In the hansom she leaned back with a sigh. Why must a girl pay so dearly for her least escapefrom routine?
Why could one never do a natural thing without having to screen it behind a structureof artifice?
She had yielded to a passing impulse in going to Lawrence Selden's rooms, and it was soseldom that she could allow herself the luxury of an impulse!
This one, at any rate, was going to costher rather more than she could afford.
She was vexed to see that, in spite of so many years ofvigilance, she had blundered twice within five minutes.
That stupid story about her dress-maker wasbad enough-it would have been so simple to tell Rosedale that she had been taking tea with Selden!The mere statement of the fact would have rendered it innocuous.
But, after having let herself besurprised in a falsehood, it was doubly stupid to snub the witness of her discomfiture.
If she had hadthe presence of mind to let Rosedale drive her to the station, the concession might have purchasedhis silence.
He had his race's accuracy in the appraisal of values, and to be seen walking down theplatform at the crowded afternoon hour in the company of Miss Lily Bart would have been moneyin his pocket, as he might himself have phrased it.
He knew, of course, that there would be a largehouse-party at Bellomont, and the possibility of being taken for one of Mrs. Trenor's guests wasdoubtless included in his calculations.
Mr. Rosedale was still at a stage in his social ascent when itwas of importance to produce such impressions.The provoking part was that Lily knew all this-knew how easy it would have been to silencehim on the spot, and how difficult it might be to do so afterward.
Mr. Simon Rosedale was a manwho made it his business to know everything about every one, whose idea of showing himself to beat home in society was to display an inconvenient familiarity with the habits of those with whom hewished to be thought intimate.
Lily was sure that within twenty-four hours the story of her visitingher dress-maker at the Benedick would be in active circulation among Mr. Rosedale's acquaintances.The worst of it was that she had always snubbed and ignored him.
On his first appearance-whenher improvident cousin, Jack Stepney, had obtained for him (in return for favours too easilyguessed) a card to one of the vast impersonal Van Osburgh "crushes"-Rosedale, with that mixtureof artistic sensibility and business astuteness which characterizes his race, had instantly gravitatedtoward Miss Bart.
She understood his motives, for her own course was guided by as nicecalculations.
Training and experience had taught her to be hospitable to newcomers, since the mostunpromising might be useful later on, and there were plenty of available OUBLIETTES to swallowthem if they were not.
But some intuitive repugnance, getting the better of years of social discipline,had made her push Mr. Rosedale into his OUBLIETTE without a trial. He had left behind only theripple of amusement which his speedy despatch had caused among her friends; and though later (toshift the metaphor) he reappeared lower down the stream, it was only in fleeting glimpses, with longsubmergences between.
