The Lifting of a Finger/Chapter 16

SPRING had come. Miss Weldon had departed to pay a visit to a relative and prepare her trousseau, and Margaret was settled for the summer in the country-place Francis had lately bought. He came down at intervals, but spent most of his time in town.

The kiss he had stolen seemed to have turned his wife's indifference to dislike. She made no effort to conceal the fact that she avoided him, and she seldom spoke to him, except to answer his questions.

This course caused Francis to assume the air of a devoted husband. He followed her about the house, he invited ​her to drive with him, and his voice, when he spoke to her, took the tone of a man whose wife loves him.

He brought her gifts too,—books and flowers and boxes of candy, and sometimes even jewels: all of which Margaret refused with cold hauteur.

Early in June she told Bellamy that she was going soon to pay a visit to Miss Weldon. "Gertrude is staying with her aunt," she said, "and she has asked me to come and help her get ready for the wedding."

Francis did not try to hide his satisfaction at this news. "Things couldn't have been better arranged," he remarked. "I was just on the point of asking you if you would care to go to your mother for awhile. I have a lot of people coming next week, friends of mine, and I'm ​afraid you and they wouldn't get on well together."

After he had left her Margaret sighed. In the short time she had been there she had grown to love her country home, and the prospect of having the house and the blooming gardens she had planned with so much care invaded during her absence was not pleasant. Still, she did not remonstrate with Bellamy, but went on with her preparations to go away.

On the day set for her departure a telegram came from Gertrude, saying that on account of her aunt's illness Margaret's visit would have to be postponed.

"Then you'll have to go to your mother's after all," Bellamy said when Margaret told him. But this Margaret refused to do. She would not be sent ​away in such an unceremonious fashion, she declared with a show of spirit very different from her usual calm acquiescence to all her husband's plans.

Bellamy shrugged his shoulders. "Suit yourself," he said carelessly; "only don't complain if my friends don't please you."

The guests came next day, and to Margaret's surprise there were several women among the crowd of men. Although Francis had not asked his wife to receive his friends, she was in the hall on their arrival, but she quickly discovered that these people did not consider a hostess a necessary adjunct to a house party. With one exception the men and women Bellamy presented to his wife, after a cool nod and critical survey, ignored her.

​The exception was a Mr. Randal, a good-looking man with a manner almost as easy and fascinating as Bellamy's could be when the latter chose. This gentleman stationed himself at Margaret's side, and after he had talked to her awhile in his low, pleasant voice, she found that they had much in common.

During the weeks that followed Bellamy's friends made themselves quite at home. It did not occur to them to consult their hostess about anything they wished to do. They despoiled gardens and greenhouses, they ordered horses and carriages when it suited them, and they explored the house from roof to cellar, with the exception of the apartments of its mistress.

It was in her own rooms that Margaret spent most of her time, and at night ​she lay staring into the darkness, listening to the music and sound of dancing that came up from the floor below, and knowing that after the dancing was over Bellamy and his guests would spend the rest of the night at cards.

When the news of Bellamy's house party and the names of his guests came to Mrs. Winthrop's ears, that lady wrote most commandingly for her daughter to come to her, but Margaret, for some reason, with which she did not acquaint her mother, chose to stay where she was.

Although the people who filled the house did not trouble themselves about its mistress or what she might think of them and their doings, all but one of them treated her courteously, if coolly.

This one was the woman to whom ​Bellamy was most attentive, and who appropriated his attention as her right. She seemed always ready to annoy Margaret, in which intention she was usually circumvented by Gerald Randal. He stood between Margaret and Beatrice Langdon's rudeness; indeed, he was at all times so gently considerate of her that the lonely woman grew to regard him as a friend.

Late in the afternoon of a hot July day, on going to the library in search of a book, Margaret found her husband's friends gathered about the round centre-table. The magazines that usually lay upon it had been removed to the floor, and the company had their hands piled up on its polished top.

Wondering what new whim had seized them, Margaret was about to slip ​out again when one of the girls caught sight of her and cried, "We're playing Truth, Mrs. Bellamy; won't you stay and play too?"

The others seized with avidity on the idea of having her join them. Margaret saw her husband frown when Miss Langdon added her entreaties to the general cry.

After a moment's hesitation she advanced towards the group, smiling. "I seem to remember having played Truth before," she said. "Isn't it a child's game?"

"Yes," replied one of the men. "Someone chooses a number; then we draw out our hands one at a time from the bottom of the pile, meanwhile counting. The person to whom the number chosen falls must answer truthfully a ​question put to him by each one who is playing."

The game went on rapidly, amid much merriment, and presently the number fell to Margaret. She was asked, by those whose minds were not inventive, her favorite color, her favorite flower, her favorite author.

Then followed various questions in regard to the personal appearance of some of the company. Did she not think Mr. Ralston's nose too large, and was not Miss Ashton's figure too slender and Mrs. Markham too plump?

By bringing tact to her aid Margaret managed to answer these questions without offending. When someone inquired if she did not consider Gerald Randal good-looking, she was so glad to be able to reply by an unqualified ​affirmative that her "Yes" was spoken with some emphasis.

A smile went round the room and Bellamy laughed aloud. Before he had looked as though he regretted her having been drawn into the game; now Margaret saw the expression of his face change, and knew that when his turn came she need expect no consideration. Time proved that she was right.

The next person to question Margaret was a pale, listless young woman, whose unrequited love for Gerald Randal was making her morbid.

"Mrs. Bellamy," she said in a melancholy tone, "what, in your opinion, is the greatest sorrow that can come to a woman?"

Margaret stood next her questioner, and her hand was unconsciously laid ​on the girl's shoulder as she replied slowly,—

"The greatest sorrow that can come to a woman is to love a man she cannot look up to nor respect."

The others, who were laughing loudly at some remark Randal had made a moment before, did not hear question or answer, but Margaret felt her husband's eyes upon her in a searching look.

It was now his turn to question her. The talk and laughter suddenly ceased, and a hush fell on the room. Bellamy's black eyes sparkled with wicked satisfaction as he said,—

"Madge, do you not think Miss Langdon a beautiful woman?"

Margaret flushed with anger, more at his daring to call her Madge than at the ​question. "Not beautiful, but very handsome," she answered readily.

Miss Langdon bit her lip at this reply. As she was on Bellamy's left her turn came next.

"Do you not consider your husband the most graceless sinner in existence?" Beatrice shot her poisoned arrow lightly.

The stillness became intense, and every pair of eyes grew rounder as those present looked from one woman to the other. It was Bellamy's voice that broke the silence.

"Your question is out of order, Beatrice," he said quietly. "It is a rule laid down in courts of law that a woman is not required to testify against her husband."

Without giving Miss Langdon a chance to reply Bellamy laid his hand ​upon the table, Randal covered it with his, and the others followed suit.

This time the lot fell to Bellamy, whose ready wit enabled him to make most of his replies amusing. His answer to Randal's query if he were happy was a vehement "No!"

Miss Langdon's turn came last.

"Whom do you consider the most beautiful woman you have ever seen?" As she put the question Beatrice turned her head archly and smiled into her host's eyes.

"My wife."

Bellamy's answer came before the others had time to wonder what he might be going to say, and its suddenness threw Beatrice off her guard. Her smile died and her face showed her chagrin.

​In the confusion that followed as the game broke up Francis sought his wife's side. "What should you have replied to the query of the fair Beatrice if I had not come to your rescue so neatly?" he demanded.

"I should have said you were a sinner, yes, but a graceful rather than a graceless one."

Bellamy stared at her a moment, then said as he turned away:

"It's a pity you didn't get a chance to make your speech. I wonder where you learned to fence with words so cleverly."