Edith Wharton - SSC 10 (12 page)

 
          
I
gave a haughty laugh. “I see. Whereas a humble lodger like
myself—
But
there are other hotels at Mont Soleil, you may remind the management from me.”

 
          
“Oh,
Monsieur, Monsieur—you can’t be so severe on a lady’s whim,” Antoine murmured
reprovingly.

 
          
Of
course I couldn’t. Antoine’s advice was always educational. I shrugged, and
accepting my banishment, looked about for another interesting neighbour to
watch instead of Mrs. Ingram. But I found that no one else interested me…

 
          
  

 
          
“Don’t
you think you might tell me now,” I said to Mrs. Ingram a few days later, “why
your friend insisted on banishing me to the farther end of the restaurant?”

 
          
I
need hardly say that, in spite of Miss Wilpert’s prejudice against her compatriots,
she had not been able to prevent my making the acquaintance of Mrs. Ingram. I
forget how it came about—the pretext of a dropped letter, a deck chair to be
moved out of the sun, or one of the hundred devices which bring two people
together when they are living idle lives under the same roof. I had not gained
my end without difficulty, however, for the ill-assorted pair
were
almost always together. But luckily Miss Wilpert played
bridge, and Mrs. Ingram did not, and before long I had learned to profit by
this opportunity, and in the course of time to make the fullest use of it.

 
          
Yet
after a fortnight I had to own that I did not know much more about Mrs. Ingram
than when I had first seen her. She was younger than I had thought, probably
not over thirty-two or three; she was wealthy; she was shy; she came from
California
, or at any rate had lived there. For the
last two years or more she appeared to have travelled, encircling the globe,
and making long stays in places as far apart as
Ceylon
, Teneriffe,
Rio
and
Cairo
. She seemed, on the whole, to have enjoyed
these wanderings. She asked me many questions about the countries she had
visited, and I saw that she belonged to the class of intelligent but untaught
travellers who can learn more by verbal explanations than from books.
Unprepared as she was for the sights awaiting her, she had necessarily observed
little, and understood less; but she had been struck by the more conspicuous
features of the journey, and the Taj, the Parthenon and the Pyramids had not escaped
her. On the subject of her travels she was at least superficially
communicative; and as she never alluded to husband or child, or to any other
friend or relative, I was driven to conclude that Miss Wilpert had been her
only companion. This deepened the mystery, and made me feel that I knew no more
of her real self than on the day when I had first seen her; but, perhaps partly
for that reason, I found her increasingly interesting. It was clear that she
shrank from strangers, but I could not help seeing that with me she was happy
and at ease, and as ready as I was to profit by our opportunities of being
together. It was only when Miss Wilpert appeared that her old shyness returned,
and I suspected that she was reluctant to let her companion see what good
friends we had become.

 
          
I
had put my indiscreet question about Miss Wilpert somewhat abruptly, in the
hope of startling Mrs. Ingram out of her usual reserve; and I saw by the quick
rise of colour under her pale skin that I had nearly succeeded. But after a
moment she replied, with a smile: “I can’t believe Cassie ever said anything so
silly.”

 
          
“You
can’t? Then I wish you’d ask her; and if it was just an invention of that
head-waiter’s I’ll make him give me back my table before he’s a day older.”

 
          
Mrs.
Ingram still smiled. “I hope you won’t make a fuss about such a trifle. Perhaps
Cassie did say something foolish. She’s not used to travelling, and sometimes
takes odd notions.”

 
          
The
ambiguity of the answer was obviously meant to warn me off; but having risked
one question I was determined to risk another. “Miss Wilpert’s a very old
friend, I suppose?”

 
          
“Yes;
very,” said Mrs. Ingram non-committally.

 
          
“And
was she always with you when you were at home?”

 
          
My
question seemed to find her unprepared.
“At home—?”

 
          
“I
mean, where you lived.
California
, wasn’t it?”

 
          
She
looked relieved. “Oh, yes; Cassie Wilpert was with me in
California
.”

 
          
“But
there she must have had to associate with her compatriots?”

 
          
“Yes;
that’s one reason why she was so glad when I decided to travel,” said Mrs.
Ingram with a faint touch of irony, and then added: “Poor Cassie was very
unhappy at one time; there were people who were unkind to her. That accounts
for her prejudices, I suppose.”

 
          
“I’m
sorry I’m one of them. What can I do to make up to her?”

 
          
I
fancied I saw a slight look of alarm in Mrs. Ingram’s eyes. “Oh, you’d much
better leave her alone.”

 
          
“But
she’s always with you; and I don’t want to leave you alone.”

 
          
Mrs.
Ingram smiled, and then sighed. “We shall be going soon now.”

 
          
“And
then Miss Wilpert will be rid of me?”

 
          
Mrs.
Ingram looked at me quickly; her eyes were plaintive, almost entreating. “I
shall never leave her; she’s been like a—a sister to me,” she murmured,
answering a question I had not put.

 
          
The
word startled me; and I noticed that Mrs. Ingram had hesitated a moment before
pronouncing it.
A sister to her—that coarse red-handed woman?
The words sounded as if they had been spoken by rote. I saw at once that they
did not express the speaker’s real feeling, and that, whatever that was, she
did not mean to let me find it out.

 
          
Some
of the bridge-players with whom Miss Wilpert consorted were coming toward us,
and I stood up to leave. “Don’t let Miss Wilpert carry you off on my account. I
promise you I’ll keep out of her way,” I said, laughing.

 
          
Mrs.
Ingram straightened herself almost imperiously. “I’m not at Miss Wilpert’s
orders; she can’t take me away from any place I choose to stay in,” she said;
but a moment later, lowering her voice, she breathed to me quickly: “Go now; I
see her coming.”

 
          
  

 
          
I
don’t mind telling you that I was not altogether happy about my attitude toward
Mrs. Ingram. I’m not given to prying into other people’s secrets; yet I had not
scrupled to try to trap her into revealing hers. For that there was a secret I
was now convinced; and I excused myself for trying to get to the bottom of it
by the fact that I was sure I should find Miss Wilpert there, and that the idea
was abhorrent to me. The relation between the two women, I had by now
discovered, was one of mutual animosity; not the kind of animosity which may be
the disguise of more complicated sentiments, but the simple incompatibility
that was bound to exist between two women so different in class and character.
Miss Wilpert was a coarse, uneducated woman, with, as far as I could see, no
redeeming qualities, moral or mental, to bridge the distance between herself
and her companion; and the mystery was that any past tie or obligation, however
strong, should have made Mrs. Ingram tolerate her.

 
          
I
knew how easily rich and idle women may become dependent on some vulgar
tyrannical house-keeper or companion who renders them services and saves them
trouble; but I saw at once that this theory did not explain the situation. On
the contrary, it was Miss Wilpert who was dependent on Mrs. Ingram, who looked
to her as guide, interpreter, and manager of their strange association. Miss
Wilpert possessed no language but her own, and of that only a local vernacular
which made it difficult to explain her wants (and they were many) even to the
polyglot servants of a Swiss hotel. Mrs. Ingram spoke a carefully acquired if
laborious French, and was conscientiously preparing for a winter in Naples by
taking a daily lesson in Italian; and I noticed that whenever an order was to
be given, an excursion planned, or any slight change effected in the day’s
arrangements, Miss Wilpert, suddenly embarrassed and helpless, always waited
for Mrs. Ingram to interpret for her. It was obvious, therefore, that she was a
burden and not a help to her employer, and that I must look deeper to discover
the nature of their bond.

 
          
Mrs.
Ingram, guide-book in hand, appealed to me one day about their autumn plans. “I
think we shall be leaving next week; and they say here we ought not to miss the
Italian lakes.”

 
          
“Leaving
next week?
But why?
The lakes are not at their best
till after the middle of September. You’ll find them very stuffy after this
high air.”

 
          
Mrs.
Ingram sighed. “Cassie’s tired of it here. She says she doesn’t like the
people.”

 
          
I
looked at her, and then ventured with a smile: “Don’t you mean that she doesn’t
like me?”

 
          
“I
don’t see why you think that—”

 
          
“Well,
I daresay it sounds rather fatuous. But you
do
know why I think it; and you think it yourself.” I hesitated a moment, and then
went on, lowering my voice: “Since you attach such importance to Miss Wilpert’s
opinions, it’s natural I should want to know why she dislikes seeing me with
you.”

 
          
Mrs.
Ingram looked at me helplessly. “Well, if she doesn’t like you—”

 
          
“Yes;
but in reality I don’t think it’s me she dislikes, but the fact of my being
with you.”

 
          
She
looked disturbed at this. “But if she dislikes you, it’s natural she shouldn’t
want you to be with me.”

 
          
“And
do her likes and dislikes regulate all your friendships?”

 
          
“Friendships?
I’ve so few; I know hardly any one,” said Mrs.
Ingram, looking away.

 
          
“You’d
have as many as you chose if she’d let you,” I broke out angrily.

 
          
She
drew herself up with the air of dignity she could assume on occasion. “I don’t
know why you find so much pleasure in saying disagreeable things to me about
my—my friend.”

 
          
The
answer rushed to my lips: “Why did she begin by saying disagreeable things
about me?”—but just in time I saw that I was on the brink of a futile wrangle
with the woman whom, at that moment, I was the most anxious not to displease.
How anxious, indeed, I now saw for the first time, in the light of my own
anger. For what on earth did I care for the disapproval of a creature like Miss
Wilpert, except as it interfered with my growing wish to stand well with Kate
Ingram? The answer I did make sprang to my lips before I could repress it.
“Because—you must know by this time.
Because I can’t bear
that anything or any one should come between us.”

 
          
“Between us—?”

 
          
I
pressed on, hardly knowing what I was saying.
“Because
nothing matters to me as much as what you feel about me.
In fact,
nothing else matters at all.”