The House of Mirth

The House of Mirth Summary

The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton, published in 1905, is a novel that explores the life of Lily Bart, a beautiful and charming woman navigating the complexities of New York's high society at the turn of the 20th century. The narrative delves into themes of wealth, social status, and the constraints imposed on women, as Lily struggles to secure a suitable marriage while maintaining her integrity.

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The House of Mirth Excerpt

Short Summary: Lily Bart, a 29-year-old socialite, seeks to secure her place in New York's elite society through a prosperous marriage. Her beauty and charm captivate many, but her unwillingness to compromise her principles leads to a series of misfortunes, ultimately resulting in her tragic downfall.

Excerpt:

Selden paused in surprise. In the afternoon rush of the Grand Central Station his eyes had been refreshed by the sight of Miss Lily Bart. It was a Monday in early September, and he was returning to his work from a hurried dip into the country; but what was Miss Bart doing in town at that season? If she had appeared to be catching a train, he might have inferred that he had come on her in the act of transition between one and another of the country-houses which disputed her presence after the close of the Newport season; but her desultory air perplexed him. She stood apart from the crowd, letting it drift by her to the platform or the street, and wearing an air of irresolution which might, as he surmised, be the mask of a very definite purpose. It struck him at once that she was waiting for some one, but he hardly knew why the idea arrested him. There was nothing new about Lily Bart, yet he could never see her without a faint movement of interest: it was characteristic of her that she always roused speculation, that her simplest acts seemed the result of far-reaching intentions.

An impulse of curiosity made him turn out of his direct line to the door, and stroll past her. He knew that if she did not wish to be seen she would contrive to elude him; and it amused him to think of putting her skill to the test.

"Mr. Selden—what good luck!"

She came forward smiling, eager almost, in her resolve to intercept him. One or two persons, in brushing past them, lingered to look; for Miss Bart was a figure to arrest even the suburban traveller rushing to his last train.

Selden had never seen her more radiant. Her vivid head, relieved against the dull tints of the crowd, made her more conspicuous than in a ball-room, and under her dark hat and veil she regained the girlish smoothness, the purity of tint, that she was beginning to lose after eleven years of late hours and indefatigable dancing. Was it really eleven years, Selden found himself wondering, and had she indeed reached the nine-and-twentieth birthday with which her rivals credited her?

"What luck!" she repeated. "How nice of you to come to my rescue!"

He responded joyfully that to do so was his mission in life, and asked what form the rescue was to take.

"Oh, almost any—even to sitting on a bench and talking to me. One sits out a cotillion—why not sit out a train? It isn't a bit hotter here than in Mrs. Van Osburgh's conservatory—and some of the women are not a bit uglier."

She broke off laughing to explain that she had come up to town from Tuxedo on a shopping expedition, and had missed the three-fifteen train to Rhinebeck. "And there isn't another till half-past five." She consulted the little jewelled watch among her laces. "Just two hours to wait. And I don't know what to do with myself. My maid came up this morning with the dresses, but I couldn't let the poor thing drag about with me all day. I've sent her off to a matinee. Meanwhile, I am at your service—but that doesn't help me to get a cup of tea!"

Selden had been watching her with amused curiosity. She made no effort to hide from him that she was bored, and a little bit annoyed at having to wait. He knew that she was not accustomed to making plans for herself, and that she was used to having her life arranged for her by others. He wondered how she would take the suggestion that they go to a popular tea-room near the station.

"Why not come with me to the Patroons?" he suggested. "It's not far, and you can have your tea while I smoke a cigarette."

She glanced at him doubtfully, but he saw that she was tempted. "Isn't it awfully hot?" she objected.

"Not too hot for your cup of tea."

She considered a moment, then smiled. "Very well, let's go. I have just two hours to dispose of, and I can think of nothing more amusing than spending them with you."

He turned and walked with her through the station and out into the hot September afternoon. As they moved along the crowded street, he reflected that she was as much at home amid the swarming life of New York as in the conservatories of Newport or the drawing rooms of Fifth Avenue. Yet, beneath her bright composure, he sensed a restlessness, a tension that intrigued him.

Over their tea at the Patroons, Lily spoke of her plans—her inevitable round of country-house visits, her vague intentions of settling something, though what, she could not quite say. Selden listened with half-amused sympathy, sensing that she was at a crossroads, though she might not yet realize it herself. There was something both dazzling and tragic in her charm, in the way she carried herself as though every moment was a carefully orchestrated scene in a play she was determined to master.

As they left the tea-room, he found himself wondering—not for the first time—whether Lily Bart was as much the mistress of her fate as she believed. And if she was not, then who, or what, was guiding the course of her life?