The Fruit of the Tree

by Edith Wharton

  XIII

  MRS. ANSELL was engaged in what she called picking up threads. She hadbeen abroad for the summer--had, in, fact, transferred herself but a fewhours earlier from her returning steamer to the little station atLynbrook--and was now, in the bright September afternoon, which left herin sole possession of the terrace of Lynbrook House, using that pleasanteminence as a point of observation from which to gather up some of theloose ends of history dropped at her departure.

  It might have been thought that the actual scene out-spread belowher--the descending gardens, the tennis-courts, the farm-lands slopingaway to the blue sea-like shimmer of the Hempstead plains--offered, atthe moment, little material for her purpose; but that was to view themwith a superficial eye. Mrs. Ansell's trained gaze was, for example,greatly enlightened by the fact that the tennis-courts were fringed by agroup of people indolently watchful of the figures agitating themselvesabout the nets; and that, as she turned her head toward the entranceavenue, the receding view of a station omnibus, followed by aluggage-cart, announced that more guests were to be added to those whohad almost taxed to its limits the expansibility of the luncheon-table.

  All this, to the initiated eye, was full of suggestion; but itssignificance was as nothing to that presented by the approach of twofigures which, as Mrs. Ansell watched, detached themselves from thecluster about the tennis-ground and struck, obliquely and at a desultorypace, across the lawn toward the terrace. The figures--those of a slightyoung man with stooping shoulders, and of a lady equally youthful butslenderly erect--moved forward in absorbed communion, as if unconsciousof their surroundings and indefinite as to their direction, till, on thebrink of the wide grass terrace just below their observer's parapet,they paused a moment and faced each other in closer speech. Thisinterchange of words, though brief in measure of time, lasted longenough to add a vivid strand to Mrs. Ansell's thickening skein; then, ona gesture of the lady's, and without signs of formal leave-taking, theyoung man struck into a path which regained the entrance avenue, whilehis companion, quickening her pace, crossed the grass terrace andmounted the wide stone steps sweeping up to the house.

  These brought her out on the upper terrace a few yards from Mrs.Ansell's post, and exposed her, unprepared, to the full beam of welcomewhich that lady's rapid advance threw like a searchlight across herpath.

  "Dear Miss Brent! I was just wondering how it was that I hadn't seen youbefore." Mrs. Ansell, as she spoke, drew the girl's hand into a longsoft clasp which served to keep them confronted while she delicatelygroped for whatever thread the encounter seemed to proffer.

  Justine made no attempt to evade the scrutiny to which she found herselfexposed; she merely released her hand by a movement instinctivelyevasive of the mechanical endearment, explaining, with a smile thatsoftened the gesture: "I was out with Cicely when you arrived. We'vejust come in."

  "The dear child! I haven't seen her either." Mrs. Ansell continued tobestow upon the speaker's clear dark face an intensity of attention inwhich, for the moment, Cicely had no perceptible share. "I hear you areteaching her botany, and all kinds of wonderful things."

  Justine smiled again. "I am trying to teach her to wonder: that is thehardest faculty to cultivate in the modern child."

  "Yes--I suppose so; in myself," Mrs. Ansell admitted with a responsivebrightness, "I find it develops with age. The world is a remarkableplace." She threw this off absently, as though leaving Miss Brent toapply it either to the inorganic phenomena with which Cicely wassupposed to be occupied, or to those subtler manifestations that engagedher own attention.

  "It's a great thing," she continued, "for Bessy to have had yourhelp--for Cicely, and for herself too. There is so much that I want youto tell me about her. As an old friend I want the benefit of yourfresher eye."

  "About Bessy?" Justine hesitated, letting her glance drift to thedistant group still anchored about the tennis-nets. "Don't you find herlooking better?"

  "Than when I left? So much so that I was unduly disturbed, just now, byseeing that clever little doctor--it _was_ he, wasn't it, who came upthe lawn with you?"

  "Dr. Wyant? Yes." Miss Brent hesitated again. "But he merelycalled--with a message."

  "Not professionally? _Tant mieux!_ The truth is, I was anxious aboutBessy when I left--I thought she ought to have gone abroad for a change.But, as it turns out, her little excursion with you did as well."

  "I think she only needed rest. Perhaps her six weeks in the Adirondackswere better than Europe."

  "Ah, under _your_ care--that made them better!" Mrs. Ansell in turnhesitated, the lines of her face melting and changing as if a rapidstage-hand had shifted them. When she spoke again they were as open as apublic square, but also as destitute of personal significance, as flatand smooth as the painted drop before the real scene it hides.

  "I have always thought that Bessy, for all her health and activity,needs as much care as Cicely--the kind of care a clever friend can give.She is so wasteful of her strength and her nerves, and so unwilling tolisten to reason. Poor Dick Westmore watched over her as if she were ababy; but perhaps Mr. Amherst, who must have been used to such adifferent type of woman, doesn't realize...and then he's so littlehere...." The drop was lit up by a smile that seemed to make it moreimpenetrable. "As an old friend I can't help telling you how much I hopeshe is to have you with her for a long time--a long, long time."

  Miss Brent bent her head in slight acknowledgment of the tribute. "Oh,soon she will not need any care----"

  "My dear Miss Brent, she will always need it!" Mrs. Ansell made amovement inviting the young girl to share the bench from which, at thelatter's approach, she had risen. "But perhaps there is not enough insuch a life to satisfy your professional energies."

  She seated herself, and after an imperceptible pause Justine sank intothe seat beside her. "I am very glad, just now, to give my energies aholiday," she said, leaning back with a little sigh of retrospectiveweariness.

  "You are tired too? Bessy wrote me you had been quite used up by atrying case after we saw you at Hanaford."

  Miss Brent smiled. "When a nurse is fit for work she calls a trying casea 'beautiful' one."

  "But meanwhile--?" Mrs. Ansell shone on her with elder-sisterlysolicitude. "Meanwhile, why not stay on with Cicely--above all, withBessy? Surely she's a 'beautiful' case too."

  "Isn't she?" Justine laughingly agreed.

  "And if you want to be tried--" Mrs. Ansell swept the scene with aslight lift of her philosophic shoulders--"you'll find there are trialsenough everywhere."

  Her companion started up with a glance at the small watch on her breast."One of them is that it's already after four, and that I must see thattea is sent down to the tennis-ground, and the new arrivals lookedafter."

  "I saw the omnibus on its way to the station. Are many more peoplecoming?"

  "Five or six, I believe. The house is usually full for Sunday."

  Mrs. Ansell made a slight motion to detain her. "And when is Mr. Amherstexpected?"

  Miss Brent's pale cheek seemed to take on a darker tone of ivory, andher glance dropped from her companion's face to the vivid stretch ofgardens at their feet. "Bessy has not told me," she said.

  "Ah--" the older woman rejoined, looking also toward the gardens, as ifto intercept Miss Brent's glance in its flight. The latter stood still amoment, with the appearance of not wishing to evade whatever else hercompanion might have to say; then she moved away, entering the house byone window just as Mr. Langhope emerged from it by another.

  The sound of his stick tapping across the bricks roused Mrs. Ansell fromher musings, but she showed her sense of his presence simply byreturning to the bench she had just left; and accepting this muteinvitation, Mr. Langhope crossed the terrace and seated himself at herside.

  When he had done so they continued to look at each other withoutspeaking, after the manner of old friends possessed of occult means ofcommunication; and as the result of this inward colloquy Mr. Langhope atlength said: "Well, what do you make of it?"r />
  "What do _you_?" she rejoined, turning full upon him a face so releasedfrom its usual defences and disguises that it looked at once older andmore simple than the countenance she presented to the world.

  Mr. Langhope waved a deprecating hand. "I want your fresherimpressions."

  "That's what I just now said to Miss Brent."

  "You've been talking to Miss Brent?"

  "Only a flying word--she had to go and look after the new arrivals."

  Mr. Langhope's attention deepened. "Well, what did you say to her?"

  "Wouldn't you rather hear what she said to _me_?"

  He smiled. "A good cross-examiner always gets the answers he wants. Letme hear your side, and I shall know hers."

  "I should say that applied only to stupid cross-examiners; or to thosewho have stupid subjects to deal with. And Miss Brent is not stupid, youknow."

  "Far from it! What else do you make out?"

  "I make out that she's in possession."

  "Here?"

  "Don't look startled. Do you dislike her?"

  "Heaven forbid--with those eyes! She has a wit of her own, too--and shecertainly makes things easier for Bessy."

  "She guards her carefully, at any rate. I could find out nothing."

  "About Bessy?"

  "About the general situation."

  "Including Miss Brent?"

  Mrs. Ansell smiled faintly. "I made one little discovery about her."

  "Well?"

  "She's intimate with the new doctor."

  "Wyant?" Mr. Langhope's interest dropped. "What of that? I believe sheknew him before."

  "I daresay. It's of no special importance, except as giving us apossible clue to her character. She strikes me as interesting andmysterious."

  Mr. Langhope smiled. "The things your imagination does for you!"

  "It helps me to see that we may find Miss Brent useful as a friend."

  "A friend?"

  "An ally." She paused, as if searching for a word. "She may restore theequilibrium."

  Mr. Langhope's handsome face darkened. "Open Bessy's eyes to Amherst?Damn him!" he said quietly.

  Mrs. Ansell let the imprecation pass. "When was he last here?" sheasked.

  "Five or six weeks ago--for one night. His only visit since she cameback from the Adirondacks."

  "What do you think his motive is? He must know what he risks in losinghis hold on Bessy."

  "His motive? With your eye for them, can you ask? A devouring ambition,that's all! Haven't you noticed that, in all except the biggest minds,ambition takes the form of wanting to command where one has had to obey?Amherst has been made to toe the line at Westmore, and now he wantsTruscomb--yes, and Halford Gaines, too!--to do the same. That's thesecret of his servant-of-the-people pose--gad, I believe it's the wholesecret of his marriage! He's devouring my daughter's substance to payoff an old score against the mills. He'll never rest till he hasTruscomb out, and some creature of his own in command--and then, _voguela galere_! If it were women, now," Mr. Langhope summed up impatiently,"one could understand it, at his age, and with that damned romantichead--but to be put aside for a lot of low mongrelly socialistmill-hands--ah, my poor girl--my poor girl!"

  Mrs. Ansell mused. "You didn't write me that things were so bad. There'sbeen no actual quarrel?" she asked.

  "How can there be, when the poor child does all he wants? He's simplytoo busy to come and thank her!"

  "Too busy at Hanaford?"

  "So he says. Introducing the golden age at Westmore--it's likely to bethe age of copper at Lynbrook."

  Mrs. Ansell drew a meditative breath. "I was thinking of that. Iunderstood that Bessy would have to retrench while the changes atWestmore were going on."

  "Well--didn't she give up Europe, and cable over to countermand her newmotor?"

  "But the life here! This mob of people! Miss Brent tells me the house isfull for every week-end."

  "Would you have my daughter cut off from all her friends?"

  Mrs. Ansell met this promptly. "From some of the new ones, at any rate!Have you heard who has just arrived?"

  Mr. Langhope's hesitation showed a tinge of embarrassment. "I'm notsure--some one has always just arrived."

  "Well, the Fenton Carburys, then!" Mrs. Ansell left it to her tone toannotate the announcement.

  Mr. Langhope raised his eyebrows slightly. "Are they likely to be anexceptionally costly pleasure?"

  "If you're trying to prove that I haven't kept to the point--I canassure you that I'm well within it!"

  "But since the good Blanche has got her divorce and married Carbury,wherein do they differ from other week-end automata?"

  "Because most divorced women marry again to be respectable."

  Mr. Langhope smiled faintly. "Yes--that's their punishment. But it wouldbe too dull for Blanche."

  "Precisely. _She_ married again to see Ned Bowfort!"

  "Ah--that may yet be hers!"

  Mrs. Ansell sighed at his perversity. "Meanwhile, she's brought himhere, and it is unnatural to see Bessy lending herself to suchcombinations."

  "You're corrupted by a glimpse of the old societies. Here Bowfort andCarbury are simply hands at bridge."

  "Old hands at it--yes! And the bridge is another point: Bessy never usedto play for money."

  "Well, she may make something, and offset her husband's prodigalities."

  "There again--with this _train de vie_, how on earth are both ends tomeet?"

  Mr. Langhope grown suddenly grave, struck his cane resoundingly on theterrace. "Westmore and Lynbrook? I don't want them to--I want them toget farther and farther apart!"

  She cast on him a look of startled divination. "You want Bessy to go onspending too much money?"

  "How can I help it if it costs?"

  "If what costs--?" She stopped, her eyes still wide; then their glancescrossed, and she exclaimed: "If your scheme costs? It _is_ your scheme,then?"

  He shrugged his shoulders again. "It's a passive attitude----"

  "Ah, the deepest plans are that!" Mr. Langhope uttered no protest, andshe continued to piece her conjectures together. "But you expect it tolead up to something active. Do you want a rupture?"

  "I want him brought back to his senses."

  "Do you think that will bring him back to _her_?"

  "Where the devil else will he have to go?"

  Mrs. Ansell's eyes dropped toward the gardens, across which desultoryknots of people were straggling back from the ended tennis-match. "Ah,here they all come," she said, rising with a half-sigh; and as she stoodwatching the advance of the brightly-tinted groups she added slowly:"It's ingenious--but you don't understand him."

  Mr. Langhope stroked his moustache. "Perhaps not," he assentedthoughtfully. "But suppose we go in before they join us? I want to showyou a set of Ming I picked up the other day for Bessy. I flatter myselfI _do_ understand Ming."