Then Aldo understood what he was there for. And more than ever, as he looked at Mr. Van Osten's powerful frame, did he realize that twenty dollars was little.
He stayed only a short time, during which he was sad, and silent, and bitter. And Mrs. Van Osten was pleased with his attitude. As he took his leave, he suddenly decided to show her that he had understood.
"Would you honour me by seeing 'Tannhäuser' from my box at the opera to-morrow night?"
A gleam shot at him from Mrs. Van Osten's sly eye. Her husband laid his large hand on his wife's bare shoulder.
"We are engaged," he said.
Mrs. Van Osten put her head against his arm.
"Indeed, we are more than that, Bertie," she said, looking up at him with an enamoured and rapturous smile.
Aldo bowed and withdrew.
The next day was Saturday. On his desk lay the mauve envelope, and in it was a hundred-dollar bill.
"I shall not need you now for a month or two, I believe," said Mrs. Van Osten wistfully. She had come over to his "office" early on the Monday morning. "But"—and she sighed deeply—"I do not suppose the effect you have had upon my husband will last for ever."