The Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton — Part 2Wharton, Edith
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The Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton — Part 2
Wharton, Edith
Fiction; Short stories, American
It struck her, whimsically, that she had seen that look when some shabby
devil called with a subscription-book. Perhaps he thought she wanted him
to put his name down for so much in sympathy--or even in money...
The thought made her laugh again. She saw his look change slowly to
perplexity. All his facial changes were slow, and she remembered,
suddenly, how it had once diverted her to shift that lumbering scenery
with a word. For the first time it struck her that she had been cruel.
“There IS a question of help,” she said in a softer key: “you can help
me; but only by listening... I want to tell you something...”
Arment’s resistance was not yielding. “Would it not be easier
to--write?” he suggested.
She shook her head. “There is no time to write... and it won’t take
long.” She raised her head and their eyes met. “My husband has left me,”
she said.
“Westall--?” he stammered, reddening again.
“Yes. This morning. Just as I left you. Because he was tired of me.”
The words, uttered scarcely above a whisper, seemed to dilate to the
limit of the room. Arment looked toward the door; then his embarrassed
glance returned to Julia.
“I am very sorry,” he said awkwardly.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“But I don’t see--”
“No--but you will--in a moment. Won’t you listen to me? Please!”
Instinctively she had shifted her position putting herself between
him and the door. “It happened this morning,” she went on in short
breathless phrases. “I never suspected anything--I thought we
were--perfectly happy... Suddenly he told me he was tired of me... there
is a girl he likes better... He has gone to her...” As she spoke, the
lurking anguish rose upon her, possessing her once more to the exclusion
of every other emotion. Her eyes ached, her throat swelled with it, and
two painful tears burnt a way down her face.
Arment’s constraint was increasing visibly. “This--this is very
unfortunate,” he began. “But I should say the law--”
“The law?” she echoed ironically. “When he asks for his freedom?”
“You are not obliged to give it.”
“You were not obliged to give me mine--but you did.”
He made a protesting gesture.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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