“Now look here, Lucile!” cried Gannette, his apoplectic face becoming more deeply purple, and his blear eyes leering angrily upon the calm woman. “I ain’t a-goin’ to stand this! 93 What have I done? I’m as sober as any one here, an’––” William took the heavy man gently by the arm and persuaded him to his feet. The other guests suppressed their smiles and remained discreetly quiet.
“But––my car––!” sputtered Gannette.
“Have Henri take him to his club, William,” said the Beaubien, rising. “Good night, Mr. Gannette. We will expect you Wednesday evening, and we trust that we will not have to accept your excuses again.”
Gannette was led soddenly out. The Beaubien quietly resumed her seat. It was the second time the man had been dismissed from her table, and the guests marveled that it did not mean the final loss of her favor. But she remained inscrutable; and the conversation quickly drifted into new channels. A few moments later William returned and made a quiet announcement:
“Mr. Ames.”
A huge presence emerged from the darkness into the light. The Beaubien immediately rose and advanced to greet the newcomer. “What is it?” she whispered, taking his hand.
The man smiled down into her upturned, anxious face. His only reply was a reassuring pressure of her hand. But she comprehended, and her face brightened.
“Gentlemen,” remarked Ames, taking the vacant chair, “the President’s message is out. I have been going over it with Hood––which accounts for my tardiness,” he added, nodding pleasantly to the Beaubien. “Quoting from our chief executive’s long list of innocent platitudes, I may say that ‘private monopoly is criminally unjust, wholly indefensible, and not to be tolerated in a Republic founded upon the premise of equal rights to all mankind.’”
“Certainly not!” concurred Weston, holding up his glass and gazing admiringly at the rich color of the wine.
The others laughed. “Quite my sentiments, too,” murmured Fitch, rolling his eyes upward and attempting with poor success to assume a beatific expression.