The Lifting of a Finger/Chapter 12

THE western sky was ablaze with crimson splendor as Margaret and Bellamy drove to their new home at the close of a glorious June day. A telegram had preceded them to notify the housekeeper of their coming, so although the sun had but just set, light shone in every window.

Francis had not been inside the house since the work of decorating and furnishing had begun under Margaret's direction; it had been a whim of his not to see it until she pronounced it complete.

From the centre of the spacious hall, whose walls were dotted with curtained door-ways, a marble stairway ran up to ​a landing, where it separated into two flights, one going to the right and the other to the left. The massive newel-posts supported the life-size figures of two Syrian boys, who carried flaming torches held high above their heads.

At the right of the stairs was a gay little tent that looked like the booth of a fortune-teller at a fair. Inside hung a jewelled lamp, and Francis caught glimpses of cushioned seats and bright-colored pillows.

On the other side of the stairs was a many-windowed tower, and under the windows a seat had been built. There were pillows here too, but they were dainty affairs, and these, with the white curtains and the tea-table, with flowers in a tall vase standing in its centre, made this bower a decided contrast to ​the Oriental splendor on the other side of the hall.

Margaret took off her wraps and gave them to a servant. "Will you look at the drawing-room before you go upstairs?" she said to Francis. "I am curious to know whether it pleases you."

Her husband followed her without replying. The room they entered was lofty and had high, narrow windows, whose upper sashes enclosed panes of amber glass. The walls were upholstered in yellow satin, that changed to white above the moulding; the pictures were paintings in heavy gilt frames and engravings in white ones; the furniture was white upholstered in yellow damask, and the pale yellow carpet was strewn with white fur rugs.

​There were gleaming white statues on onyx pedestals; there were lamps with fluffy yellow shades; thrifty palms rose from jardinières that looked like mammoth golden pearls, and from behind a glass screen made pretty with painted daffodils there was a white-and-gold piano.

"What do you think of it?" Margaret asked.

"I shall have to get used to it before I can tell you that," Francis replied. "It is certainly unlike any room I ever saw before. Splendid is the word to describe it, I should say."

"And perhaps you are thinking that splendor isn't apt to be comfortable," Margaret retorted with a smile. "I assure you the rest of the rooms are very unlike this one. I have fitted up a ​den for you on this floor, well away from the music-room, and upstairs two of the rooms on the right are yours also. I ventured to take for granted that you would dine here to-night," she added; "but in future I shall make no demands upon your time."

In the dining-room the rich hangings, the satin walls, and the carpet were all of palest blue, and the furniture was of dark green oak upholstered in light blue leather.

"I shall ask mother and father and Jack, and your sister and Mr. Westlake, to dine here to-morrow," Margaret said to Bellamy as they seated themselves at the table.

Francis made a wry face. "You may count on my absence," he said. "Family dinner-parties are not to my taste."

​Whatever Margaret's guests at dinner on the following evening thought of their host's lack of courtesy in not being present, his absence was unquestionably a relief to all of them. He came in, however, as they were about to leave.

There was some constraint in the greetings exchanged. Mr. Westlake's manner, as he shook hands with his brother-in-law, held both regard and disapproval; his wife kissed her brother with a good deal of affection, but was plainly nervous; Mrs. Winthrop evinced a pathetic desire to make the best of a regrettable state of affairs by trying to appear cordial, and Jack's greeting was frigid. Mr. Winthrop was perhaps the only one present, with the exception of Bellamy, who was master of the situation. These two shook hands in an ​unemotional way that did much to set the others at ease.

The greetings over, Francis sat down with an air of weariness. "For once in my life, at least," he said, "I've done a hard day's work. I've been trying to bring order out of chaos in the stables. You must go through them soon," he added to Westlake. "Oh, that reminds me, Jim, I've made arrangements to have Sibyl brought here. She's been at death's door."

Margaret looked up quickly, first at her husband, then at Mr. Westlake, and was astonished to see a look of genuine pleasure come into the latter's face. "It will be good to see Sybil again," he said.

In a flash Margaret understood who Sybil was.

​After the departure of the guests the master and mistress of the house went up the broad stairs together. At the top Margaret paused and said:

"Will you wait here a moment? I have something to give you."

She disappeared through a door leading to her rooms, coming back in a moment with a small package, which she handed to her husband. It was the roll of money he had given her on the night of their marriage.

"You must take that back," Margaret said gently. "You have already given me half your fortune. I think that is what a man should do when he marries, but I will accept nothing more from you."

Bellamy put the money in his pocket with an amused air. "Why don't you ​offer to pay me board?" he asked mockingly.

Instead of showing anger at this speech, Margaret smiled. "I think I shall earn my board by my services as head housekeeper," she said good-humoredly. "By the way, I have something to tell you that may amuse you. That night at the hotel I read, without meaning to, the words of the telegram in which that money is wrapped, and until to-night I thought that Sibyl was a woman." As she stopped speaking Margaret broke into a peal of musical laughter, in which Bellamy did not join.

"Sibyl is the horse who saved my life when Westlake and I were together in the Rockies," he said. "And you thought she was a woman? How ​did it happen, then, that when I came back I was not favored with your opinion of my conduct?"

"I promised not to interfere with you, and I mean to keep my word," Margaret replied coldly as she turned away.