The Reef

by Edith Wharton

  XVII

  At dinner that evening Madame de Chantelle's slender monologue wasthrown out over gulfs of silence. Owen was still in the same state ofmoody abstraction as when Darrow had left him at the piano; and evenAnna's face, to her friend's vigilant eye, revealed not, perhaps, apersonal preoccupation, but a vague sense of impending disturbance.

  She smiled, she bore a part in the talk, her eyes dwelt on Darrow's withtheir usual deep reliance; but beneath the surface of her serenity histense perceptions detected a hidden stir.

  He was sufficiently self-possessed to tell himself that it was doubtlessdue to causes with which he was not directly concerned. He knew thequestion of Owen's marriage was soon to be raised, and the abruptalteration in the young man's mood made it seem probable that he washimself the centre of the atmospheric disturbance, For a moment itoccurred to Darrow that Anna might have employed her afternoon inpreparing Madame de Chantelle for her grandson's impending announcement;but a glance at the elder lady's unclouded brow showed that he must seekelsewhere the clue to Owen's taciturnity and his step-mother's concern.Possibly Anna had found reason to change her own attitude in the matter,and had made the change known to Owen. But this, again, was negatived bythe fact that, during the afternoon's shooting, young Leath had been ina mood of almost extravagant expansiveness, and that, from the moment ofhis late return to the house till just before dinner, there had been,to Darrow's certain knowledge, no possibility of a private talk betweenhimself and his step-mother.

  This obscured, if it narrowed, the field of conjecture; and Darrow'sgropings threw him back on the conclusion that he was probably readingtoo much significance into the moods of a lad he hardly knew, and whohad been described to him as subject to sudden changes of humour. As toAnna's fancied perturbation, it might simply be due to the fact that shehad decided to plead Owen's cause the next day, and had perhaps alreadyhad a glimpse of the difficulties awaiting her. But Darrow knew that hewas too deep in his own perplexities to judge the mental state of thoseabout him. It might be, after all, that the variations he felt in thecurrents of communication were caused by his own inward tremor.

  Such, at any rate, was the conclusion he had reached when, shortly afterthe two ladies left the drawing-room, he bade Owen good-night and wentup to his room. Ever since the rapid self-colloquy which had followed onhis first sight of Sophy Viner, he had known there were other questionsto be faced behind the one immediately confronting him. On the scoreof that one, at least, his mind, if not easy, was relieved. He haddone what was possible to reassure the girl, and she had apparentlyrecognized the sincerity of his intention. He had patched up as decent aconclusion as he could to an incident that should obviously have hadno sequel; but he had known all along that with the securing of MissViner's peace of mind only a part of his obligation was discharged, andthat with that part his remaining duty was in conflict. It had been hisfirst business to convince the girl that their secret was safe withhim; but it was far from easy to square this with the equally urgentobligation of safe-guarding Anna's responsibility toward her child.Darrow was not much afraid of accidental disclosures. Both he and SophyViner had too much at stake not to be on their guard. The fear thatbeset him was of another kind, and had a profounder source. He wanted todo all he could for the girl, but the fact of having had to urge Annato confide Effie to her was peculiarly repugnant to him. His own ideasabout Sophy Viner were too mixed and indeterminate for him not to feelthe risk of such an experiment; yet he found himself in the intolerableposition of appearing to press it on the woman he desired above allothers to protect...

  Till late in the night his thoughts revolved in a turmoil of indecision.His pride was humbled by the discrepancy between what Sophy Viner hadbeen to him and what he had thought of her. This discrepancy, which atthe time had seemed to simplify the incident, now turned out to beits most galling complication. The bare truth, indeed, was that he hadhardly thought of her at all, either at the time or since, and that hewas ashamed to base his judgement of her on his meagre memory of theiradventure.

  The essential cheapness of the whole affair--as far as his share in itwas concerned--came home to him with humiliating distinctness. He wouldhave liked to be able to feel that, at the time at least, he hadstaked something more on it, and had somehow, in the sequel, had a morepalpable loss to show. But the plain fact was that he hadn't spent apenny on it; which was no doubt the reason of the prodigious score ithad since been rolling up. At any rate, beat about the case as he would,it was clear that he owed it to Anna--and incidentally to his own peaceof mind--to find some way of securing Sophy Viner's future withoutleaving her installed at Givre when he and his wife should depart fortheir new post.

  The night brought no aid to the solving of this problem; but it gavehim, at any rate, the clear conviction that no time was to be lost. Hisfirst step must be to obtain from Miss Viner the chance of another andcalmer talk; and he resolved to seek it at the earliest hour.

  He had gathered that Effie's lessons were preceded by an early scamperin the park, and conjecturing that her governess might be with her hebetook himself the next morning to the terrace, whence he wandered on tothe gardens and the walks beyond.

  The atmosphere was still and pale. The muffled sunlight gleamed likegold tissue through grey gauze, and the beech alleys tapered away to ablue haze blent of sky and forest. It was one of those elusive dayswhen the familiar forms of things seem about to dissolve in a prismaticshimmer.

  The stillness was presently broken by joyful barks, and Darrow, trackingthe sound, overtook Effie flying down one of the long alleys at the headof her pack. Beyond her he saw Miss Viner seated near the stone-rimmedbasin beside which he and Anna had paused on their first walk to theriver.

  The girl, coming forward at his approach, returned his greeting almostgaily. His first glance showed him that she had regained her composure,and the change in her appearance gave him the measure of her fears. Forthe first time he saw in her again the sidelong grace that had charmedhis eyes in Paris; but he saw it now as in a painted picture.

  "Shall we sit down a minute?" he asked, as Effie trotted off.

  The girl looked away from him. "I'm afraid there's not much time; wemust be back at lessons at half-past nine."

  "But it's barely ten minutes past. Let's at least walk a little waytoward the river."

  She glanced down the long walk ahead of them and then back in thedirection of the house. "If you like," she said in a low voice, with oneof her quick fluctuations of colour; but instead of taking the way heproposed she turned toward a narrow path which branched off obliquelythrough the trees.

  Darrow was struck, and vaguely troubled, by the change in her lookand tone. There was in them an undefinable appeal, whether for help orforbearance he could not tell. Then it occurred to him that there mighthave been something misleading in his so pointedly seeking her, and hefelt a momentary constraint. To ease it he made an abrupt dash at thetruth.

  "I came out to look for you because our talk of yesterday was sounsatisfactory. I want to hear more about you--about your plans andprospects. I've been wondering ever since why you've so completely givenup the theatre."

  Her face instantly sharpened to distrust. "I had to live," she said inan off-hand tone.

  "I understand perfectly that you should like it here--for a time."His glance strayed down the gold-roofed windings ahead of them. "It'sdelightful: you couldn't be better placed. Only I wonder a little atyour having so completely given up any idea of a different future."

  She waited for a moment before answering: "I suppose I'm less restlessthan I used to be."

  "It's certainly natural that you should be less restless here than atMrs. Murrett's; yet somehow I don't seem to see you permanently given upto forming the young."

  "What--exactly--DO you seem to see me permanently given up to? You knowyou warned me rather emphatically against the theatre." She threwoff the statement without impatience, as though they were discussingtogether the fate of a third person in whom bot
h were benevolentlyinterested. Darrow considered his reply. "If I did, it was because youso emphatically refused to let me help you to a start."

  She stopped short and faced him "And you think I may let you now?"

  Darrow felt the blood in his cheek. He could not understand herattitude--if indeed she had consciously taken one, and her changes oftone did not merely reflect the involuntary alternations of her mood. Ithumbled him to perceive once more how little he had to guide him in hisjudgment of her. He said to himself: "If I'd ever cared a straw forher I should know how to avoid hurting her now"--and his insensibilitystruck him as no better than a vulgar obtuseness. But he had a fixedpurpose ahead and could only push on to it.

  "I hope, at any rate, you'll listen to my reasons. There's been time,on both sides, to think them over since----" He caught himself backand hung helpless on the "since": whatever words he chose, he seemed tostumble among reminders of their past.

  She walked on beside him, her eyes on the ground. "Then I'm tounderstand--definitely--that you DO renew your offer?" she asked

  "With all my heart! If you'll only let me----"

  She raised a hand, as though to check him. "It's extremely friendly ofyou--I DO believe you mean it as a friend--but I don't quite understandwhy, finding me, as you say, so well placed here, you should show moreanxiety about my future than at a time when I was actually, and ratherdesperately, adrift."

  "Oh, no, not more!"

  "If you show any at all, it must, at any rate, be for differentreasons.--In fact, it can only be," she went on, with one of herdisconcerting flashes of astuteness, "for one of two reasons; eitherbecause you feel you ought to help me, or because, for some reason, youthink you owe it to Mrs. Leath to let her know what you know of me."

  Darrow stood still in the path. Behind him he heard Effie's call, and atthe child's voice he saw Sophy turn her head with the alertness of onewho is obscurely on the watch. The look was so fugitive that he couldnot have said wherein it differed from her normal professional air ofhaving her pupil on her mind.

  Effie sprang past them, and Darrow took up the girl's challenge.

  "What you suggest about Mrs. Leath is hardly worth answering. As to myreasons for wanting to help you, a good deal depends on the words oneuses to define rather indefinite things. It's true enough that I want tohelp you; but the wish isn't due to...to any past kindness on your part,but simply to my own interest in you. Why not put it that our friendshipgives me the right to intervene for what I believe to be your benefit?"

  She took a few hesitating steps and then paused again. Darrow noticedthat she had grown pale and that there were rings of shade about hereyes.

  "You've known Mrs. Leath a long time?" she asked him suddenly.

  He paused with a sense of approaching peril. "A long time--yes."

  "She told me you were friends--great friends"

  "Yes," he admitted, "we're great friends."

  "Then you might naturally feel yourself justified in telling her thatyou don't think I'm the right person for Effie." He uttered a sound ofprotest, but she disregarded it. "I don't say you'd LIKE to do it. Youwouldn't: you'd hate it. And the natural alternative would be to tryto persuade me that I'd be better off somewhere else than here. Butsupposing that failed, and you saw I was determined to stay? THEN youmight think it your duty to tell Mrs. Leath."

  She laid the case before him with a cold lucidity. "I should, in yourplace, I believe," she ended with a little laugh.

  "I shouldn't feel justified in telling her, behind your back, ifI thought you unsuited for the place; but I should certainly feeljustified," he rejoined after a pause, "in telling YOU if I thought theplace unsuited to you."

  "And that's what you're trying to tell me now?"

  "Yes; but not for the reasons you imagine."

  "What, then, are your reasons, if you please?"

  "I've already implied them in advising you not to give up all ideaof the theatre. You're too various, too gifted, too personal, to tieyourself down, at your age, to the dismal drudgery of teaching."

  "And is THAT what you've told Mrs. Leath?"

  She rushed the question out at him as if she expected to trip him upover it. He was moved by the simplicity of the stratagem.

  "I've told her exactly nothing," he replied.

  "And what--exactly--do you mean by 'nothing'? You and she were talkingabout me when I came into her sitting-room yesterday."

  Darrow felt his blood rise at the thrust.

  "I've told her, simply, that I'd seen you once or twice at Mrs.Murrett's."

  "And not that you've ever seen me since?"

  "And not that I've ever seen you since..."

  "And she believes you--she completely believes you?"

  He uttered a protesting exclamation, and his flush reflected itself inthe girl's cheek.

  "Oh, I beg your pardon! I didn't mean to ask you that." She halted, andagain cast a rapid glance behind and ahead of her. Then she held out herhand. "Well, then, thank you--and let me relieve your fears. I sha'n'tbe Effie's governess much longer."

  At the announcement, Darrow tried to merge his look of relief into theexpression of friendly interest with which he grasped her hand. "Youreally do agree with me, then? And you'll give me a chance to talkthings over with you?"

  She shook her head with a faint smile. "I'm not thinking of the stage.I've had another offer: that's all."

  The relief was hardly less great. After all, his personal responsibilityceased with her departure from Givre.

  "You'll tell me about that, then--won't you?"

  Her smile flickered up. "Oh, you'll hear about it soon...I must catchEffie now and drag her back to the blackboard."

  She walked on for a few yards, and then paused again and confronted him."I've been odious to you--and not quite honest," she broke out suddenly.

  "Not quite honest?" he repeated, caught in a fresh wave of wonder.

  "I mean, in seeming not to trust you. It's come over me again as wetalked that, at heart, I've always KNOWN I could..."

  Her colour rose in a bright wave, and her eyes clung to his for a swiftinstant of reminder and appeal. For the same space of time the pastsurged up in him confusedly; then a veil dropped between them.

  "Here's Effie now!" she exclaimed.

  He turned and saw the little girl trotting back to them, her hand inOwen Leath's. Even through the stir of his subsiding excitement Darrowwas at once aware of the change effected by the young man's approach.For a moment Sophy Viner's cheeks burned redder; then they faded tothe paleness of white petals. She lost, however, nothing of the brightbravery which it was her way to turn on the unexpected. Perhaps no oneless familiar with her face than Darrow would have discerned thetension of the smile she transferred from himself to Owen Leath, orhave remarked that her eyes had hardened from misty grey to a shiningdarkness. But her observer was less struck by this than by thecorresponding change in Owen Leath. The latter, when he came in sight,had been laughing and talking unconcernedly with Effie; but as his eyefell on Miss Viner his expression altered as suddenly as hers.

  The change, for Darrow, was less definable; but, perhaps for thatreason, it struck him as more sharply significant. Only--just what didit signify? Owen, like Sophy Viner, had the kind of face which seemsless the stage on which emotions move than the very stuff they workin. In moments of excitement his odd irregular features seemed to growfluid, to unmake and remake themselves like the shadows of clouds on astream. Darrow, through the rapid flight of the shadows, could not seizeon any specific indication of feeling: he merely perceived that theyoung man was unaccountably surprised at finding him with MissViner, and that the extent of his surprise might cover all manner ofimplications.

  Darrow's first idea was that Owen, if he suspected that the conversationwas not the result of an accidental encounter, might wonder at hisstep-mother's suitor being engaged, at such an hour, in private talkwith her little girl's governess. The thought was so disturbing that,as the three turned back to the house,
he was on the point of saying toOwen: "I came out to look for your mother." But, in the contingency hefeared, even so simple a phrase might seem like an awkward attempt atexplanation; and he walked on in silence at Miss Viner's side. Presentlyhe was struck by the fact that Owen Leath and the girl were silent also;and this gave a new turn to his thoughts. Silence may be as variouslyshaded as speech; and that which enfolded Darrow and his two companionsseemed to his watchful perceptions to be quivering with cross-threads ofcommunication. At first he was aware only of those that centred inhis own troubled consciousness; then it occurred to him that an equalactivity of intercourse was going on outside of it. Something was infact passing mutely and rapidly between young Leath and Sophy Viner; butwhat it was, and whither it tended, Darrow, when they reached the house,was but just beginning to divine...