The House of Mirth · Book II · Chapter 2 7 (2/2)

Rosedale, as she listened, seemed to read in her silence not only a gradual acquiescence in his plan, but a dangerously far-reaching perception of the chances it offered; for as she continued to stand before him without speaking, he broke out, with a quick return upon himself: “You see how simple it is, don’t you? Well, don’t be carried away by the idea that it’s too simple. It isn’t exactly as if you’d started in with a clean bill of health. Now we’re talking let’s call things by their right names, and clear the whole business up. You know well enough that Bertha Dorset couldn’t have touched you if there hadn’t been⁠—well⁠—questions asked before⁠—little points of interrogation, eh? Bound to happen to a good-looking girl with stingy relatives, I suppose; anyhow, they did happen, and she found the ground prepared for her. Do you see where I’m coming out? You don’t want these little questions cropping up again. It’s one thing to get Bertha Dorset into line⁠—but what you want is to keep her there. You can frighten her fast enough⁠—but how are you going to keep her frightened? By showing her that you’re as powerful as she is. All the letters in the world won’t do that for you as you are now; but with a big backing behind you, you’ll keep her just where you want her to be. That’s my share in the business⁠—that’s what I’m offering you. You can’t put the thing through without me⁠—don’t run away with any idea that you can. In six months you’d be back again among your old worries, or worse ones; and here I am, ready to lift you out of ’em tomorrow if you say so. Do you say so, Miss Lily?” he added, moving suddenly nearer.

The words, and the movement which accompanied them, combined to startle Lily out of the state of tranced subservience into which she had insensibly slipped. Light comes in devious ways to the groping consciousness, and it came to her now through the disgusted perception that her would-be accomplice assumed, as a matter of course, the likelihood of her distrusting him and perhaps trying to cheat him of his share of the spoils. This glimpse of his inner mind seemed to present the whole transaction in a new aspect, and she saw that the essential baseness of the act lay in its freedom from risk.

She drew back with a quick gesture of rejection, saying, in a voice that was a surprise to her own ears: “You are mistaken⁠—quite mistaken⁠—both in the facts and in what you infer from them.”

Rosedale stared a moment, puzzled by her sudden dash in a direction so different from that toward which she had appeared to be letting him guide her.

“Now what on earth does that mean? I thought we understood each other!” he exclaimed; and to her murmur of “Ah, we do now,” he retorted with a sudden burst of violence: “I suppose it’s because the letters are to him, then? Well, I’ll be damned if I see what thanks you’ve got from him!”