Chapter: The first thousand dollar cheque which Lily received with a blotted
scrawl from Gus Trenor strengthened her self-confidence in the exact
degree to which it effaced her debts.

The transaction had justified itself by its results: she saw now how
absurd it would have been to let any primitive scruple deprive her of
this easy means of appeasing her creditors. Lily felt really virtuous as
she dispensed the sum in sops to her tradesmen, and the fact that a fresh
order accompanied each payment did not lessen her sense of
disinterestedness. How many women, in her place, would have given the
orders without making the payment!

She had found it reassuringly easy to keep Trenor in a good humour. To
listen to his stories, to receive his confidences and laugh at his jokes,
seemed for the moment all that was required of her, and the complacency
with which her hostess regarded these attentions freed them of the least
hint of ambiguity. Mrs. Trenor evidently assumed that Lily's growing
intimacy with her husband was simply an indirect way of returning her own
kindness.

"I'm so glad you and Gus have become such good friends," she said
approvingly. "It's too delightful of you to be so nice to him, and put up
with all his tiresome stories. I know what they are, because I had to
listen to them when we were engaged--I'm sure he is telling the same ones
still. And now I shan't always have to be asking Carry Fisher here to
keep him in a good-humour. She's a perfect vulture, you know; and she
hasn't the least moral sense.  She is always getting Gus to speculate for
her, and I'm sure she never pays when she loses."

Miss Bart could shudder at this state of things without the embarrassment
of a personal application. Her own position was surely quite different.
There could be no question of her not paying when she lost, since Trenor
had assured her that she was certain not to lose. In sending her the
cheque he had explained that he had made five thousand for her out of
Rosedale's "tip," and had put four thousand back in the same venture, as
there was the promise of another "big rise"; she understood therefore
that he was now speculating with her own money, and that she consequently
owed him no more than the gratitude which such a trifling service
demanded. She vaguely supposed that, to raise the first sum, he had
borrowed on her securities; but this was a point over which her curiosity
did not linger. It was concentrated, for the moment, on the probable date
of the next "big rise."

The news of this event was received by her some weeks later, on the
occasion of Jack Stepney's marriage to Miss Van Osburgh. As a cousin of
the bridegroom, Miss Bart had been asked to act as bridesmaid; but she
had declined on the plea that, since she was much taller than the other
attendant virgins, her presence might mar the symmetry of the group.  The
truth was, she had attended too many brides to the altar: when next seen
there she meant to be the chief figure in the ceremony. She knew the
pleasantries made at the expense of young girls who have been too long
before the public, and she was resolved to avoid such assumptions of
youthfulness as might lead people to think her older than she really was.

The Van Osburgh marriage was celebrated in the village church near the
paternal estate on the Hudson. It was the "simple country wedding" to
which guests are convoyed in special trains, and from which the hordes of
the uninvited have to be fended off by the intervention of the police.
While these sylvan rites were taking place, in a church packed with
fashion and festooned with orchids, the representatives of the press were
threading their way, note-book in hand, through the labyrinth of wedding
presents, and the agent of a cinematograph syndicate was setting up his
apparatus at the church door. It was the kind of scene in which Lily had
often pictured herself as taking the principal part, and on this occasion
the fact that she was once more merely a casual spectator, instead of the
mystically veiled figure occupying the centre of attention, strengthened
her resolve to assume the latter part before the year was over. The fact
that her immediate anxieties were relieved did not blind her to a
possibility of their recurrence; it merely gave her enough buoyancy to
rise once more above her doubts and feel a renewed faith in her beauty,
her power, and her general fitness to attract a brilliant destiny. It
could not be that one conscious of such aptitudes for mastery and
enjoyment was doomed to a perpetuity of failure; and her mistakes looked
easily reparable in the light of her restored self-confidence.

A special appositeness was given to these reflections by the discovery,
in a neighbouring pew, of the serious profile and neatly-trimmed beard of
Mr. Percy Gryce. There was something almost bridal in his own aspect: his
large white gardenia had a symbolic air that struck Lily as a good omen.
After all, seen in an assemblage of his kind he was not
ridiculous-looking: a friendly critic might have called his heaviness
weighty, and he was at his best in the attitude of vacant passivity which
brings out the oddities of the restless. She fancied he was the kind of
man whose sentimental associations would be stirred by the conventional
imagery of a wedding, and she pictured herself, in the seclusion of the
Van Osburgh conservatories, playing skillfully upon sensibilities thus
prepared for her touch. In fact, when she looked at the other women about
her, and recalled the image she had brought away from her own glass, it
did not seem as though any special skill would be needed to repair her
blunder and bring him once more to her feet.

The sight of Selden's dark head, in a pew almost facing her, disturbed
for a moment the balance of her complacency. The rise of her blood as
their eyes met was succeeded by a contrary motion, a wave of resistance
and withdrawal. She did not wish to see him again, not because she feared
his influence, but because his presence always had the effect of
cheapening her aspirations, of throwing her whole world out of focus.
Besides, he was a living reminder of the worst mistake in her career, and
the fact that he had been its cause did not soften her feelings toward
him. She could still imagine an ideal state of existence in which, all
else being superadded, intercourse with Selden might be the last touch of
luxury; but in the world as it was, such a privilege was likely to cost
more than it was worth.

"Lily, dear, I never saw you look so lovely! You look as if something
delightful had just happened to you!"

The young lady who thus formulated her admiration of her brilliant friend
did not, in her own person, suggest such happy possibilities.  Miss
Gertrude Farish, in fact, typified the mediocre and the ineffectual. If
there were compensating qualities in her wide frank glance and the
freshness of her smile, these were qualities which only the sympathetic
observer would perceive before noticing that her eyes were of a workaday
grey and her lips without haunting curves. Lily's own view of her wavered
between pity for her limitations and impatience at her cheerful
acceptance of them. To Miss Bart, as to her mother, acquiescence in
dinginess was evidence of stupidity; and there were moments when, in the
consciousness of her own power to look and to be so exactly what the
occasion required, she almost felt that other girls were plain and
inferior from choice. Certainly no one need have confessed such
acquiescence in her lot as was revealed in the "useful" colour of Gerty
Farish's gown and the subdued lines of her hat: it is almost as stupid to
let your clothes betray that you know you are ugly as to have them
proclaim that you think you are beautiful.

Of course, being fatally poor and dingy, it was wise of Gerty to have
taken up philanthropy and symphony concerts; but there was something
irritating in her assumption that existence yielded no higher pleasures,
and that one might get as much interest and excitement out of life in a
cramped flat as in the splendours of the Van Osburgh establishment.
Today, however, her chirping enthusiasms did not irritate Lily. They
seemed only to throw her own exceptionalness into becoming relief, and
give a soaring vastness to her scheme of life.

"Do let us go and take a peep at the presents before everyone else leaves
the dining-room!" suggested Miss Farish, linking her arm in her friend's.
It was characteristic of her to take a sentimental and unenvious interest
in all the details of a wedding: she was the kind of person who always
kept her handkerchief out during the service, and departed clutching a
box of wedding-cake.

"Isn't everything beautifully done?" she pursued, as they entered the
distant drawing-room assigned to the display of Miss Van Osburgh's bridal
spoils. "I always say no one does things better than cousin Grace! Did
you ever taste anything more delicious than that MOUSSE of lobster with
champagne sauce? I made up my mind weeks ago that I wouldn't miss this
wedding, and just fancy how delightfully it all came about. When Lawrence
Selden heard I was coming, he insisted on fetching me himself and driving
me to the station, and when we go back this evening I am to dine with him
at Sherry's. I really feel as excited as if I were getting married
myself!"

Lily smiled: she knew that Selden had always been kind to his dull
cousin, and she had sometimes wondered why he wasted so much time in such
an unremunerative manner; but now the thought gave her a vague pleasure.

"Do you see him often?" she asked.

"Yes; he is very good about dropping in on Sundays. And now and then we
do a play together; but lately I haven't seen much of him. He doesn't
look well, and he seems nervous and unsettled.  The dear fellow! I do
wish he would marry some nice girl. I told him so today, but he said he
didn't care for the really nice ones, and the other kind didn't care for
him--but that was just his joke, of course. He could never marry a girl
who WASN'T nice.  Oh, my dear, did you ever see such pearls?"

They had paused before the table on which the bride's jewels were
displayed, and Lily's heart gave an envious throb as she caught the
refraction of light from their surfaces--the milky gleam of perfectly
matched pearls, the flash of rubies relieved against contrasting velvet,
the intense blue rays of sapphires kindled into light by surrounding
diamonds: all these precious tints enhanced and deepened by the varied
art of their setting. The glow of the stones warmed Lily's veins like
wine. More completely than any other expression of wealth they symbolized
the life she longed to lead, the life of fastidious aloofness and
refinement in which every detail should have the finish of a jewel, and
the whole form a harmonious setting to her own jewel-like rareness.

"Oh, Lily, do look at this diamond pendant--it's as big as a
dinner-plate! Who can have given it?" Miss Farish bent short-sightedly
over the accompanying card. "MR. SIMON ROSEDALE.  What, that horrid man?
Oh, yes--I remember he's a friend of Jack's, and I suppose cousin Grace
had to ask him here today; but she must rather hate having to let Gwen
accept such a present from him."

Lily smiled. She doubted Mrs. Van Osburgh's reluctance, but was aware of
Miss Farish's habit of ascribing her own delicacies of feeling to the
persons least likely to be encumbered by them.

"Well, if Gwen doesn't care to be seen wearing it she can always exchange
it for something else," she remarked.

"Ah, here is something so much prettier," Miss Farish continued.  "Do
look at this exquisite white sapphire. I'm sure the person who chose it
must have taken particular pains. What is the name?  Percy Gryce? Ah,
then I'm not surprised!" She smiled significantly as she replaced the
card. "Of course you've heard that he's perfectly devoted to Evie Van
Osburgh? Cousin Grace is so pleased about it--it's quite a romance! He
met her first at the George Dorsets', only about six weeks ago, and it's
just the nicest possible marriage for dear Evie. Oh, I don't mean the
money--of course she has plenty of her own--but she's such a quiet
stay-at-home kind of girl, and it seems he has just the same tastes; so
they are exactly suited to each other."

Lily stood staring vacantly at the white sapphire on its velvet bed.
Evie Van Osburgh and Percy Gryce? The names rang derisively through her
brain. EVIE VAN OSBURGH? The youngest, dumpiest, dullest of the four dull
and dumpy daughters whom Mrs. Van Osburgh, with unsurpassed astuteness,
had "placed" one by one in enviable niches of existence!  Ah, lucky girls
who grow up in the shelter of a mother's love--a mother who knows how to
contrive opportunities without conceding favours, how to take advantage
of propinquity without allowing appetite to be dulled by habit! The
cleverest girl may miscalculate where her own interests are concerned,
may yield too much at one moment and withdraw too far at the next: it
takes a mother's unerring vigilance and foresight to land her daughters
safely in the arms of wealth and suitability.

Lily's passing light-heartedness sank beneath a renewed sense of failure.
Life was too stupid, too blundering! Why should Percy Gryce's millions be
joined to another great fortune, why should this clumsy girl be put in
possession of powers she would never know how to use?

She was roused from these speculations by a familiar touch on her arm,
and turning saw Gus Trenor beside her. She felt a thrill of vexation:
what right had he to touch her? Luckily Gerty Farish had wandered off to
the next table, and they were alone.

Trenor, looking stouter than ever in his tight frock-coat, and
unbecomingly flushed by the bridal libations, gazed at her with
undisguised approval.

"By Jove, Lily, you do look a stunner!" He had slipped insensibly into
the use of her Christian name, and she had never found the right moment
to correct him. Besides, in her set all the men and women called each
other by their Christian names; it was only on Trenor's lips that the
familiar address had an unpleasant significance.

"Well," he continued, still jovially impervious to her annoyance, "have
you made up your mind which of these little trinkets you mean to
duplicate at Tiffany's tomorrow? I've got a cheque for you in my pocket
that will go a long way in that line!"

Lily gave him a startled look: his voice was louder than usual, and the
room was beginning to fill with people. But as her glance assured her
that they were still beyond ear-shot a sense of pleasure replaced her
apprehension.

"Another dividend?" she asked, smiling and drawing near him in the desire
not to be overheard.

"Well, not exactly: I sold out on the rise and I've pulled off four thou'
for you. Not so bad for a beginner, eh? I suppose you'll begin to think
you're a pretty knowing speculator. And perhaps you won't think poor old
Gus such an awful ass as some people do."

"I think you the kindest of friends; but I can't thank you properly now."

She let her eyes shine into his with a look that made up for the
hand-clasp he would have claimed if they had been alone--and how glad she
was that they were not! The news filled her with the glow produced by a
sudden cessation of physical pain. The world was not so stupid and
blundering after all: now and then a stroke of luck came to the
unluckiest. At the thought her spirits began to rise: it was
characteristic of her that one trifling piece of good fortune should give
wings to all her hopes. Instantly came the reflection that Percy Gryce
was not irretrievably lost; and she smiled to think of the excitement of
recapturing him from Evie Van Osburgh. What chance could such a simpleton
have against her if she chose to exert herself? She glanced about, hoping
to catch a glimpse of Gryce; but her eyes lit instead on the glossy
countenance of Mr. Rosedale, who was slipping through the crowd with an
air half obsequious, half obtrusive, as though, the moment his presence
was recognized, it would swell to the dimensions of the room.

Not wishing to be the means of effecting this enlargement, Lily quickly
transferred her glance to Trenor, to whom the expression of her gratitude
seemed not to have brought the complete gratification she had meant it to
give.

"Hang thanking me--I don't want to be thanked, but I SHOULD like the
chance to say two words to you now and then," he grumbled. "I thought you
were going to spend the whole autumn with us, and I've hardly laid eyes
on you for the last month. Why can't you come back to Bellomont this
evening? We're all alone, and Judy is as cross as two sticks. Do come and
cheer a fellow up. If you say yes I'll run you over in the motor, and you
can telephone your maid to bring your traps from town by the next train."

Lily shook her head with a charming semblance of regret. "I wish I
could--but it's quite impossible. My aunt has come back to town, and I
must be with her for the next few days."

"Well, I've seen a good deal less of you since we've got to be such pals
than I used to when you were Judy's friend," he continued with
unconscious penetration.

"When I was Judy's friend? Am I not her friend still? Really, you say the
most absurd things! If I were always at Bellomont you would tire of me
much sooner than Judy--but come and see me at my aunt's the next
afternoon you are in town; then we can have a nice quiet talk, and you
can tell me how I had better invest my fortune."

It was true that, during the last three or four weeks, she had absented
herself from Bellomont on the pretext of having other visits to pay; but
she now began to feel that the reckoning she had thus contrived to evade
had rolled up interest in the interval.

The prospect of the nice quiet talk did not appear as all-sufficing to
Trenor as she had hoped, and his brows continued to lower as he said:
"Oh, I don't know that I can promise you a fresh tip every day. But
there's one thing you might do for me; and that is, just to be a little
civil to Rosedale. Judy has promised to ask him to dine when we get to
town, but I can't induce her to have him at Bellomont, and if you would
let me bring him up now it would make a lot of difference. I don't
believe two women have spoken to him this afternoon, and I can tell you
he's a chap it pays to be decent to."

Miss Bart made an impatient movement, but suppressed the words which
seemed about to accompany it. After all, this was an unexpectedly easy
way of acquitting her debt; and had she not reasons of her own for
wishing to be civil to Mr. Rosedale?

"Oh, bring him by all means," she said smiling; "perhaps I can get a tip
out of him on my own account."

Trenor paused abruptly, and his eyes fixed themselves on hers with a look
which made her change colour.

"I say, you know--you'll please remember he's a blooming bounder," he
said; and with a slight laugh she turned toward the open window near
which they had been standing.

The throng in the room had increased, and she felt a desire for space and
fresh air. Both of these she found on the terrace, where only a few men
were lingering over cigarettes and liqueur, while scattered couples
strolled across the lawn to the autumn-tinted borders of the
flower-garden.

As she emerged, a man moved toward her from the knot of smokers, and she
found herself face to face with Selden. The stir of the pulses which his
nearness always caused was increased by a slight sense of constraint.
They had not met since their Sunday afternoon walk at Bellomont, and that
episode was still so vivid to her that she could hardly believe him to be
less conscious of it. But his greeting expressed no more than the
satisfaction which every pretty woman expects to see reflected in
masculine eyes; and the discovery, if distasteful to her vanity, was
reassuring to her nerves. Between the relief of her escape from Trenor,
and the vague apprehension of her meeting with Rosedale, it was pleasant
to rest a moment on the sense of complete understanding which Lawrence
Selden's manner always conveyed.

"This is luck," he said smiling. "I was wondering if I should be able to
have a word with you before the special snatches us away.  I came with
Gerty Farish, and promised not to let her miss the train, but I am sure
she is still extracting sentimental solace from the wedding presents. She
appears to regard their number and value as evidence of the disinterested
affection of the contracting parties."

There was not the least trace of embarrassment in his voice, and as he
spoke, leaning slightly against the jamb of the window, and letting his
eyes rest on her in the frank enjoyment of her grace, she felt with a
faint chill of regret that he had gone back without an effort to the
footing on which they had stood before their last talk together. Her
vanity was stung by the sight of his unscathed smile. She longed to be to
him something more than a piece of sentient prettiness, a passing
diversion to his eye and brain; and the longing betrayed itself in her
reply.

"Ah," she said, "I envy Gerty that power she has of dressing up with
romance all our ugly and prosaic arrangements! I have never recovered my
self-respect since you showed me how poor and unimportant my ambitions
were."

The words were hardly spoken when she realized their infelicity.  It
seemed to be her fate to appear at her worst to Selden.

"I thought, on the contrary," he returned lightly, "that I had been the
means of proving they were more important to you than anything else."

It was as if the eager current of her being had been checked by a sudden
obstacle which drove it back upon itself. She looked at him helplessly,
like a hurt or frightened child: this real self of hers, which he had the
faculty of drawing out of the depths, was so little accustomed to go
alone!

The appeal of her helplessness touched in him, as it always did, a latent
chord of inclination. It would have meant nothing to him to discover that
his nearness made her more brilliant, but this glimpse of a twilight mood
to which he alone had the clue seemed once more to set him in a world
apart with her.

"At least you can't think worse things of me than you say!" she exclaimed
with a trembling laugh; but before he could answer, the flow of
comprehension between them was abruptly stayed by the reappearance of Gus
Trenor, who advanced with Mr. Rosedale in his wake.

"Hang it, Lily, I thought you'd given me the slip: Rosedale and I have
been hunting all over for you!"

His voice had a note of conjugal familiarity: Miss Bart fancied she
detected in Rosedale's eye a twinkling perception of the fact, and the
idea turned her dislike of him to repugnance.

She returned his profound bow with a slight nod, made more disdainful by
the sense of Selden's surprise that she should number Rosedale among her
acquaintances. Trenor had turned away, and his companion continued to
stand before Miss Bart, alert and expectant, his lips parted in a smile
at whatever she might be about to say, and his very back conscious of the
privilege of being seen with her.

It was the moment for tact; for the quick bridging over of gaps; but
Selden still leaned against the window, a detached observer of the scene,
and under the spell of his observation Lily felt herself powerless to
exert her usual arts. The dread of Selden's suspecting that there was any
need for her to propitiate such a man as Rosedale checked the trivial
phrases of politeness.  Rosedale still stood before her in an expectant
attitude, and she continued to face him in silence, her glance just level
with his polished baldness. The look put the finishing touch to what her
silence implied.

He reddened slowly, shifting from one foot to the other, fingered the
plump black pearl in his tie, and gave a nervous twist to his moustache;
then, running his eye over her, he drew back, and said, with a
side-glance at Selden: "Upon my soul, I never saw a more ripping get-up.
Is that the last creation of the dress-maker you go to see at the
Benedick? If so, I wonder all the other women don't go to her too!"

The words were projected sharply against Lily's silence, and she saw in a
flash that her own act had given them their emphasis. In ordinary talk
they might have passed unheeded; but following on her prolonged pause
they acquired a special meaning. She felt, without looking, that Selden
had immediately seized it, and would inevitably connect the allusion with
her visit to himself. The consciousness increased her irritation against
Rosedale, but also her feeling that now, if ever, was the moment to
propitiate him, hateful as it was to do so in Selden's presence.

"How do you know the other women don't go to my dress-maker?" she
returned. "You see I'm not afraid to give her address to my friends!"

Her glance and accent so plainly included Rosedale in this privileged
circle that his small eyes puckered with gratification, and a knowing
smile drew up his moustache.

"By Jove, you needn't be!" he declared. "You could give 'em the whole
outfit and win at a canter!"

"Ah, that's nice of you; and it would be nicer still if you would carry
me off to a quiet corner, and get me a glass of lemonade or some innocent
drink before we all have to rush for the train."

She turned away as she spoke, letting him strut at her side through the
gathering groups on the terrace, while every nerve in her throbbed with
the consciousness of what Selden must have thought of the scene.

But under her angry sense of the perverseness of things, and the light
surface of her talk with Rosedale, a third idea persisted: she did not
mean to leave without an attempt to discover the truth about Percy Gryce.
Chance, or perhaps his own resolve, had kept them apart since his hasty
withdrawal from Bellomont; but Miss Bart was an expert in making the most
of the unexpected, and the distasteful incidents of the last few
minutes--the revelation to Selden of precisely that part of her life
which she most wished him to ignore--increased her longing for shelter,
for escape from such humiliating contingencies. Any definite situation
would be more tolerable than this buffeting of chances, which kept her in
an attitude of uneasy alertness toward every possibility of life.

Indoors there was a general sense of dispersal in the air, as of an
audience gathering itself up for departure after the principal actors had
left the stage; but among the remaining groups, Lily could discover
neither Gryce nor the youngest Miss Van Osburgh.  That both should be
missing struck her with foreboding; and she charmed Mr. Rosedale by
proposing that they should make their way to the conservatories at the
farther end of the house. There were just enough people left in the long
suite of rooms to make their progress conspicuous, and Lily was aware of
being followed by looks of amusement and interrogation, which glanced off
as harmlessly from her indifference as from her companion's
self-satisfaction. She cared very little at that moment about being seen
with Rosedale: all her thoughts were centred on the object of her search.
The latter, however, was not discoverable in the conservatories, and
Lily, oppressed by a sudden conviction of failure, was casting about for
a way to rid herself of her now superfluous companion, when they came
upon Mrs. Van Osburgh, flushed and exhausted, but beaming with the
consciousness of duty performed.

She glanced at them a moment with the benign but vacant eye of the tired
hostess, to whom her guests have become mere whirling spots in a
kaleidoscope of fatigue; then her attention became suddenly fixed, and
she seized on Miss Bart with a confidential gesture. "My dear Lily, I
haven't had time for a word with you, and now I suppose you are just off.
Have you seen Evie? She's been looking everywhere for you: she wanted to
tell you her little secret; but I daresay you have guessed it already.
The engagement is not to be announced till next week--but you are such a
friend of Mr. Gryce's that they both wished you to be the first to know
of their happiness."

 Next thing we know, Lily's getting a thousand dollar check from Gus Trenor. Score. Lily makes some payments to the dressmakers, shoemakers, etc. she owes, but doesn't stop herself from putting in some new orders, too. Meanwhile, it's easy to keep Gus happy and on her side. All she has to do is laugh at his jokes and pretend his stories are entertaining. And Mrs. Trenor just figures Lily is paying her back for her kindnesses by being a good friend to her husband. Lily assumes that Gus is still speculating on the stock market and that he just happens to keep winning with her money. She's sure that if he lost with it, he would tell her and she would pay him back. Meanwhile, Jack Stepney is marrying Gwen Van Osburgh. Lily passes on being a bridesmaid, since she'd rather wait until she's the bride to take part in another wedding. At the wedding ceremony, Lily spots Percy Gryce. Lily knows that she looks really good today, and she figures she can win him back sometime between the vows and the rice-throwing. But, then, she spots Selden, too. She doesn't want to see him since he's a reminder of her big blunder back at Bellomont, when she lost the prospect of marrying Gryce. Lily also sees Gerty Farish, whom she considers "dingy," particularly when she assesses her wardrobe. "It is almost as stupid to let your clothes betray that you know you are ugly as to have them proclaim that you think you are beautiful," Lily thinks. Gerty is apparently unaware of Lily's disdain. She chatters on like they're old friends. Gerty is particularly excited because Selden escorted her to the wedding and invited her to have dinner with him afterwards. She says she told Selden he ought to marry a nice girl, but he responded that he didn't care for the nice girls, and the other kind didn't care for him. Meanwhile, Lily checks out the bling at the wedding and feels as though it compliments "her own jewel-like rareness." Gerty points out the massive diamond pendant which was a wedding gift for the bride from Simon Rosedale. And a big sapphire from Percy Gryce. Then, Gerty drops the bomb: Percy is all over Evie Van Osburgh these days. The real kicker is that the Van Osburghs are so wealthy that Evie doesn't need his money at all. Lily is horrified. So, it's not the best moment for Gus to come up and put his hand on her as though they're best buds. This angers her even more, especially when he calls her "Lily" instead of "Miss Bart" and comments on how attractive she looks. He also announces - loudly - that he has another check for her, which alarms Lily. Lily again returns her thoughts to Percy. She decides to steal him back from Evie. Except, while she is plotting, Gus is still standing there, disgruntled that Lily isn't paying more attention to him. He tells Lily to come see him at Bellomont that night, since Judy won't be around. Lily says she can't; Trenor again expresses his frustration with her for not spending more time with him. So, Trenor asks for another favor in return for all this dough he's been giving her: be nice to Simon Rosedale, since he's the guy supplying all these great tips on the stock market. Lily agrees, and the two of them go looking for Rosedale. On the way, they bump into Selden, which makes Lily's heart go pitter-pat, or possibly all-aflutter. They haven't seen each other since that private walk at Bellomont. They banter for a bit about Lily's fate in society, but Trenor soon drags Rosedale over and interrupts congenially. His "we're best buddies!" tone of voice ticks off Lily some more. Lily knows it's time for her to start the charming Lily Bart act, but she has trouble performing in front of Selden. She gives Rosedale a look that says, "Do you seriously expect me to talk to you?" Rosedale responds by casually mentioning Lily's dressmaker at the Benedick... And that does the trick. Lily goes off for a little chat with Rosedale, knowing all the while that Selden must have picked up on what happened outside his flat in New York. As the party draws to its conclusion, Lily realizes she hasn't been able to find Percy yet. Evie is also nowhere to be seen, which she takes to be a bad sign. Finally, she bumps into Mrs. Van Osburgh, who is all flustered and excited. She tells Lily that Evie and Percy have just gotten engaged.

