kleines bad fliesen ideen bilder

chapter 9 in mrs. peniston's youth, fashion hadreturned to town in october; therefore on the tenth day of the month the blinds ofher fifth avenue residence were drawn up, and the eyes of the dying gladiator in bronze who occupied the drawing-room windowresumed their survey of that deserted thoroughfare. the first two weeks after her returnrepresented to mrs. peniston the domestic equivalent of a religious retreat. she "went through" the linen and blanketsin the precise spirit of the penitent

exploring the inner folds of conscience;she sought for moths as the stricken soul seeks for lurking infirmities. the topmost shelf of every closet was madeto yield up its secret, cellar and coal-bin were probed to their darkest depths and, asa final stage in the lustral rites, the entire house was swathed in penitentialwhite and deluged with expiatory soapsuds. it was on this phase of the proceedingsthat miss bart entered on the afternoon of her return from the van osburgh wedding. the journey back to town had not beencalculated to soothe her nerves. though evie van osburgh's engagement wasstill officially a secret, it was one of

which the innumerable intimate friends ofthe family were already possessed; and the trainful of returning guests buzzed withallusions and anticipations. lily was acutely aware of her own part inthis drama of innuendo: she knew the exact quality of the amusement the situationevoked. the crude forms in which her friends tooktheir pleasure included a loud enjoyment of such complications: the zest of surprisingdestiny in the act of playing a practical joke. lily knew well enough how to bear herselfin difficult situations. she had, to a shade, the exact mannerbetween victory and defeat: every

insinuation was shed without an effort bythe bright indifference of her manner. but she was beginning to feel the strain ofthe attitude; the reaction was more rapid, and she lapsed to a deeper self-disgust. as was always the case with her, this moralrepulsion found a physical outlet in a quickened distaste for her surroundings. she revolted from the complacent uglinessof mrs. peniston's black walnut, from the slippery gloss of the vestibule tiles, andthe mingled odour of sapolio and furniture- polish that met her at the door. the stairs were still carpetless, and onthe way up to her room she was arrested on

the landing by an encroaching tide ofsoapsuds. gathering up her skirts, she drew asidewith an impatient gesture; and as she did so she had the odd sensation of havingalready found herself in the same situation but in different surroundings. it seemed to her that she was againdescending the staircase from selden's rooms; and looking down to remonstrate withthe dispenser of the soapy flood, she found herself met by a lifted stare which had once before confronted her under similarcircumstances. it was the char-woman of the benedick who,resting on crimson elbows, examined her

with the same unflinching curiosity, thesame apparent reluctance to let her pass. on this occasion, however, miss bart was onher own ground. "don't you see that i wish to go by?please move your pail," she said sharply. the woman at first seemed not to hear;then, without a word of excuse, she pushed back her pail and dragged a wet floor-clothacross the landing, keeping her eyes fixed on lily while the latter swept by. it was insufferable that mrs. penistonshould have such creatures about the house; and lily entered her room resolved that thewoman should be dismissed that evening. mrs. peniston, however, was at the momentinaccessible to remonstrance: since early

morning she had been shut up with her maid,going over her furs, a process which formed the culminating episode in the drama ofhousehold renovation. in the evening also lily found herselfalone, for her aunt, who rarely dined out, had responded to the summons of a vanalstyne cousin who was passing through town. the house, in its state of unnaturalimmaculateness and order, was as dreary as a tomb, and as lily, turning from her briefrepast between shrouded sideboards, wandered into the newly-uncovered glare of the drawing-room she felt as though shewere buried alive in the stifling limits of

mrs. peniston's existence.she usually contrived to avoid being at home during the season of domestic renewal. on the present occasion, however, a varietyof reasons had combined to bring her to town; and foremost among them was the factthat she had fewer invitations than usual for the autumn. she had so long been accustomed to passfrom one country-house to another, till the close of the holidays brought her friendsto town, that the unfilled gaps of time confronting her produced a sharp sense ofwaning popularity. it was as she had said to selden--peoplewere tired of her.

they would welcome her in a new character,but as miss bart they knew her by heart. she knew herself by heart too, and was sickof the old story. there were moments when she longed blindlyfor anything different, anything strange, remote and untried; but the utmost reach ofher imagination did not go beyond picturing her usual life in a new setting. she could not figure herself as anywherebut in a drawing-room, diffusing elegance as a flower sheds perfume. meanwhile, as october advanced she had toface the alternative of returning to the trenors or joining her aunt in town.

even the desolating dulness of new york inoctober, and the soapy discomforts of mrs. peniston's interior, seemed preferable towhat might await her at bellomont; and with an air of heroic devotion she announced her intention of remaining with her aunt tillthe holidays. sacrifices of this nature are sometimesreceived with feelings as mixed as those which actuate them; and mrs. penistonremarked to her confidential maid that, if any of the family were to be with her at such a crisis (though for forty years shehad been thought competent to see to the hanging of her own curtains), she wouldcertainly have preferred miss grace to miss

lily. grace stepney was an obscure cousin, ofadaptable manners and vicarious interests, who "ran in" to sit with mrs. peniston whenlily dined out too continuously; who played bezique, picked up dropped stitches, read out the deaths from the times, andsincerely admired the purple satin drawing- room curtains, the dying gladiator in thewindow, and the seven-by-five painting of niagara which represented the one artisticexcess of mr. peniston's temperate career. mrs. peniston, under ordinarycircumstances, was as much bored by her excellent cousin as the recipient of suchservices usually is by the person who

performs them. she greatly preferred the brilliant andunreliable lily, who did not know one end of a crochet-needle from the other, and hadfrequently wounded her susceptibilities by suggesting that the drawing-room should be"done over." but when it came to hunting for missingnapkins, or helping to decide whether the backstairs needed re-carpeting, grace'sjudgment was certainly sounder than lily's: not to mention the fact that the latter resented the smell of beeswax and brownsoap, and behaved as though she thought a house ought to keep clean of itself,without extraneous assistance.

seated under the cheerless blaze of thedrawing-room chandelier--mrs. peniston never lit the lamps unless there was"company"--lily seemed to watch her own figure retreating down vistas of neutral- tinted dulness to a middle age like gracestepney's. when she ceased to amuse judy trenor andher friends she would have to fall back on amusing mrs. peniston; whichever way shelooked she saw only a future of servitude to the whims of others, never the possibility of asserting her own eagerindividuality. a ring at the door-bell, soundingemphatically through the empty house,

roused her suddenly to the extent of herboredom. it was as though all the weariness of thepast months had culminated in the vacuity of that interminable evening. if only the ring meant a summons from theouter world--a token that she was still remembered and wanted! after some delay a parlour-maid presentedherself with the announcement that there was a person outside who was asking to seemiss bart; and on lily's pressing for a more specific description, she added: "it's mrs. haffen, miss; she won't say whatshe wants."

lily, to whom the name conveyed nothing,opened the door upon a woman in a battered bonnet, who stood firmly planted under thehall-light. the glare of the unshaded gas shonefamiliarly on her pock-marked face and the reddish baldness visible through thinstrands of straw-coloured hair. lily looked at the char-woman in surprise. "do you wish to see me?" she asked."i should like to say a word to you, miss." the tone was neither aggressive norconciliatory: it revealed nothing of the speaker's errand. nevertheless, some precautionary instinctwarned lily to withdraw beyond ear-shot of

the hovering parlour-maid. she signed to mrs. haffen to follow herinto the drawing-room, and closed the door when they had entered."what is it that you wish?" she enquired. the char-woman, after the manner of herkind, stood with her arms folded in her shawl.unwinding the latter, she produced a small parcel wrapped in dirty newspaper. "i have something here that you might liketo see, miss bart." she spoke the name with an unpleasantemphasis, as though her knowing it made a part of her reason for being there.

to lily the intonation sounded like athreat. "you have found something belonging to me?"she asked, extending her hand. mrs. haffen drew back. "well, if it comes to that, i guess it'smine as much as anybody's," she returned. lily looked at her perplexedly. she was sure, now, that her visitor'smanner conveyed a threat; but, expert as she was in certain directions, there wasnothing in her experience to prepare her for the exact significance of the presentscene. she felt, however, that it must be ended aspromptly as possible.

"i don't understand; if this parcel is notmine, why have you asked for me?" the woman was unabashed by the question. she was evidently prepared to answer it,but like all her class she had to go a long way back to make a beginning, and it wasonly after a pause that she replied: "my husband was janitor to the benedick till the first of the month; since then he can'tget nothing to do." lily remained silent and she continued: "itwasn't no fault of our own, neither: the agent had another man he wanted the placefor, and we was put out, bag and baggage, just to suit his fancy.

i had a long sickness last winter, and anoperation that ate up all we'd put by; and it's hard for me and the children, haffenbeing so long out of a job." after all, then, she had come only to askmiss bart to find a place for her husband; or, more probably, to seek the young lady'sintervention with mrs. peniston. lily had such an air of always getting whatshe wanted that she was used to being appealed to as an intermediary, and,relieved of her vague apprehension, she took refuge in the conventional formula. "i am sorry you have been in trouble," shesaid. "oh, that we have, miss, and it's on'y justbeginning.

if on'y we'd 'a got another situation--butthe agent, he's dead against us. it ain't no fault of ours, neither, but----" at this point lily's impatience overcameher. "if you have anything to say to me----" sheinterposed. the woman's resentment of the rebuff seemedto spur her lagging ideas. "yes, miss; i'm coming to that," she said. she paused again, with her eyes on lily,and then continued, in a tone of diffuse narrative: "when we was at the benedick ihad charge of some of the gentlemen's rooms; leastways, i swep' 'em out onsaturdays.

some of the gentlemen got the greatestsight of letters: i never saw the like of it. their waste-paper baskets 'd be fairlybrimming, and papers falling over on the floor.maybe havin' so many is how they get so careless. some of 'em is worse than others.mr. selden, mr. lawrence selden, he was always one of the carefullest: burnt hisletters in winter, and tore 'em in little bits in summer. but sometimes he'd have so many he'd justbunch 'em together, the way the others did,

and tear the lot through once--like this." while she spoke she had loosened the stringfrom the parcel in her hand, and now she drew forth a letter which she laid on thetable between miss bart and herself. as she had said, the letter was torn intwo; but with a rapid gesture she laid the torn edges together and smoothed out thepage. a wave of indignation swept over lily. she felt herself in the presence ofsomething vile, as yet but dimly conjectured--the kind of vileness of whichpeople whispered, but which she had never thought of as touching her own life.

she drew back with a motion of disgust, buther withdrawal was checked by a sudden discovery: under the glare of mrs.peniston's chandelier she had recognized the hand-writing of the letter. it was a large disjointed hand, with aflourish of masculinity which but slightly disguised its rambling weakness, and thewords, scrawled in heavy ink on pale-tinted notepaper, smote on lily's ear as thoughshe had heard them spoken. at first she did not grasp the full importof the situation. she understood only that before her lay aletter written by bertha dorset, and addressed, presumably, to lawrence selden.

there was no date, but the blackness of theink proved the writing to be comparatively recent. the packet in mrs. haffen's hand doubtlesscontained more letters of the same kind--a dozen, lily conjectured from its thickness. the letter before her was short, but itsfew words, which had leapt into her brain before she was conscious of reading them,told a long history--a history over which, for the last four years, the friends of the writer had smiled and shrugged, viewing itmerely as one among the countless "good situations" of the mundane comedy.

now the other side presented itself tolily, the volcanic nether side of the surface over which conjecture and innuendoglide so lightly till the first fissure turns their whisper to a shriek. lily knew that there is nothing societyresents so much as having given its protection to those who have not known howto profit by it: it is for having betrayed its connivance that the body socialpunishes the offender who is found out. and in this case there was no doubt of theissue. the code of lily's world decreed that awoman's husband should be the only judge of her conduct: she was technically abovesuspicion while she had the shelter of his

approval, or even of his indifference. but with a man of george dorset's temperthere could be no thought of condonation-- the possessor of his wife's letters couldoverthrow with a touch the whole structure of her existence. and into what hands bertha dorset's secrethad been delivered! for a moment the irony of the coincidencetinged lily's disgust with a confused sense of triumph. but the disgust prevailed--all herinstinctive resistances, of taste, of training, of blind inherited scruples, roseagainst the other feeling.

her strongest sense was one of personalcontamination. she moved away, as though to put as muchdistance as possible between herself and her visitor. "i know nothing of these letters," shesaid; "i have no idea why you have brought them here."mrs. haffen faced her steadily. "i'll tell you why, miss. i brought 'em to you to sell, because iain't got no other way of raising money, and if we don't pay our rent by tomorrownight we'll be put out. i never done anythin' of the kind before,and if you'd speak to mr. selden or to mr.

rosedale about getting haffen taken onagain at the benedick--i seen you talking to mr. rosedale on the steps that day youcome out of mr. selden's rooms----" the blood rushed to lily's forehead.she understood now--mrs. haffen supposed her to be the writer of the letters. in the first leap of her anger she wasabout to ring and order the woman out; but an obscure impulse restrained her.the mention of selden's name had started a new train of thought. bertha dorset's letters were nothing toher--they might go where the current of chance carried them!but selden was inextricably involved in

their fate. men do not, at worst, suffer much from suchexposure; and in this instance the flash of divination which had carried the meaning ofthe letters to lily's brain had revealed also that they were appeals--repeated and therefore probably unanswered--for therenewal of a tie which time had evidently relaxed. nevertheless, the fact that thecorrespondence had been allowed to fall into strange hands would convict selden ofnegligence in a matter where the world holds it least pardonable; and there were

graver risks to consider where a man ofdorset's ticklish balance was concerned. if she weighed all these things it wasunconsciously: she was aware only of feeling that selden would wish the lettersrescued, and that therefore she must obtain possession of them. beyond that her mind did not travel. she had, indeed, a quick vision ofreturning the packet to bertha dorset, and of the opportunities the restitutionoffered; but this thought lit up abysses from which she shrank back ashamed. meanwhile mrs. haffen, prompt to perceiveher hesitation, had already opened the

packet and ranged its contents on thetable. all the letters had been pieced togetherwith strips of thin paper. some were in small fragments, the othersmerely torn in half. though there were not many, thus spread outthey nearly covered the table. lily's glance fell on a word here andthere--then she said in a low voice: "what do you wish me to pay you?" mrs. haffen's face reddened withsatisfaction. it was clear that the young lady was badlyfrightened, and mrs. haffen was the woman to make the most of such fears.

anticipating an easier victory than she hadforeseen, she named an exorbitant sum. but miss bart showed herself a less readyprey than might have been expected from her imprudent opening. she refused to pay the price named, andafter a moment's hesitation, met it by a counter-offer of half the amount.mrs. haffen immediately stiffened. her hand travelled toward the outspreadletters, and folding them slowly, she made as though to restore them to theirwrapping. "i guess they're worth more to you than tome, miss, but the poor has got to live as well as the rich," she observedsententiously.

lily was throbbing with fear, but theinsinuation fortified her resistance. "you are mistaken," she said indifferently. "i have offered all i am willing to givefor the letters; but there may be other ways of getting them." mrs. haffen raised a suspicious glance: shewas too experienced not to know that the traffic she was engaged in had perils asgreat as its rewards, and she had a vision of the elaborate machinery of revenge which a word of this commanding young lady'smight set in motion. she applied the corner of her shawl to hereyes, and murmured through it that no good

came of bearing too hard on the poor, butthat for her part she had never been mixed up in such a business before, and that on her honour as a christian all she andhaffen had thought of was that the letters mustn't go any farther. lily stood motionless, keeping betweenherself and the char-woman the greatest distance compatible with the need ofspeaking in low tones. the idea of bargaining for the letters wasintolerable to her, but she knew that, if she appeared to weaken, mrs. haffen wouldat once increase her original demand. she could never afterward recall how longthe duel lasted, or what was the decisive

stroke which finally, after a lapse of timerecorded in minutes by the clock, in hours by the precipitate beat of her pulses, put her in possession of the letters; she knewonly that the door had finally closed, and that she stood alone with the packet in herhand. she had no idea of reading the letters;even to unfold mrs. haffen's dirty newspaper would have seemed degrading.but what did she intend to do with its contents? the recipient of the letters had meant todestroy them, and it was her duty to carry out his intention.

she had no right to keep them--to do so wasto lessen whatever merit lay in having secured their possession. but how destroy them so effectually thatthere should be no second risk of their falling in such hands? mrs. peniston's icy drawing-room grateshone with a forbidding lustre: the fire, like the lamps, was never lit except whenthere was company. miss bart was turning to carry the lettersupstairs when she heard the opening of the outer door, and her aunt entered thedrawing-room. mrs. peniston was a small plump woman, witha colourless skin lined with trivial

wrinkles. her grey hair was arranged with precision,and her clothes looked excessively new and yet slightly old-fashioned. they were always black and tightly fitting,with an expensive glitter: she was the kind of woman who wore jet at breakfast. lily had never seen her when she was notcuirassed in shining black, with small tight boots, and an air of being packed andready to start; yet she never started. she looked about the drawing-room with anexpression of minute scrutiny. "i saw a streak of light under one of theblinds as i drove up: it's extraordinary

that i can never teach that woman to drawthem down evenly." having corrected the irregularity, sheseated herself on one of the glossy purple arm-chairs; mrs. peniston always sat on achair, never in it. then she turned her glance to miss bart. "my dear, you look tired; i suppose it'sthe excitement of the wedding. cornelia van alstyne was full of it: mollywas there, and gerty farish ran in for a minute to tell us about it. i think it was odd, their serving melonsbefore the consomme: a wedding breakfast should always begin with consomme.molly didn't care for the bridesmaids'

dresses. she had it straight from julia melson thatthey cost three hundred dollars apiece at celeste's, but she says they didn't lookit. i'm glad you decided not to be abridesmaid; that shade of salmon-pink wouldn't have suited you." mrs. peniston delighted in discussing theminutest details of festivities in which she had not taken part. nothing would have induced her to undergothe exertion and fatigue of attending the van osburgh wedding, but so great was herinterest in the event that, having heard

two versions of it, she now prepared toextract a third from her niece. lily, however, had been deplorably carelessin noting the particulars of the entertainment. she had failed to observe the colour ofmrs. van osburgh's gown, and could not even say whether the old van osburgh sevres hadbeen used at the bride's table: mrs. peniston, in short, found that she was of more service as a listener than as anarrator. "really, lily, i don't see why you took thetrouble to go to the wedding, if you don't remember what happened or whom you sawthere.

when i was a girl i used to keep the menuof every dinner i went to, and write the names of the people on the back; and inever threw away my cotillion favours till after your uncle's death, when it seemed unsuitable to have so many coloured thingsabout the house. i had a whole closet-full, i remember; andi can tell to this day what balls i got them at. molly van alstyne reminds me of what i wasat that age; it's wonderful how she notices. she was able to tell her mother exactly howthe wedding-dress was cut, and we knew at

once, from the fold in the back, that itmust have come from paquin." mrs. peniston rose abruptly, and, advancingto the ormolu clock surmounted by a helmeted minerva, which throned on thechimney-piece between two malachite vases, passed her lace handkerchief between thehelmet and its visor. "i knew it--the parlour-maid never duststhere!" she exclaimed, triumphantly displaying a minute spot on thehandkerchief; then, reseating herself, she went on: "molly thought mrs. dorset thebest-dressed woman at the wedding. i've no doubt her dress did cost more thanany one else's, but i can't quite like the idea--a combination of sable and point demilan.

it seems she goes to a new man in paris,who won't take an order till his client has spent a day with him at his villa atneuilly. he says he must study his subject's homelife--a most peculiar arrangement, i should say! but mrs. dorset told molly about itherself: she said the villa was full of the most exquisite things and she was reallysorry to leave. molly said she never saw her lookingbetter; she was in tremendous spirits, and said she had made a match between evie vanosburgh and percy gryce. she really seems to have a very goodinfluence on young men.

i hear she is interesting herself now inthat silly silverton boy, who has had his head turned by carry fisher, and has beengambling so dreadfully. well, as i was saying, evie is reallyengaged: mrs. dorset had her to stay with percy gryce, and managed it all, and gracevan osburgh is in the seventh heaven--she had almost despaired of marrying evie." mrs. peniston again paused, but this timeher scrutiny addressed itself, not to the furniture, but to her niece. "cornelia van alstyne was so surprised: shehad heard that you were to marry young gryce.

she saw the wetheralls just after they hadstopped with you at bellomont, and alice wetherall was quite sure there was anengagement. she said that when mr. gryce leftunexpectedly one morning, they all thought he had rushed to town for the ring."lily rose and moved toward the door. "i believe i am tired: i think i will go tobed," she said; and mrs. peniston, suddenly distracted by the discovery that the easelsustaining the late mr. peniston's crayon- portrait was not exactly in line with the sofa in front of it, presented an absent-minded brow to her kiss. in her own room lily turned up the gas-jetand glanced toward the grate.

it was as brilliantly polished as the onebelow, but here at least she could burn a few papers with less risk of incurring heraunt's disapproval. she made no immediate motion to do so,however, but dropping into a chair looked wearily about her. her room was large and comfortably-furnished--it was the envy and admiration of poor grace stepney, who boarded; but,contrasted with the light tints and luxurious appointments of the guest-rooms where so many weeks of lily's existencewere spent, it seemed as dreary as a prison.

the monumental wardrobe and bedstead ofblack walnut had migrated from mr. peniston's bedroom, and the magenta "flock"wall-paper, of a pattern dear to the early 'sixties, was hung with large steelengravings of an anecdotic character. lily had tried to mitigate this charmlessbackground by a few frivolous touches, in the shape of a lace-decked toilet table anda little painted desk surmounted by photographs; but the futility of the attempt struck her as she looked about theroom. what a contrast to the subtle elegance ofthe setting she had pictured for herself-- an apartment which should surpass thecomplicated luxury of her friends'

surroundings by the whole extent of that artistic sensibility which made her feelherself their superior; in which every tint and line should combine to enhance herbeauty and give distinction to her leisure! once more the haunting sense of physicalugliness was intensified by her mental depression, so that each piece of theoffending furniture seemed to thrust forth its most aggressive angle. her aunt's words had told her nothing new;but they had revived the vision of bertha dorset, smiling, flattered, victorious,holding her up to ridicule by insinuations intelligible to every member of theirlittle group.

the thought of the ridicule struck deeperthan any other sensation: lily knew every turn of the allusive jargon which couldflay its victims without the shedding of blood. her cheek burned at the recollection, andshe rose and caught up the letters. she no longer meant to destroy them: thatintention had been effaced by the quick corrosion of mrs. peniston's words. instead, she approached her desk, andlighting a taper, tied and sealed the packet; then she opened the wardrobe, drewout a despatch-box, and deposited the letters within it.

as she did so, it struck her with a flashof irony that she was indebted to gus trenor for the means of buying them.

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