The Glimpses of the Moon

by Edith Wharton

  XII

  NICK LANSING, in the Milan express, was roused by the same bar ofsunshine lying across his knees. He yawned, looked with disgust at hisstolidly sleeping neighbours, and wondered why he had decided to go toMilan, and what on earth he should do when he got there. The difficultyabout trenchant decisions was that the next morning they generally leftone facing a void....

  When the train drew into the station at Milan, he scrambled out, gotsome coffee, and having drunk it decided to continue his journey toGenoa. The state of being carried passively onward postponed action anddulled thought; and after twelve hours of furious mental activity thatwas exactly what he wanted.

  He fell into a doze again, waking now and then to haggard intervalsof more thinking, and then dropping off to the clank and rattle of thetrain. Inside his head, in his waking intervals, the same clanking andgrinding of wheels and chains went on unremittingly. He had done all hislucid thinking within an hour of leaving the Palazzo Vanderlyn thenight before; since then, his brain had simply continued to revolveindefatigably about the same old problem. His cup of coffee, instead ofclearing his thoughts, had merely accelerated their pace.

  At Genoa he wandered about in the hot streets, bought a cheap suit-caseand some underclothes, and then went down to the port in search of alittle hotel he remembered there. An hour later he was sitting in thecoffee-room, smoking and glancing vacantly over the papers while hewaited for dinner, when he became aware of being timidly but intentlyexamined by a small round-faced gentleman with eyeglasses who sat aloneat the adjoining table.

  "Hullo--Buttles!" Lansing exclaimed, recognising with surprise therecalcitrant secretary who had resisted Miss Hicks's endeavour toconvert him to Tiepolo.

  Mr. Buttles, blushing to the roots of his scant hair, half rose andbowed ceremoniously.

  Nick Lansing's first feeling was of annoyance at being disturbed in hissolitary broodings; his next, of relief at having to postpone them evento converse with Mr. Buttles.

  "No idea you were here: is the yacht in harbour?" he asked, rememberingthat the Ibis must be just about to spread her wings.

  Mr. Buttles, at salute behind his chair, signed a mute negation: for themoment he seemed too embarrassed to speak.

  "Ah--you're here as an advance guard? I remember now--I saw Miss Hicksin Venice the day before yesterday," Lansing continued, dazed at thethought that hardly forty-eight hours had passed since his encounterwith Coral in the Scalzi.

  Mr. Buttles, instead of speaking, had tentatively approached his table."May I take this seat for a moment, Mr. Lansing? Thank you. No, I amnot here as an advance guard--though I believe the Ibis is due sometime to-morrow." He cleared his throat, wiped his eyeglasses on a silkhandkerchief, replaced them on his nose, and went on solemnly: "Perhaps,to clear up any possible misunderstanding, I ought to say that I am nolonger in the employ of Mr. Hicks."

  Lansing glanced at him sympathetically. It was clear that he sufferedhorribly in imparting this information, though his compact face did notlend itself to any dramatic display of emotion.

  "Really," Nick smiled, and then ventured: "I hope it's not owing toconscientious objections to Tiepolo?"

  Mr. Buttles's blush became a smouldering agony. "Ah, Miss Hicksmentioned to you... told you...? No, Mr. Lansing. I am principledagainst the effete art of Tiepolo, and of all his contemporaries, Iconfess; but if Miss Hicks chooses to surrender herself momentarilyto the unwholesome spell of the Italian decadence it is not for me toprotest or to criticize. Her intellectual and aesthetic range so farexceeds my humble capacity that it would be ridiculous, unbecoming...."

  He broke off, and once more wiped a faint moisture from his eyeglasses.It was evident that he was suffering from a distress which he longed andyet dreaded to communicate. But Nick made no farther effort to bridgethe gulf of his own preoccupations; and Mr. Buttles, after an expectantpause, went on: "If you see me here to-day it is only because, aftera somewhat abrupt departure, I find myself unable to take leave ofour friends without a last look at the Ibis--the scene of so manystimulating hours. But I must beg you," he added earnestly, "should yousee Miss Hicks--or any other member of the party--to make no allusionto my presence in Genoa. I wish," said Mr. Buttles with simplicity, "topreserve the strictest incognito."

  Lansing glanced at him kindly. "Oh, but--isn't that a littleunfriendly?"

  "No other course is possible, Mr. Lansing," said the ex-secretary, "andI commit myself to your discretion. The truth is, if I am here it is notto look once more at the Ibis, but at Miss Hicks: once only. You willunderstand me, and appreciate what I am suffering."

  He bowed again, and trotted away on his small, tightly-booted feet;pausing on the threshold to say: "From the first it was hopeless,"before he disappeared through the glass doors.

  A gleam of commiseration flashed through Nick's mind: there wassomething quaintly poignant in the sight of the brisk and efficientMr. Buttles reduced to a limp image of unrequited passion. And whata painful surprise to the Hickses to be thus suddenly deprived of thesecretary who possessed "the foreign languages"! Mr. Beck kept theaccounts and settled with the hotel-keepers; but it was Mr. Buttles'sloftier task to entertain in their own tongues the unknown geniuses whoflocked about the Hickses, and Nick could imagine how disconcerting hisdeparture must be on the eve of their Grecian cruise which Mrs. Hickswould certainly call an Odyssey.

  The next moment the vision of Coral's hopeless suitor had faded, andNick was once more spinning around on the wheel of his own woes.The night before, when he had sent his note to Susy, from a littlerestaurant close to Palazzo Vanderlyn that they often patronized, he haddone so with the firm intention of going away for a day or two in orderto collect his wits and think over the situation. But after his letterhad been entrusted to the landlord's little son, who was a particularfriend of Susy's, Nick had decided to await the lad's return. Themessenger had not been bidden to ask for an answer; but Nick, knowingthe friendly and inquisitive Italian mind, was almost sure that the boy,in the hope of catching a glimpse of Susy, would linger about while theletter was carried up. And he pictured the maid knocking at his wife'sdarkened room, and Susy dashing some powder on her tear-stained facebefore she turned on the light--poor foolish child!

  The boy had returned rather sooner than Nick expected, and he hadbrought no answer, but merely the statement that the signora was out:that everybody was out.

  "Everybody?"

  "The signora and the four gentlemen who were dining at the palace. Theyall went out together on foot soon after dinner. There was no one towhom I could give the note but the gondolier on the landing, for thesignora had said she would be very late, and had sent the maid to bed;and the maid had, of course, gone out immediately with her innamorato."

  "Ah--" said Nick, slipping his reward into the boy's hand, and walkingout of the restaurant.

  Susy had gone out--gone out with their usual band, as she did everynight in these sultry summer weeks, gone out after her talk with Nick,as if nothing had happened, as if his whole world and hers had notcrashed in ruins at their feet. Ah, poor Susy! After all, she had merelyobeyed the instinct of self preservation, the old hard habit of keepingup, going ahead and hiding her troubles; unless indeed the habit hadalready engendered indifference, and it had become as easy for her asfor most of her friends to pass from drama to dancing, from sorrow tothe cinema. What of soul was left, he wondered--?

  His train did not start till midnight, and after leaving the restaurantNick tramped the sultry by-ways till his tired legs brought him to astandstill under the vine-covered pergola of a gondolier's wine-shop ata landing close to the Piazzetta. There he could absorb cooling drinksuntil it was time to go to the station.

  It was after eleven, and he was beginning to look about for a boat, whena black prow pushed up to the steps, and with much chaff and laughter aparty of young people in evening dress jumped out. Nick, from under thedarkness of the vine, saw that there was only one lady among them, andit did not need the lamp above the landing to rev
eal her identity. Susy,bareheaded and laughing, a light scarf slipping from her bare shoulders,a cigarette between her fingers, took Strefford's arm and turned in thedirection of Florian's, with Gillow, the Prince and young Breckenridgein her wake....

  Nick had relived this rapid scene hundreds of times during his hoursin the train and his aimless trampings through the streets of Genoa. Inthat squirrel-wheel of a world of his and Susy's you had to keep goingor drop out--and Susy, it was evident, had chosen to keep going. Underthe lamp-flare on the landing he had had a good look at her face, andhad seen that the mask of paint and powder was carefully enough adjustedto hide any ravages the scene between them might have left. He evenfancied that she had dropped a little atropine into her eyes....

  There was no time to spare if he meant to catch the midnight train, andno gondola in sight but that which his wife had just left. He spranginto it, and bade the gondolier carry him to the station. The cushions,as he leaned back, gave out a breath of her scent; and in the glare ofelectric light at the station he saw at his feet a rose which had fallenfrom her dress. He ground his heel into it as he got out.

  There it was, then; that was the last picture he was to have of her. Forhe knew now that he was not going back; at least not to take up theirlife together. He supposed he should have to see her once, to talkthings over, settle something for their future. He had been sincere insaying that he bore her no ill-will; only he could never go back intothat slough again. If he did, he knew he would inevitably be drawnunder, slipping downward from concession to concession....

  The noises of a hot summer night in the port of Genoa would have keptthe most care-free from slumber; but though Nick lay awake he didnot notice them, for the tumult in his brain was more deafening. Dawnbrought a negative relief, and out of sheer weariness he dropped into aheavy sleep. When he woke it was nearly noon, and from his window he sawthe well-known outline of the Ibis standing up dark against the glitterof the harbour. He had no fear of meeting her owners, who had doubtlesslong since landed and betaken themselves to cooler and more fashionableregions: oddly enough, the fact seemed to accentuate his loneliness, hissense of having no one on earth to turn to. He dressed, and wandered outdisconsolately to pick up a cup of coffee in some shady corner.

  As he drank his coffee his thoughts gradually cleared. It becameobvious to him that he had behaved like a madman or a petulant child--hepreferred to think it was like a madman. If he and Susy were to separatethere was no reason why it should not be done decently and quietly, assuch transactions were habitually managed among people of their kind.It seemed grotesque to introduce melodrama into their little worldof unruffled Sybarites, and he felt inclined, now, to smile at theincongruity of his gesture.... But suddenly his eyes filled with tears.The future without Susy was unbearable, inconceivable. Why, after all,should they separate? At the question, her soft face seemed closeto his, and that slight lift of the upper lip that made her smile soexquisite. Well-he would go back. But not with any presence of going totalk things over, come to an agreement, wind up their joint life likea business association. No--if he went back he would go withoutconditions, for good, forever....

  Only, what about the future? What about the not far-distant day whenthe wedding cheques would have been spent, and Granny's pearls sold,and nothing left except unconcealed and unconditional dependence on richfriends, the role of the acknowledged hangers-on? Was there no otherpossible solution, no new way of ordering their lives? No--therewas none: he could not picture Susy out of her setting of luxury andleisure, could not picture either of them living such a life as the NatFulmers, for instance! He remembered the shabby untidy bungalow inNew Hampshire, the slatternly servants, uneatable food and ubiquitouschildren. How could he ask Susy to share such a life with him? If hedid, she would probably have the sense to refuse. Their alliance hadbeen based on a moment's midsummer madness; now the score must bepaid....

  He decided to write. If they were to part he could not trust himself tosee her. He called a waiter, asked for pen and paper, and pushed asidea pile of unread newspapers on the corner of the table where his coffeehad been served. As he did so, his eye lit on a Daily Mail of two daysbefore. As a pretext for postponing his letter, he took up the paper andglanced down the first page. He read:

  "Tragic Yachting Accident in the Solent. The Earl of Altringham andhis son Viscount d'Amblay drowned in midnight collision. Both bodiesrecovered."

  He read on. He grasped the fact that the disaster had happened thenight before he had left Venice and that, as the result of a fog inthe Solent, their old friend Strefford was now Earl of Altringham, andpossessor of one of the largest private fortunes in England. It wasvertiginous to think of their old impecunious Streff as the hero of suchan adventure. And what irony in that double turn of the wheel which, inone day, had plunged him, Nick Lansing, into nethermost misery, while ittossed the other to the stars!

  With an intenser precision he saw again Susy's descent from the gondolaat the calle steps, the sound of her laughter and of Strefford's chaff,the way she had caught his arm and clung to it, sweeping the other menon in her train. Strefford--Susy and Strefford!... More than once, Nickhad noticed the softer inflections of his friend's voice when he spoketo Susy, the brooding look in his lazy eyes when they rested on her. Inthe security of his wedded bliss Nick had made light of those signs. Theonly real jealousy he had felt had been of Fred Gillow, because of hisunlimited power to satisfy a woman's whims. Yet Nick knew that suchmaterial advantages would never again suffice for Susy. With Streffordit was different. She had delighted in his society while he wasnotoriously ineligible; might not she find him irresistible now?

  The forgotten terms of their bridal compact came back to Nick: theabsurd agreement on which he and Susy had solemnly pledged their faith.But was it so absurd, after all? It had been Susy's suggestion (not his,thank God!); and perhaps in making it she had been more serious than heimagined. Perhaps, even if their rupture had not occurred, Strefford'ssudden honours might have caused her to ask for her freedom....

  Money, luxury, fashion, pleasure: those were the four cornerstonesof her existence. He had always known it--she herself had alwaysacknowledged it, even in their last dreadful talk together; and once hehad gloried in her frankness. How could he ever have imagined that, tohave her fill of these things, she would not in time stoop lower thanshe had yet stooped? Perhaps in giving her up to Strefford he might besaving her. At any rate, the taste of the past was now so bitter to himthat he was moved to thank whatever gods there were for pushing thatmortuary paragraph under his eye....

  "Susy, dear [he wrote], the fates seem to have taken our future in hand,and spared us the trouble of unravelling it. If I have sometimes beenselfish enough to forget the conditions on which you agreed to marryme, they have come back to me during these two days of solitude. You'vegiven me the best a man can have, and nothing else will ever be worthmuch to me. But since I haven't the ability to provide you with what youwant, I recognize that I've no right to stand in your way. We must oweno more Venetian palaces to underhand services. I see by the newspapersthat Streff can now give you as many palaces as you want. Let him havethe chance--I fancy he'll jump at it, and he's the best man in sight. Iwish I were in his shoes.

  "I'll write again in a day or two, when I've collected my wits, and cangive you an address. NICK."

  He added a line on the subject of their modest funds, put the letterinto an envelope, and addressed it to Mrs. Nicholas Lansing. As he didso, he reflected that it was the first time he had ever written hiswife's married name.

  "Well--by God, no other woman shall have it after her," he vowed, as hegroped in his pocketbook for a stamp.

  He stood up with a stretch of weariness--the heat was stifling!--and putthe letter in his pocket.

  "I'll post it myself, it's safer," he thought; "and then what in thename of goodness shall I do next, I wonder?" He jammed his hat down onhis head and walked out into the sun-blaze.

  As he was turning away from the square by th
e general Post Office, awhite parasol waved from a passing cab, and Coral Hicks leaned forwardwith outstretched hand. "I knew I'd find you," she triumphed. "I'vebeen driving up and down in this broiling sun for hours, shopping andwatching for you at the same time."

  He stared at her blankly, too bewildered even to wonder how she knew hewas in Genoa; and she continued, with the kind of shy imperiousness thatalways made him feel, in her presence, like a member of an orchestraunder a masterful baton; "Now please get right into this carriage, anddon't keep me roasting here another minute." To the cabdriver she calledout: "Al porto."

  Nick Lansing sank down beside her. As he did so he noticed a heap ofbundles at her feet, and felt that he had simply added one more to thenumber. He supposed that she was taking her spoils to the Ibis, andthat he would be carried up to the deck-house to be displayed with theothers. Well, it would all help to pass the day--and by night he wouldhave reached some kind of a decision about his future.

  On the third day after Nick's departure the post brought to the PalazzoVanderlyn three letters for Mrs. Lansing.

  The first to arrive was a word from Strefford, scribbled in the trainand posted at Turin. In it he briefly said that he had been called homeby the dreadful accident of which Susy had probably read in the dailypapers. He added that he would write again from England, and then--ina blotted postscript--: "I wanted uncommonly badly to see you forgood-bye, but the hour was impossible. Regards to Nick. Do write me justa word to Altringham."

  The other two letters, which came together in the afternoon, were bothfrom Genoa. Susy scanned the addresses and fell upon the one in herhusband's writing. Her hand trembled so much that for a moment she couldnot open the envelope. When she had done so, she devoured the letter ina flash, and then sat and brooded over the outspread page as it lay onher knee. It might mean so many things--she could read into it somany harrowing alternatives of indifference and despair, of irony andtenderness! Was he suffering tortures when he wrote it, or seekingonly to inflict them upon her? Or did the words represent his actualfeelings, no more and no less, and did he really intend her tounderstand that he considered it his duty to abide by the letter oftheir preposterous compact? He had left her in wrath and indignation,yet, as a closer scrutiny revealed, there was not a word of reproach inhis brief lines. Perhaps that was why, in the last issue, they seemed socold to her.... She shivered and turned to the other envelope.

  The large stilted characters, though half-familiar, called up nodefinite image. She opened the envelope and discovered a post-card ofthe Ibis, canvas spread, bounding over a rippled sea. On the back waswritten:

  "So awfully dear of you to lend us Mr. Lansing for a little cruise. Youmay count on our taking the best of care of him.

  "CORAL"