annies of her soul. She had been
so contented, life had seemed so simple and sufficient--why had he come
to trouble her with new hopes? And Lily--Lily, her best friend!
Woman-like, she accused the woman. Perhaps, had it not been for Lily,
her fond imagining might have become truth. Selden had always liked
her--had understood and sympathized with the modest independence of her
life. He, who had the reputation of weighing all things in the nice
balance of fastidious perceptions, had been uncritical and simple in his
view of her: his cleverness had never overawed her because she had felt
at home in his heart. And now she was thrust out, and the door barred
against her by Lily's hand! Lily, for whose admission there she herself
had pleaded! The situation was lighted up by a dreary flash of irony. She
knew Selden--she saw how the force of her faith in Lily must have helped
to dispel his hesitations. She remembered, too, how Lily had talked of
him--she saw herself bringing the two together, making them known to each
other. On Selden's part, no doubt, the wound inflicted was inconscient;
he had never guessed her foolish secret; but Lily--Lily must have known!
When, in such matters, are a woman's perceptions at fault? And if she
knew, then she had deliberately despoiled her friend, and in mere
wantonness of power, since, even to Gerty's suddenly flaming jealousy, it
seemed incredible that Lily should wish to be Selden's wife. Lily might
be incapable of marrying for money, but she was equally incapable of
living without it, and Selden's eager investigations into the small
economies of house-keeping made him appear to Gerty as tragically duped
as herself.

She remained long in her sitting-room, where the embers were crumbling to
cold grey, and the lamp paled under its gay shade. Just beneath it stood
the photograph of Lily Bart, looking out imperially on the cheap
gimcracks, the cramped furniture of the little room. Could Selden picture
her in such an interior? Gerty felt the poverty, the insignificance of
her surroundings: she beheld her life as it must appear to Lily. And the
cruelty of Lily's judgments smote upon her memory. She saw that she had
dressed her idol with attributes of her own making. When had Lily ever
really felt, or pitied, or understood? All she wanted was the taste of
new experiences: she seemed like some cruel creature experimenting in a
laboratory.

The pink-faced clock drummed out another hour, and Ger