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Authors: Edith Wharton
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become my cloth to speak indulgently of idolatry.
But happy marriages are so rare nowadays: where else could one find
such examples as there are about this table? Your Jim and his
Lita, and my good friend Heuston with that saint of a wife—"
The Bishop paused, as if, even on so privileged an occasion, he
was put to it to prolong the list. "Well, you've given them the
example…" He stopped again, probably remembering that his
hostess's matrimonial bliss was built on the ruins of her first
husband's. But in divorcing she had invoked a cause which even
the Church recognizes; and the Bishop proceeded serenely: "Her
children shall rise up and call her blessed—yes, dear friend, you
must let me say it."
The words were balm to Pauline. Every syllable carried conviction:
all was right with her world and the Bishop's! Why did she ever
need any other spiritual guidance than that of her own creed? She
felt a twinge of regret at having so involved herself with the
Mahatma. Yet what did Episcopal Bishops know of "holy ecstasy"?
And could any number of Church services have reduced her hips?
After all, there was room for all the creeds in her easy rosy
world. And the thought led her straight to her other preoccupation:
the reception for the Cardinal. She resolved to secure the Bishop's
approval at once. After that, of course the Chief Rabbi would have
to come. And what a lesson in tolerance and good–will to the
discordant world she was trying to reform!
Nona, half–way down the table, viewed its guests from another
angle. She had come back depressed rather than fortified from her
flying visit to her father. There were days when Manford liked to
be "surprised" at the office; when he and his daughter had their
little jokes together over these clandestine visits. But this one
had not come off in that spirit. She had found Manford tired and
slightly irritable; Nona, before he had time to tell her of her
mother's visit, caught a lingering whiff of Pauline's cool hygienic
scent, and wondered nervously what could have happened to make Mrs.
Manford break through her tightly packed engagements, and dash down
to her husband's office. It was of course to that emergency that
she had sacrificed poor Exhibit A—little guessing his relief at
the postponement. But what could have obliged her to see Manford
so suddenly, when they were to meet at dinner that evening?
The girl had asked no questions: she knew that Manford, true to his
profession, preferred putting them. And her chief object, of
course, had been to get him to help her about Arthur Wyant. That,
she perceived, at first added to his irritation: was he Wyant's
keeper, he wanted to know? But he broke off before the next
question: "Why the devil can't his own son look after him?" She
had seen that question on his very lips; but they shut down on it,
and he rose from his chair with a shrug. "Poor devil—if you think
I can be of any use? All right, then—I'll drop in on him
tomorrow." He and Wyant, ever since the divorce, had met whenever
Jim's fate was to be discussed; Wyant felt a sort of humiliated
gratitude for Manford's generosity to his son. "Not the money, you
know, Nona—damn the money! But taking such an interest in him;
helping him to find himself: appreciating him, hang it! He
understands Jim a hundred times better than your mother ever
did…" On this basis the two men came together now and then
in a spirit of tolerant understanding…
Nona recalled her father's face as it had been when she left him:
worried, fagged, yet with that twinkle of gaiety his eyes always
had when he looked at her. Now, smoothed out, smiling, slightly
replete, it was hard as stone. "Like his own death–mask," the girl
thought; "as if he'd done with everything, once for all.—And the
way those two women bore him! Mummy put Gladys Toy next to him as
a reward—for what?" She smiled at her mother's simplicity in
imagining that he was having what Pauline called a "harmless
flirtation" with Mrs. Herman
But happy marriages are so rare nowadays: where else could one find
such examples as there are about this table? Your Jim and his
Lita, and my good friend Heuston with that saint of a wife—"
The Bishop paused, as if, even on so privileged an occasion, he
was put to it to prolong the list. "Well, you've given them the
example…" He stopped again, probably remembering that his
hostess's matrimonial bliss was built on the ruins of her first
husband's. But in divorcing she had invoked a cause which even
the Church recognizes; and the Bishop proceeded serenely: "Her
children shall rise up and call her blessed—yes, dear friend, you
must let me say it."
The words were balm to Pauline. Every syllable carried conviction:
all was right with her world and the Bishop's! Why did she ever
need any other spiritual guidance than that of her own creed? She
felt a twinge of regret at having so involved herself with the
Mahatma. Yet what did Episcopal Bishops know of "holy ecstasy"?
And could any number of Church services have reduced her hips?
After all, there was room for all the creeds in her easy rosy
world. And the thought led her straight to her other preoccupation:
the reception for the Cardinal. She resolved to secure the Bishop's
approval at once. After that, of course the Chief Rabbi would have
to come. And what a lesson in tolerance and good–will to the
discordant world she was trying to reform!
Nona, half–way down the table, viewed its guests from another
angle. She had come back depressed rather than fortified from her
flying visit to her father. There were days when Manford liked to
be "surprised" at the office; when he and his daughter had their
little jokes together over these clandestine visits. But this one
had not come off in that spirit. She had found Manford tired and
slightly irritable; Nona, before he had time to tell her of her
mother's visit, caught a lingering whiff of Pauline's cool hygienic
scent, and wondered nervously what could have happened to make Mrs.
Manford break through her tightly packed engagements, and dash down
to her husband's office. It was of course to that emergency that
she had sacrificed poor Exhibit A—little guessing his relief at
the postponement. But what could have obliged her to see Manford
so suddenly, when they were to meet at dinner that evening?
The girl had asked no questions: she knew that Manford, true to his
profession, preferred putting them. And her chief object, of
course, had been to get him to help her about Arthur Wyant. That,
she perceived, at first added to his irritation: was he Wyant's
keeper, he wanted to know? But he broke off before the next
question: "Why the devil can't his own son look after him?" She
had seen that question on his very lips; but they shut down on it,
and he rose from his chair with a shrug. "Poor devil—if you think
I can be of any use? All right, then—I'll drop in on him
tomorrow." He and Wyant, ever since the divorce, had met whenever
Jim's fate was to be discussed; Wyant felt a sort of humiliated
gratitude for Manford's generosity to his son. "Not the money, you
know, Nona—damn the money! But taking such an interest in him;
helping him to find himself: appreciating him, hang it! He
understands Jim a hundred times better than your mother ever
did…" On this basis the two men came together now and then
in a spirit of tolerant understanding…
Nona recalled her father's face as it had been when she left him:
worried, fagged, yet with that twinkle of gaiety his eyes always
had when he looked at her. Now, smoothed out, smiling, slightly
replete, it was hard as stone. "Like his own death–mask," the girl
thought; "as if he'd done with everything, once for all.—And the
way those two women bore him! Mummy put Gladys Toy next to him as
a reward—for what?" She smiled at her mother's simplicity in
imagining that he was having what Pauline called a "harmless
flirtation" with Mrs. Herman
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