House of Mirth (Barnes & Noble Classics - Edith Wharton [180]
Having passionately celebrated her reunion with her offspring, and excused herself in cryptic language for the lateness of her return, Nettie restored the baby to the crib and shyly invited Miss Bart to the rocking-chair near the stove.
“We’ve got a parlour too,” she explained with pardonable pride; “but I guess it’s warmer in here, and I don’t want to leave you alone while I’m getting baby’s supper.”
On receiving Lily’s assurance that she much preferred the friendly proximity of the kitchen fire, Mrs. Struther proceeded to prepare a bottle of infantile food, which she tenderly applied to the baby’s impatient lips; and while the ensuing degustation went on, she seated herself with a beaming countenance beside her visitor.
“You’re sure you won’t let me warm up a drop of coffee for you, Miss Bart? There’s some of baby’s fresh milk left over—well, maybe you’d rather just sit quiet and rest a little while. It’s too lovely having you here. I’ve thought of it so often that I can’t believe it’s really come true. I’ve said to George again and again: ‘I just wish Miss Bart could see me now—’ and I used to watch for your name in the papers, and we’d talk over what you were doing, and read the descriptions of the dresses you wore. I haven’t seen your name for a long time, though, and I began to be afraid you were sick, and it worried me so that George said I’d get sick myself, fretting about it.” Her lips broke into a reminiscent smile. “Well, I can’t afford to be sick again, that’s a fact: the last spell nearly finished me. When you sent me off that time I never thought I’d come back alive, and I didn’t much care if I did. You see I didn’t know about George and the baby then.”
She paused to readjust the bottle to the child’s bubbling mouth.
“You precious—don’t you be in too much of a hurry! Was it mad with mommer for getting its supper so late? Marry Anto’nette—that’s what we call her: after the French queen in that play at the Garden—I told George the actress reminded me of you, and that made me fancy the name... I never thought I’d get married, you know, and I’d never have had the heart to go on working just for myself.”
She broke off again, and meeting the encouragement in Lily’s eyes, went on, with a flush rising under her anæmic skin: “You see I wasn’t only just sick that time you sent me off—I was dreadfully unhappy too. I’d known a gentleman where I was employed—I don’t know as you remember I did type-writing in a big importing firm—and—well—I thought we were to be married: he’d gone steady with me six months and given me his mother’s wedding ring. But I presume he was too stylish for me—he travelled for the firm, and had seen a great deal of society. Work girls aren’t looked after the way you are, and they don’t always know how to look after themselves. I didn’t... and it pretty near killed me when he went away and left off writing... It was then I came down sick—I thought it was the end of everything. I guess it would have been if you hadn’t sent me off But when I found I was getting well I began to take heart in spite of myself And then, when I got back home, George came round and asked me to marry him. At first I thought I couldn’t, because we’d been brought up together, and I knew he knew about me. But after a while I began to see that that made it easier. I never could have told another man, and I’d never have married without telling; but if George cared for me enough to have me as I was, I didn’t see why I shouldn’t begin over again—and I did.”
The strength of the victory shone forth from her as she lifted her irradiated face from the child on her knees.
“But, mercy, I didn’t mean to go on like this about myself, with you sitting there looking so fagged out. Only it