The House of Mirth

by Edith Wharton

“Ah, you are as bad as the other sectarians,” she exclaimed; “why do you call your republic a republic? It is a close corporation, and you create arbitrary objections in order to keep people out.” “It is not my republic; if it were, I should have a coup d’état and seat you on the throne.” “Whereas, in reality, you think I can never even get my foot across the threshold? Oh, I understand what you mean. You despise my ambitions; you think them unworthy of me!” Selden smiled, but not ironically. “Well, isn’t that a tribute? I think them quite worthy of most of the people who live by them.” She had turned to gaze on him gravely. “But isn’t it possible that if I had the opportunities of these people, I might make a better use of them? Money stands for all kinds of things; its purchasing quality isn’t limited to diamonds and motor-cars.” “Not in the least; you might expiate your enjoyment of them by founding a hospital.” “But if you think they are what I should really enjoy, you must think my ambitions are good enough for me.” Selden met this appeal with a laugh. “Ah, my dear Miss Bart, I am not Divine Providence, to guarantee your enjoying the things you are trying to get!” “Then the best you can say for me is that after struggling to get them I probably shan’t like them?” She drew a deep breath. “What a miserable future you foresee for me!” “Well, have you never foreseen it for yourself?” The slow colour rose to her cheek, not a blush of excitement but drawn from the deep well...