THE CHOICE By Edith Wharton Copyright, 1916, By Charles Scribner's Sons I Stilling, that night after dinner, had surpassed himself. He always did, Wrayford reflected, when the small fry from Highfield came to dine. He, Cobham Stilling, who had to find his bearings and keep to his level inthe big heedless ironic world of New York, dilated and grew vast in thecongenial medium of Highfield. The Red House was the biggest house ofthe Highfield summer colony, and Cobham Stilling was its biggest man. Noone else within a radius of a hundred miles (on a conservative estimate)had as many horses, as many greenhouses, as many servants, and assuredlyno one else had three motors and a motor-boat for the lake. The motor-boat was Stilling's latest hobby, and he rode--or steered--itin and out of the conversation all the evening, to the obviousedification of every one present save his wife and his visitor, AustinWrayford. The interest of the latter two who, from opposite ends of thedrawing-room, exchanged a fleeting glance when Stilling again launchedhis craft on the thin current of the talk--the interest of Mrs. Stillingand Wrayford had already lost its edge by protracted contact with thesubject. But the dinner-guests--the Rector, Mr. Swordsley, his wife Mrs. Swordsley, Lucy and Agnes Granger, their brother Addison, and youngJack Emmerton from Harvard--were all, for divers reasons, stirred to theproper pitch of feeling. Mr. Swordsley, no doubt, was saying to himself:"If my good parishioner here can afford to buy a motor-boat, in additionto all the other expenditures which an establishment like this mustentail, I certainly need not scruple to appeal to him again for acontribution for our Galahad Club. " The Granger girls, meanwhile, wereevoking visions of lakeside picnics, not unadorned with the presence ofyoung Mr. Emmerton; while that youth himself speculated as to whetherhis affable host would let him, when he came back on his next vacation, "learn to run the thing himself"; and Mr. Addison Granger, the elderlybachelor brother of the volatile Lucy and Agnes, mentally formulatedthe precise phrase in which, in his next letter to his cousin ProfessorSpildyke of the University of East Latmos, he should allude to "our lastdelightful trip in my old friend Cobham Stilling's ten-thousand-dollarmotor-launch"--for East Latmos was still in that primitive stage ofculture on which five figures impinge. Isabel Stilling, sitting beside Mrs. Swordsley, her bead slightlybent above the needlework with which on these occasions it was herold-fashioned habit to employ herself--Isabel also had doubtless herreflections to make. As Wrayford leaned back in his corner and lookedat her across the wide flower-filled drawing-room he noted, first ofall--for the how many hundredth time?--the play of her hands above theembroidery-frame, the shadow of the thick dark hair on her forehead, the lids over her somewhat full grey eyes. He noted all this with aconscious deliberateness of enjoyment, taking in unconsciously, at thesame time, the particular quality in her attitude, in the fall of herdress and the turn of her head, which had set her for him, from thefirst day, in a separate world; then he said to himself: "She iscertainly thinking: 'Where on earth will Cobham get the money to pay forit?'" Stilling, cigar in mouth and thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, wasimpressively perorating from his usual dominant position on thehearth-rug. "I said: 'If I have the thing at all, I want the best that can begot. ' That's my way, you know, Swordsley; I suppose I'm what you'd callfastidious. Always was, about everything, from cigars to wom--" hiseye met the apprehensive glance of Mrs. Swordsley, who looked like herhusband with his clerical coat cut slightly lower--"so I said: 'IfI have the thing at all, I want the best that can be got. ' Nothingmakeshift for me, no second-best. I never cared for the cheap and showy. I always say frankly to a man: 'If you can't give me a first-rate cigar, for the Lord's sake let me smoke my own. '" He paused to do so. "Well, ifyou have my standards, you can't buy a thing in a minute. You must lookround, compare, select. I found there were lots of motor-boats on themarket, just as there's lots of stuff called champagne. But I said tomyself: 'Ten to one there's only one fit to buy, just as there's onlyone champagne fit for a gentleman to drink. ' Argued like a lawyer, eh, Austin?" He tossed this to Wrayford. "Take me for one of your own trade, wouldn't you? Well, I'm not such a fool as I look. I suppose you fellowswho are tied to the treadmill--excuse me, Swordsley, but work's work, isn't it?--I suppose you think a man like me has nothing to do but takeit easy: loll through life like a woman. By George, sir, I'd like eitherof you to see the time it takes--I won't say the _brain_--but just thetime it takes to pick out a good motor-boat. Why, I went--" Mrs. Stilling set her embroidery-frame noiselessly on the table at herside, and turned her head toward Wrayford. "Would you mind ringing forthe tray?" The interruption helped Mrs. Swordsley to waver to her feet. "I'm afraidwe ought really to be going; my husband has an early service to-morrow. " Her host intervened with a genial protest. "Going already? Nothing ofthe sort! Why, the night's still young, as the poet says. Long way fromhere to the rectory? Nonsense! In our little twenty-horse car we doit in five minutes--don't we, Belle? Ah, you're walking, to be sure--"Stilling's indulgent gesture seemed to concede that, in such a case, allowances must be made, and that he was the last man not to make them. "Well, then, Swordsley--" He held out a thick red hand that seemed toexude beneficence, and the clergyman, pressing it, ventured to murmur asuggestion. "What, that Galahad Club again? Why, I thought my wife--Isabel, didn'twe--No? Well, it must have been my mother, then. Of course, you know, anything my good mother gives is--well--virtually--You haven't askedher? Sure? I could have sworn; I get so many of these appeals. And inthese times, you know, we have to go cautiously. I'm sure you recognizethat yourself, Swordsley. With my obligations--here now, to show youdon't bear malice, have a brandy and soda before you go. Nonsense, man!This brandy isn't liquor; it's liqueur. I picked it up last year inLondon--last of a famous lot from Lord St. Oswyn's cellar. Laid downhere, it stood me at--Eh?" he broke off as his wife moved toward him. "Ah, yes, of course. Miss Lucy, Miss Agnes--a drop of soda-water? Lookhere, Addison, you won't refuse my tipple, I know. Well, take a cigar, at any rate, Swordsley. And, by the way, I'm afraid you'll have to goround the long way by the avenue to-night. Sorry, Mrs. Swordsley, but Iforgot to tell them to leave the gate into the lane unlocked. Well, it'sa jolly night, and I daresay you won't mind the extra turn along thelake. And, by Jove! if the moon's out, you'll have a glimpse of themotorboat. She's moored just out beyond our boat-house; and it's aprivilege to look at her, I can tell you!" ***** The dispersal of his guests carried Stilling out into the hall, wherehis pleasantries reverberated under the oak rafters while the Grangergirls were being muffled for the drive and the carriages summoned fromthe stables. By a common impulse Mrs. Stilling and Wrayford had moved together towardthe fire-place, which was hidden by a tall screen from the door intothe hall. Wrayford leaned his elbow against the mantel-piece, and Mrs. Stilling stood beside him, her clasped hands hanging down before her. "Have you anything more to talk over with him?" she asked. "No. We wound it all up before dinner. He doesn't want to talk about itany more than he can help. " "It's so bad?" "No; but this time he's got to pull up. " She stood silent, with lowered lids. He listened a moment, catchingStilling's farewell shout; then he moved a little nearer, and laid hishand on her arm. "In an hour?" She made an imperceptible motion of assent. "I'll tell you about it then. The key's as usual?" She signed another "Yes" and walked away with her long drifting step asher husband came in from the hall. He went up to the tray and poured himself out a tall glass of brandy andsoda. "The weather is turning queer--black as pitch. I hope the Swordsleyswon't walk into the lake--involuntary immersion, eh? He'd come outa Baptist, I suppose. What'd the Bishop do in such a case? There's aproblem for a lawyer, my boy!" He clapped his hand on Wrayford's thin shoulder and then walked over tohis wife, who was gathering up her embroidery silks and dropping theminto her work-bag. Stilling took her by the arms and swung her playfullyabout so that she faced the lamplight. "What's the matter with you tonight?" "The matter?" she echoed, colouring a little, and standing very straightin her desire not to appear to shrink from his touch. "You never opened your lips. Left me the whole job of entertaining thoseblessed people. Didn't she, Austin?" Wrayford laughed and lit a cigarette. "There! You see even Austin noticed it. What's the matter, I say? Aren'tthey good enough for you? I don't say they're particularly exciting;but, hang it! I like to ask them here--I like to give people pleasure. " "I didn't mean to be dull, " said Isabel. "Well, you must learn to make an effort. Don't treat people as if theyweren't in the room just because they don't happen to amuse you. Do youknow what they'll think? They'll think it's because you've got a biggerhouse and more money than they have. Shall I tell you something? Mymother said she'd noticed the same thing in you lately. She said shesometimes felt you looked down on her for living in a small house. Oh, she was half joking, of course; but you see you do give people thatimpression. I can't understand treating any one in that way. The more Ihave myself, the more I want to make other people happy. " Isabel gently freed herself and laid the work-bag on herembroidery-frame. "I have a headache; perhaps that made me stupid. I'mgoing to bed. " She turned toward Wrayford and held out her hand. "Goodnight. " "Good night, " he answered, opening the door for her. When he turned back into the room, his host was pouring himself a thirdglass of brandy and soda. "Here, have a nip, Austin? Gad, I need it badly, after the shaking upyou gave me this afternoon. " Stilling laughed and carried his glass tothe hearth, where he took up his usual commanding position. "Why thedeuce don't you drink something? You look as glum as Isabel. One wouldthink you were the chap that had been hit by this business. " Wrayford threw himself into the chair from which Mrs. Stilling hadlately risen. It was the one she usually sat in, and to his fancya faint scent of her clung to it. He leaned back and looked up atStilling. "Want a cigar?" the latter continued. "Shall we go into the den andsmoke?" Wrayford hesitated. "If there's anything more you want to ask meabout--" "Gad, no! I had full measure and running over this afternoon. The deuceof it is, I don't see where the money's all gone to. Luckily I've gotplenty of nerve; I'm not the kind of man to sit down and snivel becauseI've been touched in Wall Street. " Wrayford got to his feet again. "Then, if you don't want me, I thinkI'll go up to my room and put some finishing touches to a brief before Iturn in. I must get back to town to-morrow afternoon. " "All right, then. " Stilling set down his empty glass, and held out hishand with a tinge of alacrity. "Good night, old man. " They shook hands, and Wrayford moved toward the door. "I say, Austin--stop a minute!" his host called after him. Wrayfordturned, and the two men faced each other across the hearth-rug. Stilling's eyes shifted uneasily. "There's one thing more you can do for me before you leave. Tell Isabelabout that loan; explain to her that she's got to sign a note for it. " Wrayford, in his turn, flushed slightly. "You want me to tell her?" "Hang it! I'm soft-hearted--that's the worst of me. " Stilling moved toward the tray, and lifted the brandy decanter. "Andshe'll take it better from you; she'll _have_ to take it from you. She'sproud. You can take her out for a row to-morrow morning--look here, takeher out in the motor-launch if you like. I meant to have a spin in itmyself; but if you'll tell her--" Wrayford hesitated. "All right, I'll tell her. " "Thanks a lot, my dear fellow. And you'll make her see it wasn't myfault, eh? Women are awfully vague about money, and she'll think it'sall right if you back me up. " Wrayford nodded. "As you please. " "And, Austin--there's just one more thing. You needn't say anything toIsabel about the other business--I mean about my mother's securities. " "Ah?" said Wrayford, pausing. Stilling shifted from one foot to the other. "I'd rather put that tothe old lady myself. I can make it clear to her. She idolizes me, you know--and, hang it! I've got a good record. Up to now, I mean. Mymother's been in clover since I married; I may say she's been my firstthought. And I don't want her to hear of this beastly business fromIsabel. Isabel's a little harsh at times--and of course this isn't goingto make her any easier to live with. " "Very well, " said Wrayford. Stilling, with a look of relief, walked toward the window which openedon the terrace. "Gad! what a queer night! Hot as the kitchen-range. Shouldn't wonder if we had a squall before morning. I wonder if thatinfernal skipper took in the launch's awnings before he went home. " Wrayford stopped with his hand on the door. "Yes, I saw him do it. She'sshipshape for the night. " "Good! That saves me a run down to the shore. " "Good night, then, " said Wrayford. "Good night, old man. You'll tell her?" "I'll tell her. " "And mum about my mother!" his host called after him. II The darkness had thinned a little when Wrayford scrambled down the steeppath to the shore. Though the air was heavy the threat of a storm seemedto have vanished, and now and then the moon's edge showed above a tornslope of cloud. But in the thick shrubbery about the boat-house the darkness was stilldense, and Wrayford had to strike a match before he could find the lockand insert his key. He left the door unlatched, and groped his way in. How often he had crept into this warm pine-scented obscurity, guidinghimself by the edge of the bench along the wall, and hearing the softlap of water through the gaps in the flooring! He knew just where onehad to duck one's head to avoid the two canoes swung from the rafters, and just where to put his hand on the latch of the farther door that ledto the broad balcony above the lake. The boat-house represented one of Stilling's abandoned whims. He hadbuilt it some seven years before, and for a time it had been the sceneof incessant nautical exploits. Stilling had rowed, sailed, paddledindefatigably, and all Highfield had been impressed to bear him company, and to admire his versatility. Then motors had come in, and he hadforsaken aquatic sports for the flying chariot. The canoes of birch-barkand canvas had been hoisted to the roof, the sail-boat had rotted at hermoorings, and the movable floor of the boat-house, ingeniously contrivedto slide back on noiseless runners, had lain undisturbed through severalseasons. Even the key of the boat-house had been mislaid--by Isabel'sfault, her husband said--and the locksmith had to be called in to make anew one when the purchase of the motor-boat made the lake once more thecentre of Stilling's activity. As Wrayford entered he noticed that a strange oily odor overpowered theusual scent of dry pine-wood; and at the next step his foot struck anobject that rolled noisily across the boards. He lighted another match, and found he had overturned a can of grease which the boatman had nodoubt been using to oil the runners of the sliding floor. Wrayford felt his way down the length of the boathouse, and softlyopening the balcony door looked out on the lake. A few yards away, hesaw the launch lying at anchor in the veiled moonlight; and just belowhim, on the black water, was the dim outline of the skiff which theboatman kept to paddle out to her. The silence was so intense thatWrayford fancied he heard a faint rustling in the shrubbery on thehigh bank behind the boat-house, and the crackle of gravel on the pathdescending to it. He closed the door again and turned back into the darkness; and as hedid so the other door, on the land-side, swung inward, and he saw afigure in the dim opening. Just enough light entered through the roundholes above the respective doors to reveal Mrs. Stilling's cloakedoutline, and to guide her to him as he advanced. But before they met shestumbled and gave a little cry. "What is it?" he exclaimed. "My foot caught; the floor seemed to give way under me. Ah, of course--"she bent down in the darkness--"I saw the men oiling it this morning. " Wrayford caught her by the arm. "Do take care! It might be dangerous ifit slid too easily. The water's deep under here. " "Yes; the water's very deep. I sometimes wish--" She leaned against himwithout finishing her sentence, and he put both arms about her. "Hush!" he said, his lips on hers. Suddenly she threw her head back and seemed to listen. "What's the matter? What do you hear?" "I don't know. " He felt her trembling. "I'm not sure this place is assafe as it used to be--" Wrayford held her to him reassuringly. "But the boatman sleeps down atthe village; and who else should come here at this hour?" "Cobham might. He thinks of nothing but the launch. '" "He won't to-night. I told him I'd seen the skipper put her shipshape, and that satisfied him. " "Ah--he did think of coming, then?" "Only for a minute, when the sky looked so black half an hour ago, andhe was afraid of a squall. It's clearing now, and there's no danger. " He drew her down on the bench, and they sat a moment or two in silence, her hands in his. Then she said: "You'd better tell me. " Wrayford gave a faint laugh. "Yes, I suppose I had. In fact, he asked meto. " "He asked you to?" "Yes. " She uttered an exclamation of contempt. "He's afraid!" Wrayford made no reply, and she went on: "I'm not. Tell me everything, please. " "Well, he's chucked away a pretty big sum again--" "How?" "He says he doesn't know. He's been speculating, I suppose. The madnessof making him your trustee!" She drew her hands away. "You know why I did it. When we married Ididn't want to put him in the false position of the man who contributesnothing and accepts everything; I wanted people to think the money waspartly his. " "I don't know what you've made people think; but you've been eminentlysuccessful in one respect. _He_ thinks it's all his--and he loses it asif it were. " "There are worse things. What was it that he wished you to tell me?" "That you've got to sign another promissory note--for fifty thousandthis time. " "Is that all?" Wrayford hesitated; then he said: "Yes--for the present. " She sat motionless, her head bent, her hand resting passively in his. He leaned nearer. "What did you' mean just now, by worse things?" She hesitated. "Haven't you noticed that he's been drinking a great deallately?" "Yes; I've noticed. " They were both silent; then Wrayford broke out, with sudden vehemence:"And yet you won't--" "Won't?" "Put an end to it. Good God! Save what's left of your life. " She made no answer, and in the stillness the throb of the waterunderneath them sounded like the beat of a tormented heart. "Isabel--" Wrayford murmured. He bent over to kiss her. "Isabel! I can'tstand it! listen--" "No; no. I've thought of everything. There's the boy--the boy's fond ofhim. He's not a bad father. " "Except in the trifling matter of ruining his son. " "And there's his poor old mother. He's a good son, at any rate; he'dnever hurt her. And I know her. If I left him, she'd never take a pennyof my money. What she has of her own is not enough to live on; and howcould he provide for her? If I put him out of doors, I should be puttinghis mother out too. " "You could arrange that--there are always ways. " "Not for her! She's proud. And then she believes in him. Lots of peoplebelieve in him, you know. It would kill her if she ever found out. " Wrayford made an impatient movement. "It will kill you if you stay withhim to prevent her finding out. " She laid her other hand on his. "Not while I have you. " "Have me? In this way?" "In any way. " "My poor girl--poor child!" "Unless you grow tired--unless your patience gives out. " He was silent, and she went on insistently: "Don't you suppose I'vethought of that too--foreseen it?" "Well--and then?" he exclaimed. "I've accepted that too. " He dropped her hands with a despairing gesture. "Then, indeed, I wastemy breath!" She made no answer, and for a time they sat silent again, a littlebetween them. At length he asked: "You're not crying?" "No. " "I can't see your face, it's grown so dark. " "Yes. The storm must be coming. " She made a motion as if to rise. He drew close and put his arm about her. "Don't leave me yet. You know Imust go to-morrow. " He broke off with a laugh. "I'm to break the newsto you to-morrow morning, by the way; I'm to take you out in themotorlaunch and break it to you. " He dropped her hands and stood up. "Good God! How can I go and leave you here with him?" "You've done it often. " "Yes; but each time it's more damnable. And then I've always had ahope--" She rose also. "Give it up! Give it up!" "You've none, then, yourself?" She was silent, drawing the folds of her cloak about her. "None--none?" he insisted. He had to bend his head to hear her answer. "Only one!" "What, my dearest? What?" "Don't touch me! That he may die!" They drew apart again, hearing each other's quick breathing through thedarkness. "You wish that too?" he said. "I wish it always--every day, every hour, every moment!" She paused, andthen let the words break from her. "You'd better know it; you'd betterknow the worst of me. I'm not the saint you suppose; the duty I do ispoisoned by the thoughts I think. Day by day, hour by hour, I wish himdead. When he goes out I pray for something to happen; when he comesback I say to myself: 'Are you here again?' When I hear of people beingkilled in accidents, I think: 'Why wasn't he there?' When I read thedeath-notices in the paper I say: 'So-and-so was just his age. ' WhenI see him taking such care of his health and his diet--as he does, youknow, except when he gets reckless and begins to drink too much--whenI see him exercising and resting, and eating only certain things, andweighing himself, and feeling his muscles, and boasting that he hasn'tgained a pound, I think of the men who die from overwork, or who throwtheir lives away for some great object, and I say to myself: 'What cankill a man who thinks only of himself?' And night after night I keepmyself from going to sleep for fear I may dream that he's dead. When Idream that, and wake and find him there it's worse than ever--" She broke off with a sob, and the loud lapping of the water under thefloor was like the beat of a rebellious heart. "There, you know the truth!" she said. He answered after a pause: "People do die. " "Do they?" She laughed. "Yes--in happy marriages!" They were silent again, and Isabel turned, feeling her way toward thedoor. As she did so, the profound stillness was broken by the sound of aman's voice trolling out unsteadily the refrain of a music-hall song. The two in the boat-house darted toward each other with a simultaneousmovement, clutching hands as they met. "He's coming!" Isabel said. Wrayford disengaged his hands. "He may only be out for a turn before he goes to bed. Wait a minute. I'll see. " He felt his way to the bench, scrambled up on it, andstretching his body forward managed to bring his eyes in line with theopening above the door. "It's as black as pitch. I can't see anything. " The refrain rang out nearer. "Wait! I saw something twinkle. There it is again. It's his cigar. It'scoming this way--down the path. " There was a long rattle of thunder through the stillness. "It's the storm!" Isabel whispered. "He's coming to see about thelaunch. " Wrayford dropped noiselessly from the bench and she caught him by thearm. "Isn't there time to get up the path and slip under the shrubbery?" "No, he's in the path now. He'll be here in two minutes. He'll find us. " He felt her hand tighten on his arm. "You must go in the skiff, then. It's the only way. " "And let him find you? And hear my oars? Listen--there's something Imust say. " She flung her arms about him and pressed her face to his. "Isabel, just now I didn't tell you everything. He's ruined hismother--taken everything of hers too. And he's got to tell her; it can'tbe kept from her. " She uttered an incredulous exclamation and drew back. "Is this the truth? Why didn't you tell me before?" "He forbade me. You were not to know. " Close above them, in the shrubbery, Stilling warbled: "_Nita, Juanita, Ask thy soul if we must part!_" Wrayford held her by both arms. "Understand this--if he comes in, he'llfind us. And if there's a row you'll lose your boy. " She seemed not to hear him. "You--you--you--he'll kill you!" sheexclaimed. Wrayford laughed impatiently and released her, and she stood shrinkingagainst the wall, her hands pressed to her breast. Wrayford straightenedhimself and she felt that he was listening intently. Then he dropped tohis knees and laid his hands against the boards of the sliding floor. Ityielded at once, as if with a kind of evil alacrity; and at their feetthey saw, under the motionless solid night, another darker night thatmoved and shimmered. Wrayford threw himself back against the oppositewall, behind the door. A key rattled in the lock, and after a moment's fumbling the door swungopen. Wrayford and Isabel saw a man's black bulk against the obscurity. It moved a step, lurched forward, and vanished out of sight. From thedepths beneath them there came a splash and a long cry. "Go! go!" Wrayford cried out, feeling blindly for Isabel in theblackness. "Oh--" she cried, wrenching herself away from him. He stood still a moment, as if dazed; then she saw him suddenly plungefrom her side, and heard another splash far down, and a tumult in thebeaten water. In the darkness she cowered close to the opening, pressing her faceover the edge, and crying out the name of each of the two men in turn. Suddenly she began to see: the obscurity was less opaque, as if afaint moon-pallor diluted it. Isabel vaguely discerned the two shapesstruggling in the black pit below her; once she saw the gleam of a face. She glanced up desperately for some means of rescue, and caught sightof the oars ranged on brackets against the wall. She snatched downthe nearest, bent over the opening, and pushed the oar down into theblackness, crying out her husband's name. The clouds had swallowed the moon again, and she could see nothing belowher; but she still heard the tumult in the beaten water. "Cobham! Cobham!" she screamed. As if in answer, she felt a mighty clutch on the oar, a clutch thatstrained her arms to the breaking-point as she tried to brace her kneesagainst the runners of the sliding floor. "Hold on! Hold on! Hold on!" a voice gasped out from below; and she heldon, with racked muscles, with bleeding palms, with eyes straining fromtheir sockets, and a heart that tugged at her as the weight was tuggingat the oar. Suddenly the weight relaxed, and the oar slipped up through herlacerated hands. She felt a wet body scrambling over the edge of theopening, and Stilling's voice, raucous and strange, groaned out, closeto her: "God! I thought I was done for. " He staggered to his knees, coughing and sputtering, and the waterdripped on her from his streaming clothes. She flung herself down, again, straining over the pit. Not a sound cameup from it. "Austin! Austin! Quick! Another oar!" she shrieked. Stilling gave a cry. "My God! Was it Austin? What in hell--Another oar?No, no; untie the skiff, I tell you. But it's no use. Nothing's any use. I felt him lose hold as I came up. " ***** After that she was conscious of nothing till, hours later, as itappeared to her, she became dimly aware of her husband's voice, high, hysterical and important, haranguing a group of scared lantern-struckfaces that had sprung up mysteriously about them in the night. "Poor Austin! Poor Wrayford... Terrible loss to me... Mysteriousdispensation. Yes, I do feel gratitude--miraculous escape--but I wishold Austin could have known that I was saved!"