"Young lady," Balsamo was saying. "Rest assured that I have not taken
five shillings from you for nothing. Your lover has a wart on his chin."
Daintiness itself sat in front of him, with her little porcelain hands
lying on the black cushion. And daintiness was astonished into
withdrawing those hands.
"Please keep your hands still," said Balsamo, firmly, and proceeded:
"But you have another lover, older, who has recently come into your
life. Fair, tall. A successful man who will always be successful. Is it
not so?"
"Yes," a little voice muttered.
"You can't make up your mind between them? Answer me."
"No."
"And you wish to learn the future. I will tell you--you will marry the
fair man. That is your destiny. And you will be very happy. You will
soon perceive the bad qualities of the one with the wart. He is a wicked
man. I need not urge you to avoid him. You will do so."
"A bad man!"
"A bad man. You see there are two sovereigns lying here. That man has
actually tried to bribe me to influence you in his favour?"
"Ralph?"
"Since you mention his Christian name, I will mention his surname. It is
written here. Martin."
"He can't have--possibly--"
Balsamo strode with offended pride to the portière, and pulled it away,
revealing Mr Ralph Martin, who for the second time that afternoon knew
not what to say or to do.
"I tell you--" Ralph began, as red as fire.
"Silence, sir! Let this teach you not to try to corrupt an honest
professional man! Surely I had amply convinced you of my powers! Take
your miserable money!" He offered the miserable money to Ralph, who
stuck his hands in his pockets, whereupon Balsamo flung the miserable
money violently on to the floor.
A deplorable scene followed, in which the presence of Balsamo did not
prevent Florence Bostock from conveying clearly to Ralph what she
thought of him. They spoke before Balsamo quite freely, as two people
will discuss maladies before a doctor. Ralph departed first; then
Florence. Then Balsamo gathered up the sovereigns. He had honestly
earned Adam's fiver, and since Ralph had refused the two pounds--"I have
seen their hands," said Balsamo the next day to Adam Tellwright. "All is
clear. In a month you will be engaged to her."
"A month?"
"A month. I regret that I had a painful scene with your rival. But of
course professional etiquette prevents me from speaking of that. Let me
repeat, in a month you will be engaged to her."
This prophecy came true. Adam Tellwright, however, did not marry
Florence Bostock. One evening, in a secluded corner at a dance, Ralph
Martin, without warning, threw his arms angrily, brutally, instinctively
round Florence's neck and kissed her. It was wrong of him. But he
conquered her. Love is like that. It hides for years, and then pops out,
and won't be denied. Florence's engagement to Adam was broken. She
married Ralph. She knew she was marrying a strange, dark-minded man of
uncertain temper, but she married him.
As for the unimpeachable Adam, he was left with nothing but the uneasy
fear that he was doomed to die at fifty-two. His wife (for he got one,
and a good one) soon cured him of that.