the men foraged for cigarettes, and rang for

the gondoliers, who came in with trays of cooling drinks.

 

“Well, what next—this ain’t all, is it?” Gillow presently

queried, from the divan where he lolled half-asleep with

dripping brow. Fred Gillow, like Nature, abhorred a void, and

it was inconceivable to him that every hour of man’s rational

existence should not furnish a motive for getting up and going

somewhere else. Young Breckenridge, who took the same view, and

the Prince, who earnestly desired to, reminded the company that

somebody they knew was giving a dance that night at the Lido.

 

Strefford vetoed the Lido, on the ground that he’d just come

back from there, and proposed that they should go out on foot

for a change.

 

“Why not? What fun!” Susy was up in an instant. “Let’s pay

somebody a surprise visit—I don’t know who! Streffy, Prince,

can’t you think of somebody who’d be particularly annoyed by our

arrival?”

 

“Oh, the list’s too long. Let’s start, and choose our victim on

the way,” Strefford suggested.

 

Susy ran to her room for a light cloak, and without changing her

high-heeled satin slippers went out with the four men. There

was no moon—thank heaven there was no moon!—but the stars hung

over them as close as fruit, and secret fragrances dropped on

them from garden-walls. Susy’s heart tightened with memories of

Como.

 

They wandered on, laughing and dawdling, and yielding to the

drifting whims of aimless people. Presently someone proposed

taking a nearer look at the facade of San Giorgio Maggiore, and

they hailed a gondola and were rowed out through the bobbing

lanterns and twanging guitar-strings. When they landed again,

Gillow, always acutely bored by scenery, and particularly

resentful of midnight aesthetics, suggested a night club near at

hand, which was said to be jolly. The Prince warmly supported

this proposal; but on Susy’s curt refusal they started their

rambling again, circuitously threading the vague dark lanes and

making for the Piazza and Florian’s ices. Suddenly, at a calle-corner, unfamiliar and yet somehow known to her, Susy paused to

stare about her with a laugh.

 

“But the Hickses—surely that’s their palace? And the windows

all lit up! They must be giving a party! Oh, do let’s go up

and surprise them!” The idea struck her as one of the drollest

that she had ever originated, and she wondered that her

companions should respond so languidly.

 

“I can’t see anything very thrilling in surprising the Hickses,”

Gillow protested, defrauded of possible excitements; and

Strefford added: “It would surprise me more than them if I

went.”

 

But Susy insisted feverishly: “You don’t know. It may be

awfully exciting! I have an idea that Coral’s announcing her

engagement—her engagement to Nick! Come, give me a hand,

Streff—and you the other, Fred-” she began to hum the first

bars of Donna Anna’s entrance in Don Giovanni. “Pity I haven’t

got a black cloak and a mask ….”

 

“Oh, your face will do,” said Strefford, laying his hand on her

arm.

 

She drew back, flushing crimson. Breckenridge and the Prince

had sprung on ahead, and Gillow, lumbering after them, was

already halfway up the stairs.

 

“My face? My face? What’s the matter with my face? Do you

know any reason why I shouldn’t go to the Hickses to-night?”

Susy broke out in sudden wrath.

 

“None whatever; except that if you do it will bore me to death,”

Strefford returned, with serenity.

 

“Oh, in that case—!”

 

“No; come on. I hear those fools banging on the door already.”

He caught her by the hand, and they started up the stairway.

But on the first landing she paused, twisted her hand out of

his, and without a word, without a conscious thought, dashed

down the long flight, across the great resounding vestibule and

out into the darkness of the calle.

 

Strefford caught up with her, and they stood a moment silent in

the night.

 

“Susy—what the devil’s the matter?”

 

“The matter? Can’t you see? That I’m tired, that I’ve got a

splitting headache—that you bore me to death, one and all of

you!” She turned and laid a deprecating hand on his arm.

“Streffy, old dear, don’t mind me: but for God’s sake find a

gondola and send me home.”

 

“Alone?”

 

“Alone.”

 

It was never any concern of Streff’s if people wanted to do

things he did not understand, and she knew that she could count

on his obedience. They walked on in silence to the next canal,

and he picked up a passing gondola and put her in it.

 

“Now go and amuse yourself,” she called after him, as the boat

shot under the nearest bridge. Anything, anything, to be alone,

away from the folly and futility that would be all she had left

if Nick were to drop out of her life ….

 

“But perhaps he has dropped already—dropped for good,” she

thought as she set her foot on the Vanderlyn threshold.

 

The short summer night was already growing transparent: a new

born breeze stirred the soiled surface of the water and sent it

lapping freshly against the old palace doorways. Nearly two

o’clock! Nick had no doubt come back long ago. Susy hurried up

the stairs, reassured by the mere thought of his nearness. She

knew that when their eyes and their lips met it would be

impossible for anything to keep them apart.

 

The gondolier dozing on the landing roused himself to receive

her, and to proffer two envelopes. The upper one was a telegram

for Strefford: she threw it down again and paused under the

lantern hanging from the painted vault, the other envelope in

her hand. The address it bore was in Nick’s writing. “When did

the signore leave this for me? Has he gone out again?”

 

Gone out again? But the signore had not come in since dinner:

of that the gondolier was positive, as he had been on duty all

the evening. A boy had brought the letter—an unknown boy: he

had left it without waiting. It must have been about half an

hour after the signora had herself gone out with her guests.

 

Susy, hardly hearing him, fled on to her own room, and there,

beside the very lamp which, two months before, had illuminated

Ellie Vanderlyn’s fatal letter, she opened Nick’s.

 

“Don’t think me hard on you, dear; but I’ve got to work this

thing out by myself. The sooner the better-don’t you agree? So

I’m taking the express to Milan presently. You’ll get a proper