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Trenor tricks her into leaving the opera and accompanying him to his home, where he tries to kiss her, claiming that Lily is not playing a fair game when she accepts his money but refuses him her attentions. When Lily arrives home, her aunt refuses to lend her the money to repay the $9,000 she received from Trenor. Lily confides in Grace, asking if she should turn to Selden for his understanding, but Grace advises against it; Grace secretly loves Lawrence and is jealous of Lily. Lily had arranged a later appointment with Selden while at the wedding, and she counts on his love for her to overcome her foolish mistakes. One of Edith Wharton’s most accomplished social satires, this novel tells the story of the beautiful but impoverished New York socialite Lily Bart, whose refusal to compromise in her search for a husband leads to her exclusion from polite society. In charting the course of Lily’s life and downfall, Wharton also provides a wider picture of a society in transition, a milieu in which old certainties, manners, and morals no longer hold true, and where the individual has become an expendable commodity.
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Lily, however, is on her way down to the point that Rosedale is no longer interested in marrying her. Despite the differences in their social standing , Rosedale by the end of the story shows compassion for Lily. He offers her a loan when he runs into her after she has lost her hat-making job—an offer she refuses. Despite the efforts of both Carry and Farish, Lily rapidly descends through the social strata of New York City's high society. She obtains a job as personal secretary of Mrs. Hatch, a disreputable woman who very nearly succeeds in marrying a wealthy young man in Lily's former social circle.
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“Hold me, Gerty, hold me, or I shall think of things,” she moaned; andGerty silently slipped an arm under her, pillowing her head in its hollowas a mother makes a nest for a tossing child. In the warm hollow Lily laystill and her breathing grew low and regular. Her hand still clung toGerty’s as if to ward off evil dreams, but the hold of her fingersrelaxed, her head sank deeper into its shelter, and Gerty felt that sheslept. At the word, Lily’s face melted from locked anguish to the open misery ofa child. The words, flashing back on Gerty’s last hours, struck from her a faintderisive murmur; but Lily, in the blaze of her own misery, was blinded toeverything outside it. Miss Bart released her, and stood breathing brokenly, like one who hasgained shelter after a long flight.
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She could still imagine an ideal state of existence in which, allelse being superadded, intercourse with Selden might be the last touch ofluxury; but in the world as it was, such a privilege was likely to costmore than it was worth. Trenor and Miss Bart prolonged their drive till long after sunset; andbefore it was over he had tried, with some show of success, to prove toher that, if she would only trust him, he could make a handsome sum ofmoney for her without endangering the small amount she possessed. She understood onlythat her modest investments were to be mysteriously multiplied withoutrisk to herself; and the assurance that this miracle would take placewithin a short time, that there would be no tedious interval for suspenseand reaction, relieved her of her lingering scruples. All the men but Jack Stepneyand Dorset had returned to town (it seemed to Lily a last touch of ironythat Selden and Percy Gryce should have gone in the same train), and LadyCressida and the attendant Wetheralls had been despatched by motor tolunch at a distant country-house.
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Itwas the danger-point of their intercourse that he could not doubt thespontaneity of her liking. From whatever angle he viewed their dawningintimacy, he could not see it as part of her scheme of life; and to bethe unforeseen element in a career so accurately planned was stimulatingeven to a man who had renounced sentimental experiments. But her course was too purely reasonable not to contain the germs ofrebellion. No sooner were her preparations made than they roused asmothered sense of resistance. A small spark was enough to kindle Lily’simagination, and the sight of the grey dress and the borrowed prayer-bookflashed a long light down the years.
Miss Bart, emerging late the next morning from her cabin, found herselfalone on the deck of the Sabrina. Stepney, since his marriage, had thickened and grown prudish, as the VanOsburgh husbands were apt to do; but his wife, to his surprise anddiscomfiture, had developed an earth-shaking fastness of gait which lefthim trailing breathlessly in her wake. Mrs. Bry, to Mrs. Fisher’s despair, had not progressed beyond the pointof weighing her social alternatives in public. She could not acquire theair of doing things because she wanted to, and making her choice thefinal seal of their fitness. He paused, and examined her attentively while she affected to rearrangethe tea-cups. Lily flushed with the recollection of certain rainy Sundays at Bellomontand with the Dorsets.
Fisher’s view, that it didn’t matter who gave the party, as long asthings were well done; and doing things well (under competent direction)was Mrs. Wellington Bry’s strong point. Everything, accordingly, was well done, forthere was no limit to Mrs. Fisher’s prodigality when she was not spendingher own money, and as she remarked to her pupil, a good cook was the bestintroduction to society. If the company was not as select as the CUISINE,the Welly Brys at least had the satisfaction of figuring for the firsttime in the society columns in company with one or two noticeable names;and foremost among these was of course Miss Bart’s. The young lady wastreated by her hosts with corresponding deference; and she was in themood when such attentions are acceptable, whatever their source. Mrs.Bry’s admiration was a mirror in which Lily’s self-complacency recoveredits lost outline.
She looked up and saw alight in his window; then she crossed the street and entered the house. Shehad never before suspected the mixture of insatiable curiosity andcontemptuous freedom with which she and her kind were discussed in thisunderworld of toilers who lived on their vanity and self-indulgence.Every girl in Mme. Regina’s work-room knew to whom the headgear in herhands was destined, and had her opinion of its future wearer, and adefinite knowledge of the latter’s place in the social system.
They stood silent for a while after this, smiling at each other likeadventurous children who have climbed to a forbidden height from whichthey discover a new world. The actual world at their feet was veilingitself in dimness, and across the valley a clear moon rose in the denserblue. He made no answer to this exclamation, and for a while they sat silent,while something throbbed between them in the wide quiet of the air. “I thought, after all, the air might do me good,” she explained; and heagreed that so simple a remedy was worth trying. Higher up, the lane showed thickening tufts of fern and of the creepingglossy verdure of shaded slopes; trees began to overhang it, and theshade deepened to the checkered dusk of a beech-grove.
In silence they mounted the three flights, and walked along the passageto a closed door. Gerty opened the door, and Selden went in after her.Though the blind was down, the irresistible sunlight poured a temperedgolden flood into the room, and in its light Selden saw a narrow bedalong the wall, and on the bed, with motionless hands and calmunrecognizing face, the semblance of Lily Bart. When such a day coincides with the inner mood there is intoxication inits breath; and Selden, hastening along the street through the squalor ofits morning confidences, felt himself thrilling with a youthful sense ofadventure.
Lily obeyed, and when she turned back into the room her father wassitting with both elbows on the table, the plate of salmon between them,and his head bowed on his hands. Ruling the turbulent element called home was the vigorous and determinedfigure of a mother still young enough to dance her ball-dresses to rags,while the hazy outline of a neutral-tinted father filled an intermediatespace between the butler and the man who came to wind the clocks. Even tothe eyes of infancy, Mrs. Hudson Bart had appeared young; but Lily couldnot recall the time when her father had not been bald and slightlystooping, with streaks of grey in his hair, and a tired walk. It was ashock to her to learn afterward that he was but two years older than hermother. For in the last year she had found that her hostesses expected her totake a place at the card-table.
Sheunderstood his motives, for her own course was guided by as nicecalculations. Training and experience had taught her to be hospitable tonewcomers, since the most unpromising might be useful later on, and therewere plenty of available OUBLIETTES to swallow them if they were not. Butsome intuitive repugnance, getting the better of years of socialdiscipline, had made her push Mr. Rosedale into his OUBLIETTE without atrial. He had left behind only the ripple of amusement which his speedydespatch had caused among her friends; and though later (to shift themetaphor) he reappeared lower down the stream, it was only in fleetingglimpses, with long submergences between. Lily, meanwhile, realizes that she cannot bear the idea of being alone in her room. Therefore, she resolves to go see Gerty Farish, an innocent woman separate from high society whom Lily realizes is her only true friend.
It was a meagreenough life, on the grim edge of poverty, with scant margin forpossibilities of sickness or mischance, but it had the frail audaciouspermanence of a bird’s nest built on the edge of a cliff—a mere wisp ofleaves and straw, yet so put together that the lives entrusted to it mayhang safely over the abyss. Lily, instead of answering, rose with a smile and held out her arms; andthe mother, understanding the gesture, laid her child in them. Having passionately celebrated her reunion with her offspring, andexcused herself in cryptic language for the lateness of her return,Nettie restored the baby to the crib and shyly invited Miss Bart to therocking-chair near the stove. Lily’s eyes did not falter, but a look of wonder, of puzzledself-interrogation, formed itself slowly in their depths. In the light ofhis question, she had paused to ask herself if her decision had reallybeen taken when she entered the room. But she did not weepeasily, and the long habit of self-control reasserted itself, though shewas still too tremulous to speak.
But his box contained only a line ofrapturous assent from Gerty, and he was turning away disappointed when hewas hailed by a voice from the smoking room. Gerty Farish, the morning after the Wellington Brys’ entertainment, wokefrom dreams as happy as Lily’s. If they were less vivid in hue, moresubdued to the half-tints of her personality and her experience, theywere for that very reason better suited to her mental vision. Suchflashes of joy as Lily moved in would have blinded Miss Farish, who wasaccustomed, in the way of happiness, to such scant light as shone throughthe cracks of other people’s lives.
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