The Lifting of a Finger/Chapter 9

IT was a curious score of men who gathered in Mr. Westlake's smoking-room on the following night. They had supposed the affair of the wager would be hushed up, but when it was learned that it was to be settled, and under the auspices of Mr. Westlake, wonder knew no bounds.

Francis arrived somewhat later than the appointed hour, but when he came he disposed of the matter with an abruptness different from his usual dramatic way of doing things; for once in his life he seemed to have no desire to create a sensation.

Nevertheless, the scene as he handed the money to Hatfield, while the other ​men stood watching the faces of the two apprehensively, was full of suppressed excitement. Any fears that the episode would end in a quarrel were soon relieved. Bellamy's manner was that of a man paying an ordinary debt, and he treated Hatfield with a calm politeness that was a challenge to equal courtesy.

"Have you anything to say?" the latter asked as he took the money.

"I think not," Francis answered. "You won your wager, and I am paying it; it seems to me that on this occasion words are superfluous. Did we not waste them at our last meeting?"

"You did," returned Hatfield shortly.

At this the spectators breathed quickly, and Westlake took a step towards Bellamy as if to be ready to ​remonstrate with him, but Francis showed no signs of anger.

"As my part in the evening's entertainment has been performed, Jim," he said pleasantly, "I think I will take myself off." With these words Francis left the room, quickly, yet with no appearance of haste, not waiting to listen to Hatfield's declaration that he meant to give the money Bellamy had paid him to charity.

The following afternoon had been agreed upon for Bellamy to take his fiancée to look at a house he had thought of purchasing. When Margaret came downstairs dressed for the drive, Francis told himself that in appearance, at least, his future wife was all he could have wished. As he took her wrap and led the way to ​the carriage Bellamy spoke his thought aloud, but his companion received the compliment with a gravity so entire that he wished the remark unsaid.

The house they were going to inspect was on Riverside Drive and, as the day was bright and warm, steady streams of carriages rolled along the roadways that run in either direction.

In the procession of equipages that clanked past them both Margaret and Bellamy saw familiar faces, but they seldom had occasion to speak to the same people. The carriages whose occupants greeted Bellamy were mostly showy turnouts with women inside whose eyes sought the girl at his side with glances that were either frankly or stealthily curious.

As they drew up before the house ​Margaret uttered an exclamation of mingled admiration and amazement. She knew that Bellamy was a wealthy man, but the splendor of her future home far exceeded her anticipations. The house had been built by a well-known millionaire who was afterwards obliged to seek a dryer climate, Francis explained to her as they walked through the lofty rooms.

"Do you like it?" he asked when they had finished their tour of inspection and were once more in the large entrance-hall.

The girl at his side let her glance wander out through the open door and across the shining river to where the purple Palisades rose to meet a glorious sky. "It is beautiful," she said.

"I am going to leave the furnishing ​of it entirely to you." Francis told her. "It will give you something to think about."

Margaret looked thoughtful. "It seems a big undertaking for one so inexperienced in such matters," she remarked. "Suppose the result should disappoint you?"

"I think your taste may safely be depended upon," Francis said dryly.

This compliment caused Margaret to move towards the door with a sigh. "She's the only woman I ever knew who didn't flutter at a pretty speech," Bellamy said to himself.

During the journey home the carriage was obliged to pause where the Drive turns into Seventy-second Street, and in this interval Margaret found herself being stared at by a woman in a smart ​victoria who had a moment before bowed to Bellamy.

"There's a lady who will be little short of furious when she reads of our wedding," he said when they were moving again; "she wants to marry me herself."

Margaret's face softened. "I am sorry for her," she said gently.

"Don't waste your pity," returned Francis; "it's my money she loves, not me."

But Margaret, who had noted the look in the woman's eyes as they rested on Bellamy, thought differently. She was so grave and silent during the latter part of the drive that Francis said, as the carriage stopped, "I wonder what you have been thinking, with that stern look on your face."

​"I have been thinking of how sorry I am for any woman who is unfortunate enough to love you," Margaret responded coldly.

Contrary to his usual custom on the rare occasions when they went out together, Francis accompanied his fiancée into the house.

On the threshold of the drawing-room they were met by Mrs. Winthrop, who took no notice of Bellamy, but put her arms round Margaret and began to cry with her head on the girl's shoulder.

"Mother, mother, what has happened?" cried the bewildered Margaret. "Is father ill?"

"No, no. Oh, how shall I tell you?" wailed Mrs. Winthrop. "I always said he wasn't fit to breathe the same air with you, and I was right. I don't see how ​you are to bear this added disgrace. If only you had taken my advice."

"What is it, mother? What has Mr. Bellamy done?"

"Oh, how could he do it, how could he?" continued the weeping woman. "To make you the subject of a wager! I heard all about it at Mrs. Thorpe's this afternoon."

"Mother, stop crying and tell me what you mean," cried Margaret with a white face.

"Miss Margaret, I hardly think your mother is in a condition to impart anything lucidly," put in Bellamy. "If you will come into some other room I will tell you what she is trying to break gently."

"Go into the library," returned Margaret, "and when I have taken mother upstairs I will join you there."