CHAPTER XX.

THE MEETING.

Mr. James Elwell was far from being pleased with the idea of Miss Lettie Allan becoming an intimate friend to his future wife. And the announcement that that attractive young lady was to be an attendant at his approaching wedding disquieted him considerably.

True, he was not particularly honorable himself, and she had served him a good turn by entertaining Fanny, and thereby preventing exposures that might have affected his speculation.

He was willing to acknowledge all this, and pay for it, if necessary; but that must be the end of it. As a temporary acquaintance, to accomplish certain purposes, Miss Allan might be very desirable, but as an inmate of his future family she was not to be thought of.

So this rising young man, after recovering from the stupor he had been thrown into by his bride’s announcement, set out to prevent, if possible, the consummation of this visit.

It was not until the day set for his departure, however, that he called on Mr. Peter Coleman at his office.

“Coleman,” he said abruptly, as he entered the office, “this thing has got to be stopped.”

“What thing?” inquired Peter.

“This proposed visit of your friend,” replied Elwell. “I can not allow it.”

Peter looked greatly disquieted.

“I don’t see what harm can come of it,” he said. “You must allow that she served you well here, and behaved herself.”

“That is all well enough,” replied Elwell haughtily. “I will admit the service, and pay for it; but that must be all. I cannot consent to any further intimacy between Miss Allan and my future wife.”

“I have no desire to see them intimate,” said Peter quietly. “But I do not see how you are going to prevent this visit. My advice would be to pay no attention to it. After you are married, you can easily explain things to your wife, and that will end it. Better let it alone until then----”

“That’s all nonsense,” interrupted Elwell angrily. “I don’t propose to wait until then. Understand me: This visit is not to take place. You can settle with her in any way you see fit; but she _must_ not go!”

“What am I to do to prevent it?” inquired Coleman.

“Anything you see fit, so long as you prevent it. Here, pay her what she wants. That is the best way.”

And he took a roll of banknotes from his pocket and threw part of them on the desk.

There was an odd expression on the lawyer’s face as he watched the notes flutter on the desk in front of him.

“I think you are mistaken in your opinion of the young lady,” he said quietly.

“Mistaken! Bah!” sneered Elwell.

Peter made no answer.

Elwell paced angrily between the desk and the window.

“A pleasant acquaintance she is likely to be for the future Mrs. Elwell,” he said, gnawing at his mustache.

“You knew as much about her when you accepted her services as you do now,” retorted Coleman. “You have no right to complain. See, now,” he went on, turning in his revolving chair so as to face his old client. “You and I cannot afford to quarrel. At least,” he went on truthfully, “I cannot afford to quarrel with you. I will do all I can for you, and prevent this visit, if possible; but I can not promise. You see,” he went on, glancing at the money on the desk, and smiling slightly, “you do not know Lettie as I do.”

“Is she different from all other women?” inquired Elwell sneeringly.

“Yes,” replied Peter seriously; “she is. If I was to offer her those banknotes it would settle the matter for good.”

“Then you had better offer them,” exclaimed Elwell pettishly; “for I want it settled.”

“Probably not as she would settle it, though,” returned the lawyer dryly.

“Do as you please!” cried Elwell impatiently; “only see that she does not go.”

“I will do all I can, but I cannot promise,” replied the lawyer imperturbably. “I will see her at once, and try to prevent her going.”

“Tell her she had better not come,” said Elwell savagely. “I might be tempted to expose her in front of them all.”

“That might be dangerous,” replied Peter calmly. “You know absolutely nothing about her, and who can tell how much she may know about you?”

Elwell turned quickly and looked at his friend, to see if there was any concealed menace in his words; but the lawyer’s face was a perfect blank, and he returned the gaze steadily.

“You will do all you can?” he said at last.

“Everything possible,” returned Coleman in an earnest tone. “But I cannot prevent her going if she wants to, and I would advise you to treat her right if she does go.”

“I will remember,” said Elwell in acknowledgment of this advice, as he left the office. And Peter muttered when he was left alone:

“You will be pretty sure to remember if you don’t.”

Peter evidently disliked the duty before him; and, like many others, he tried to make up in spiritual for what he lacked in moral courage. In consequence, he was in a highly exhilarated condition when he reached his home.

“Ask Miss Allan if she will see me in the parlor for a moment,” he said to the servant; and in a moment more Lettie entered the room.

“See here, Lettie,” he said authoritatively, as soon as she entered, “we have been talking about this visit--Elwell and I--and we have concluded that it would be better, perhaps, if you did not go. I thought I would come up and tell you,” he went on hurriedly, “so you would not make any unnecessary preparations.”

Lettie listened quietly until he had finished.

“Have you not forgotten something?” she inquired at last.

“Forgotten something?” repeated Peter, blinking at her sleepily. “No. What have I forgotten?”

“I thought perhaps you might have forgotten to ask whether I wanted to go or not,” replied Lettie, standing quietly before him.

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Coleman faintly. “So we did; but then we relied on your friendship. I dare say you would like the visit well enough; but give it up, Lettie, to please me, and I will give you a trip to New York to pay for it.”

Lettie looked down on the nearly drunken man before her with disgust.

“I am sorry to interfere with your plans,” she said at length; “but I shall start to-night.”

“But, Lettie, you do not understand,” exclaimed Peter, sobering a little. “I am playing for big stakes here, and I dare not offend Elwell--at least, until after he is married.”

“I dare,” said the girl, raising her fine figure proudly.

“Yes; but you will please me in this,” he said coaxingly. “You must not go. What can I say to Elwell?”

“You might give him this,” replied Lettie, taking from her pocket a scrap of paper and tossing it to him. She turned as she was leaving the room, and added: “If you dare.”

Peter heard her laugh as she went through the hall. He was staring at the door blankly. At last his eye fell on the bit of paper he held in his hand, and he sprang to his feet with a mighty oath. It was the circular he had picked up in his office the day Elwell had applied for his divorce. It was the list of death claims paid by the Widows’ and Orphans’ Mutual Benefit Tontine Life Insurance Company, and contained among others the name of Clinton Percival.

He was greatly disturbed.

“I wonder how much she knows,” he muttered, “and what she intends to do with her knowledge?” He was completely sobered now, and paced up and down the room in a very savage manner. “I would like to know how she got hold of that?” he muttered, staring blankly at the bit of paper. But the paper could give him no answer, and he resumed his march as savagely as before. After thinking deeply for a few moments, he rang the bell. “Ask Miss Lettie to step here for a moment,” he said shortly to the servant. She disappeared, but soon returned with the information that Miss Lettie was engaged. “Tell her I _must_ see her for a moment!” cried Peter savagely. “_Must_ see her! Do you understand?”

The servant disappeared again, somewhat frightened this time; but returned almost immediately to say that Miss Lettie was busy and would not come. And having delivered this message through the partly open door, she took to her heels and fled.

Coleman swore savagely and left the house, slamming the door after him with unnecessary violence.

“I had better see Elwell,” he muttered anxiously, as he hurried along. “I’ll try to smooth him over; for there is no possibility of stopping that cat now, unless I chuck her into the lake.”

He crossed hurriedly over to Madison Street, and took the first car downtown. Going directly to the Palmer House, he looked for his friend anxiously, but in vain. He was not in the office, nor in the reading room, nor in the billiard room.

“He will return soon,” thought Peter; and he took a seat where he could see all who entered, and waited patiently. A half hour passed, and then an hour, and that grew into two hours. Still he waited. At last he could stand it no longer. “I will leave a message for him,” he thought; and went to the desk and wrote a short note.

“Will you hand this to Mr. Elwell when he returns?” he said, handing the note to the clerk.

That languid functionary took the note and scanned it carelessly. At last he said languidly:

“Mr. Elwell has gone.”

“Gone?” repeated Coleman blankly.

“Gone,” reiterated the clerk. “Four-thirty boat. Bill is paid;” and having delivered himself of this, the languid clerk sank back into his chair.

Coleman cursed heartily. He could do nothing but return to the house, and endeavor to persuade Lettie to stay. But here again fate was against him, for he was met at the door with the information that Miss Allan had gone, and would not return for a week or ten days.

“Devil take ’em!” cried Peter, in his exasperation. “They have both taken the same boat. Let them fight it out between them. I have done all I can;” and washing his hands of it thus, he went to his supper with as much appetite as he could muster.

* * * * *

Elwell was considerably astonished to find himself accompanied by this unwelcome visitor. Perhaps, if he had known it sooner, he might have expressed his dissatisfaction forcibly; but the boat had nearly completed its voyage before he discovered her presence, and then it was too late. Perhaps the words of Peter Coleman had left an impression on him. At all events, he made no further attempt to interfere with the young lady’s visit. Even when he heard Fanny introduce her as one of _his_ friends from Chicago, he even went so far as to admit to himself that Lettie was a very valuable addition to the little party. Her tact was perfect, and she made friends of all she met--from Fanny’s simpering schoolgirl friends to the rough old cronies of her father’s. At the wedding she was the only self-possessed person in the room. And as Elwell entered the cars with his newly wedded wife, he found himself thinking with great satisfaction, that Lettie was there to take care of old Pat, who had got hilariously intoxicated in honor of the bride and groom.

He was very considerate of his wife in that long journey to the seashore, evincing such care for her comfort as to impress Fanny in spite of her shallow nature; but he was far from happy himself. He had made a successful speculation, and was on the high road to fortune. Yet he thought more of the past than he did of the future. And every caress he received from Fanny brought to his mind some corresponding caress that he had received from that other wife.

He could not help thinking about her and his boy. He wondered what Norine would think of him if she knew. But then she would never know; and if she did? He was secure. She could not mar his fortune now.

He thought of her all through that rapid journey. So it was not to be wondered at that his mind was still full of her when he arrived at New York.

Their stateroom was already secured, and the steamer was to sail the next day. They might have gone directly on board; but Elwell thought it better to stay that last night on shore, that they might get as much rest as possible.

So they were driven to the Waldorf, where they had a very comfortable dinner served in their rooms.

They were content to rest. And it was late in the afternoon before Elwell thought of leaving their apartments.

“I will go down to the office,” he said to Fanny, “and telegraph a last word to father.”

He went out into the corridor, and then stopped, struck dumb. There, coming directly toward him, leading a sunny-haired child by the hand, was Norine!

She had not seen him yet, and he managed to stagger back into his room and close the door; but he was completely upset, and his white set face, as he fell into a chair, drew a scream of alarm from Fanny.

“What is it, James? What is the matter?” she cried.

There was wine on the table, and a tumbler of water. Throwing the water away, he filled the goblet full of wine and drank it all. Then he turned to Fanny.

“It is nothing,” he said hoarsely--“nothing that I am not used to.”

But all the time his brain was surging with the wonder of it.

How came she there? And his brain seemed to take up the refrain, and throb. How came she there? how came she there? how came she there?

Fanny moved to the bell to call for assistance. She was terribly frightened at this sudden change in her husband. But he pulled himself together in time to prevent her.

“It is nothing,” he said; “don’t be alarmed. It will pass away in a moment.”

He threw himself down on a sofa, and as the strong wine went to his brain, he became calmer, and could laugh at Fanny for her fright.

“I will sleep a little,” he said, “and then it will be all over;” and under the influence of the fatigue, the surprise, and the wine, he sank into a fitful doze.

Only once did he seem to be asleep, and then his lips moved, and his wife bent down to hear what he said. It was:

“Norine--Clinton!”

Fanny was as greatly mystified as ever, only she remembered the names, and determined that some day she would find out who this Norine was that her husband talked about in his sleep. She would not tell him of it. That was not her way; but she would wait and some day she would know all.

Elwell left the room no more that night, and early the next morning they went on board of the steamship, that was to carry them across the ocean. But it was not until after they had passed Sandy Hook that his fright left him, and not for many, many days after did he cease to wonder: How came she there?