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Updated: May 15, 2025
Marcia never entered the Coryston box, which held one of the most coveted positions on the grand tier, without a vague thrill of exultation; that instinctive, overbearing delight in the goods of Vanity Fair, which the Greek called hubris, and which is only vile when it outlives youth. It meant in her "I am young I am handsome the world is all on my side who shall thwart or deny me?"
Marion assented. And the two tall figures strolled away across a little field toward a hanging wood on the edge of the hill. "Will she have him?" said Coryston to Marion Atherstone, looking after the departing figures. The question was disconcertingly frank. Marion laughed and colored. "I haven't the slightest idea."
You don't know my story and I can't tell it you " The speaker covered her face a moment. "I'm not a good woman, Miss Coryston. I never pretended to be. But I've had an awfully hard time awfully hard! You see," she went on, hurriedly, as though afraid Marcia would stop her, "you see I was married when I was only seventeen to an old husband.
Marcia Coryston believed herself to be interested in many things in books, in the Suffrage, in the girls' debating society of which she was the secretary, in politics, and in modern poetry. In reality her whole being hung like some chained Andromeda at the edge of the sea of life, expecting Perseus. Her heart listened for him perpetually the unknown! yearning for his call, his command....
Betts had talked incoherently of "waiting to hear from Miss Coryston." Poor soul! she might wait. Twenty minutes passed, and then he too heard a footfall in the passage outside, and the swish of a dress. Marcia! He opened the door. "Don't come in. Mother's asleep." Marcia stared at him in amazement. Then she stepped past him, and stood on the threshold surveying her mother.
Marcia read her; had indeed been compelled to read her mother the movements of hand and brow, the tricks of expression from childhood up. And she detected, from various signs of nervousness, that Lady Coryston expected a rough time. She led the way to it, however, with deliberation. She took no notice of Coryston's, "Well, mother, what's up?
Yet of course she knew perfectly who you were." "Arthur will probably follow this man," murmured Lady Coryston, returning to her watch. "Go and have some tea, mother, and come back." "No. I might miss his getting up." There was silence a little. The House was thinning rapidly, and half the occupants of the Ladies' Galleries had adjourned to the tearooms on the farther side of the corridor.
You perceive that she is shrinking all the time from the assumptions on which her mother's life is based, refusing to make them her own, and yet she doesn't know what to put in their place. Does Coryston, either? "But the tragic figure the tragic possibility in all this family galere at the present moment, of course, is Arthur.
Coryston sprang up impetuously and came to stand over his mother, his hands on his sides. "Now look here, mother. Let's come to business. You've been plotting something more against me, and I want to know what it is. Have you been dishing me altogether? cutting me finally out of the estates? Is that what you mean? Let's have it!" Lady Coryston's face stiffened anew into a gray obstinacy.
"Two years," said Lady Coryston, "have now passed since your father's death. I have done my best with my trust, though of course I realize that I cannot have satisfied all my children." She paused a moment. "I have not wasted any of your father's money in personal luxury that none of you can say. The old establishment, the old ways, have been kept up nothing more.
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