The House of Mirth | Page 7

that attracts the
average collector."
He had seated himself on an arm of the chair near which she was standing, and she
continued to question him, asking which were the rarest volumes, whether the Jefferson
Gryce collection was really considered the finest in the world, and what was the largest
price ever fetched by a single volume.
It was so pleasant to sit there looking up at her, as she lifted now one book and then
another from the shelves, fluttering the pages between her fingers, while her drooping
profile was outlined against the warm background of old bindings, that he talked on
without pausing to wonder at her sudden interest in so unsuggestive a subject. But he
could never be long with her without trying to find a reason for what she was doing, and
as she replaced his first edition of La Bruyere and turned away from the bookcases, he
began to ask himself what she had been driving at. Her next question was not of a nature
to enlighten him. She paused before him with a smile which seemed at once designed to
admit him to her familiarity, and to remind him of the restrictions it imposed.
"Don't you ever mind," she asked suddenly, "not being rich enough to buy all the books
you want?"
He followed her glance about the room, with its worn furniture and shabby walls.
"Don't I just? Do you take me for a saint on a pillar?"
"And having to work--do you mind that?"
"Oh, the work itself is not so bad--I'm rather fond of the law."
"No; but the being tied down: the routine--don't you ever want to get away, to see new

places and people?"
"Horribly--especially when I see all my friends rushing to the steamer."
She drew a sympathetic breath. "But do you mind enough--to marry to get out of it?"
Selden broke into a laugh. "God forbid!" he declared.
She rose with a sigh, tossing her cigarette into the grate.
"Ah, there's the difference--a girl must, a man may if he chooses." She surveyed him
critically. "Your coat's a little shabby--but who cares? It doesn't keep people from asking
you to dine. If I were shabby no one would have me: a woman is asked out as much for
her clothes as for herself. The clothes are the background, the frame, if you like: they
don't make success, but they are a part of it. Who wants a dingy woman? We are
expected to be pretty and well-dressed till we drop--and if we can't keep it up alone, we
have to go into partnership."
Selden glanced at her with amusement: it was impossible, even with her lovely eyes
imploring him, to take a sentimental view of her case.
"Ah, well, there must be plenty of capital on the look-out for such an investment. Perhaps
you'll meet your fate tonight at the Trenors'."
She returned his look interrogatively.
"I thought you might be going there--oh, not in that capacity! But there are to be a lot of
your set--Gwen Van Osburgh, the Wetheralls, Lady Cressida Raith--and the George
Dorsets."
She paused a moment before the last name, and shot a query through her lashes; but he
remained imperturbable.
"Mrs. Trenor asked me; but I can't get away till the end of the week; and those big parties
bore me."
"Ah, so they do me," she exclaimed.
"Then why go?"
"It's part of the business--you forget! And besides, if I didn't, I should be playing bezique
with my aunt at Richfield Springs."
"That's almost as bad as marrying Dillworth," he agreed, and they both laughed for pure
pleasure in their sudden intimacy.
She glanced at the clock.
"Dear me! I must be off. It's after five."

She paused before the mantelpiece, studying herself in the mirror while she adjusted her
veil. The attitude revealed the long slope of her slender sides, which gave a kind of
wild-wood grace to her outline--as though she were a captured dryad subdued to the
conventions of the drawing-room; and Selden reflected that it was the same streak of
sylvan freedom in her nature that lent such savour to her artificiality.
He followed her across the room to the entrance-hall; but on the threshold she held out
her hand with a gesture of leave-taking.
"It's been delightful; and now you will have to return my visit."
"But don't you want me to see you to the station?"
"No; good bye here, please."
She let her hand lie in his a moment, smiling up at him adorably.
"Good bye, then--and good luck at Bellomont!" he said, opening the door for her.
On the landing she paused to look about her. There were a thousand chances to one
against her meeting anybody, but one could never tell, and she