Edith Wharton - Novella 01 Read Online Free PDF Page A

as he sat by his fire, with a bust of Pallas
(adorned by a Greek cap & a faded blue breast-knot) presiding over him,
& read his dismissal. But here I propose to spare my reader. I suppose
every lover raves in the same rhetoric, when his mistress plays him false,
& when to you, Sylvia, or you, Damon, that bitter day comes, you will know
pretty accurately how Guy felt & what Guy said. Let us, then, pass over an
hour, & reenter our hero’s domain with Jack Egerton, who, at about 11 o’clock,
gave his sharp, short rap at the door of that sanctum. “Who the devil is it?”
said Guy, savagely, starting at the sound. “ Your Mentor.” “Jack?—Confound you!—Well, come in if you like.” “I do like, most
decidedly,” said Egerton briskly, sending a puff of balmy Havana smoke before
him as he entered. “What’s the matter now? I’ve been at Swift’s after you,
& didn’t half expect to find you moping here.” “I don’t care where I am,”
said Guy with a groan. “Sit down. What is the use of living?” “Shall I answer
you from a scientific, theological or moral point of view?” “Neither. Don’t be
a fool.” “Oh,” with a slight shrug, “I thought you might like me to keep you
company.” Guy growled. “I don’t know whether you want to be kicked or not,” he
said, glaring at poor Jack, “but I feel deucedly like trying it.” “Do, my dear
fellow! If it will shake you out of this agreeable fit of the dumps I shall
feel that it is not paying too dearly.” Guy was silent for a moment; then he
picked up Georgie’s letter & held it at arm’s length, before his friend. “Look
there,” he said. Jack nodded. “My death warrant.” He
stooped down & pushed it deep into the smouldering coals—it burst into a
clear flame, & then died out & turned to ashes. “Woman’s love,”
observed Jack sententiously. Jack was a boasted misogynist, & if he had not
pitied Guy from the depths of his honest heart, might have felt some lawful
triumph in the stern way in which his favourite maxim, “Woman is false” was
brought home to his long unbelieving friend; such a triumph as that classic
bore, Mentor, doubtless experienced when Telemachus broke loose from the rosy
toils of Calypso. “There,” he continued. “If you have the pluck to take your
fancy—your passion—whatever you choose to call it, & burn it as you burned
that paper, I have some hopes for you.” Guy sat staring absently at the red
depths of the falling fire. “Did a woman ever serve you so, Jack?” he asked,
suddenly, facing about & looking at Egerton sharply; but Jack did not
flinch. “No,” he said in a voice of the profoundest scorn; “I never gave one of
them a chance to do it. You might as well say, did I
ever pick up a rattle-snake, let it twist round my arm & say: ‘Bite!’ No, decidedly not!” “Then you believe that all women are the
same?” “What else have I always preached to you?” cried Jack, warming with his
favourite subject. “What does Pope say? “Every woman is at heart a rake’! And
Pope knew ’em. And I know ’em. Look here; your cousin is not the only woman you’ve
had to do with. How did the others treat you? Ah—I remember the innkeeper’s
daughter that vacation in Wales, my boy!” “Don’t,” said Guy reddening angrily. “It
was my own fault. I was only a boy, & I was a fool to think I cared for the
girl—that’s nothing. She is the only woman I ever loved!” “So
much the better. The more limited one’s experience, the less harm it
will do. Only guard yourself from repeating such a favourite folly.” “There’s
no danger of that!” “I hope not,” said Egerton. “But I have got a plan to
propose to you. After such a little complaint as you have been suffering from,
change of scene & climate is considered the best cure. Come to Italy with
me, old fellow!” “To Italy!” Guy repeated. “When? How soon?” “The day after tomorrow.” “But-I-I meant—I hoped… to see