Alice had been gone for a couple of weeks, and the day was drawing near when the Hasbrook case came up for trial. The Saturday before that being the date of the Mi-carême dance of the Long Island Hunt Club, Siegfried Harvey was to have a house-party for the week-end, and Montague accepted his invitation. He had been working hard, putting the finishing touches to his brief, and he thought that a rest would be good for him.
He and his brother went down upon Friday afternoon, and the first person he met was Betty Wyman, whom he had not seen for quite a while. Betty had much to say, and said it. As Montague had not been seen with Mrs. Winnie since the episode in her house, people had begun to notice the break, and there was no end of gossip; and Mistress Betty wanted to know all about it, and how things stood between them.
But he would not tell her, and so she saucily refused to tell him what she had heard. All the while they talked she was eyeing him quizzically, and it was evident that she took the worst for granted; also that he had become a much more interesting person to her because of it. Montague had the strangest sensations when he was talking with Betty Wyman; she was delicious and appealing, almost irresistible; and yet her views of life were so old! “I told you you wouldn’t do for a tame cat!” she said to him.
Then she went on to talk to him about his case, and to tease him about the disturbance he had made.
“You know,” she said, “Ollie and I were in terror—we thought that grandfather would be furious, and that we’d be ruined. But somehow, it didn’t work out that way. Don’t you say anything about it, but I’ve had a sort of a fancy that he must be on your side of the fence.”
“I’d be glad to know it,” said Montague, with a laugh—“I’ve been trying for a long time to find out who is on my side of the fence.”
“He was talking about it the other day,” said Betty, “and I heard him tell a man that he’d read your argument, and thought it was good.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Montague.
“So was I,” replied she. “And I said to him afterward, ‘I suppose you don’t know that Allan Montague is my Ollie’s brother.’ And he did you the honour to say that he hadn’t supposed any member of Ollie’s family could have as much sense!”
Betty was staying with an aunt near by, and she went back before dinner. In the automobile which came for her was old Wyman himself, on his way home from the city; and as a snowstorm had begun, he came in and stood by the fire while his car was exchanged for a closed one from Harvey’s stables. Montague did not meet him, but stood and watched him from the shadows—a mite of a man, with a keen and eager face, full of wrinkles. It was hard to realize that this little body held one of the great driving minds of the country. He was an intensely nervous and irritable man, bitter and implacable—by all odds the most hated and feared man in Wall Street. He was swift, imperious, savage as a hornet. “Directors at meetings that I attend vote first and discuss afterward,” was one of his sayings that Montague had heard quoted. Watching him here by the fireside, rubbing his hands and chatting pleasantly, Montague had a sudden sense of being behind the scenes, of being admitted to a privilege denied to ordinary mortals—the beholding of royalty in everyday attire!