. . ■
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVtK>ITY Vr 

 
 
 ^ 
 


 
 THE GOD IN THE CAR 
 
 A NO^EL 
 
 v!i> 
 
 BY 
 
 ANTHONY HOPE 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE PRISONER OF ZENDA, ETC 
 
 bLiwdujiA-> 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1.S94
 
 Copyright, 1894, 
 By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. — An Insolent Memory . 
 II. — The Coining of a Nickname 
 III. — Mrs. Dennison's Orders 
 IV. — Two Young Gentlemen 
 V. — A Telegram to Frankfort 
 VI. — Whose shall it be f 
 VII. — An Attempt to stop the W 
 VIII. — Converts and Heretics 
 IX. — An Oppressive Atmosphere 
 X. — A Lady's Bit of Work 
 XI. — Against his Coming 
 XII. — It can wait . 
 XIII. — A Spasm of Penitence . 
 XIV. — The Thing or the Man 
 XV. — The Work of a Week 
 XVI. — The Last Barriers 
 XVII. — A Sound in the Night 
 XVIII. — On the Matter of a Railw 
 XIX. — Past praying for . 
 XX. — The Baron's Contribution 
 XXI. — A Joint in his Armour 
 XXII. — A Toast in Champagne 
 XXIII. — The Cutting of the Knot 
 XXIV. — The Return of a Friend 
 XXV.— The Moving Car . 
 
 (iii) 
 
 HEELS 
 
 AY 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 . 14 
 . 26 
 . 39 
 
 . 52 
 . 66 
 . 81 
 . 96 
 . 108 
 . 120 
 . 134 
 . 148 
 . 160 
 . 173 
 . 185 
 . 200 
 . 217 
 . 231 
 . 248 
 . 258 
 . 271 
 . 287 
 . 304 
 . 317 
 . 332
 
 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN INSOLENT MEMORY. 
 
 "I'm so blind," said Miss Ferrars plaintive!} 7 . 
 " Where are my glasses ? " 
 
 " What do you want to see? " asked Lord Seming- 
 ham. 
 
 " The man in the corner, talking to Mr. Loring." 
 
 " Oh, you won't know him even with the glasses. 
 He's the sort of man you must be introduced to three 
 times before there's any chance of a permanent im- 
 pression." 
 
 " You seem to recognise him." 
 
 " I know him in business. We are, or rather are 
 going to be, fellow-directors of a company." 
 
 " Oh, then I shall see you in the dock together 
 some day." 
 
 " What touching faith in the public prosecutor ! 
 Does nothing shake your optimism ? " 
 
 (l)
 
 2 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Perhaps your witticisms." 
 
 " Peace, peace ! " 
 
 "Well, who is he?" 
 
 " He was once," observed Lord Semingham, as 
 though stating a curious fact, "in a Government. 
 His name is Foster Belford, and he is still asked to 
 the State Concerts." 
 
 " I knew I knew him ! Why, Harry Dennison 
 thinks great things of him ! " 
 
 " It is possible." 
 
 " And he, not to be behindhand in politeness, 
 thinks greater of Maggie Dennison." 
 
 " His task is the easier." 
 
 "And you and he are going to have the effrontery 
 to ask shareholders to trust their money to you?" 
 
 " Oh, it isn't us ; it's Ruston." 
 
 " Mr. Ruston ? I've heard of him." 
 
 " You very rarely admit that about anybody." 
 
 " Moreover, I've met him." 
 
 " He's quite coming to the front, of late, I know." 
 
 " Is there any positive harm in being in the fash- 
 ion ? I like now and then to talk to the people one is 
 obliged to talk about." 
 
 " Go on," said Lord Semingham, urbanely. 
 
 " But, my dear Lord Semingham " 
 
 " Hush ! Keep the truth from me, like a kind 
 
 woman. Ah ! here comes Tom Loring How are 
 
 you, Loring? Where's Dennison?"
 
 AN INSOLENT MEMORY. 3 
 
 " At the House. I ought to be there, too." 
 
 " Why, of course. The place of a private secretary 
 is by the side of " 
 
 " His chief's wife. We all know that," interposed 
 Adela Ferrars. 
 
 " When you grow old, you'll be sorry for all the 
 wicked things you've said," observed Loring. 
 
 " Well, there'll be nothing else to do. Where are 
 you going, Lord Semingham ? " 
 
 " Home." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I've done my duty. Oh, but here's 
 Dennison, and I want a word with him." 
 
 Lord Semingham passed on, leaving the other two 
 together. 
 
 "Has Harry Dennison been speaking to-day?" 
 asked Miss Ferrars. 
 
 " Well, he had something prepared." 
 
 " He had something ! You know you write them." 
 
 Mr. Loring frowned. 
 
 "Yes, and I know we aren't allowed to say so," 
 pursued Adela. 
 
 " It's neither just nor kind to Dennison." 
 
 Miss Ferrars looked at him, her brows slightly 
 raised. 
 
 "And you are both just and kind, really," he 
 added. 
 
 " And you, Mr. Loring, are a wonderful man.
 
 4 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 You're not ashamed to be serious ! Oh, yes, I've an- 
 noyed — you're quite right. I was — whatever I was — 
 on the ninth of last March, and I think I'm too old to 
 be lectured." 
 
 Tom Loring laughed, and, an instant later, Adela 
 followed suit. 
 
 " I suppose it was horrid of me," she said. " Can't 
 we turn it round and consider it as a compliment to 
 you ? " 
 
 Tom looked doubtful, but, before he could answer, 
 Adela cried : 
 
 " Oh, here's Evan Haselden, and — yes — it's Mr. 
 Ruston with him ? " 
 
 As the two men entered, Mrs. Dennison rose from 
 her chair. She was a tall woman ; her years fell one 
 or two short of thirty. She was not a beauty, but her 
 broad brow and expressive features, joined to a certain 
 subdued dignity of manner and much grace of move- 
 ment, made her conspicuous among the women in her 
 drawing-room. Young Evan Haselden seemed to ap- 
 preciate her, for he bowed his glossy curly head, and 
 shook hands in a way that almost turned the greeting 
 into a deferentially distant caress. Mrs. Dennison ac- 
 knowledged his hinted homage with a bright smile, 
 and turned to Ruston. 
 
 "At last!" she said, with another smile. "The 
 first time after — how many years?" 
 
 " Eight, I believe," he answered.
 
 AN INSOLENT MEMORY. 5 
 
 " Oh, you're terribly definite. And what have you 
 been doing with yourself ? " 
 
 He shrugged his square shoulders, and she did not 
 press her question, but let her eyes wander over him. 
 
 " Well ? " he asked. 
 " Oh— improved. And I ? " 
 
 Suddenly Ruston laughed. 
 
 " Last time we met," he said, " you swore you'd 
 never speak to me again." 
 
 " I'd quite forgotten my fearful threat." 
 
 He looked straight in her face for a moment, as 
 he asked — 
 
 " And the cause of it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Dennison coloured. 
 
 " Yes, quite," she answered ; and conscious that 
 her words carried no conviction to him, she added 
 hastily, " Go and speak to Harry. There he is." 
 
 Euston obeyed her, and being left for a moment 
 alone, she sat down on the chair placed ready near 
 the door for her short intervals of rest. There was a 
 slight pucker on her brow. The sight of Ruston and 
 his question stirred in her thoughts, which were never 
 long dormant, and which his coming woke into sud- 
 den activity. She had not anticipated that he would 
 venture to recall to her that incident — at least, not at 
 once — in the first instant of meeting, at such a time 
 and such a place. But as he had, she found herself 
 yielding to the reminiscence he induced. Forgotten
 
 6 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 the cause of her anger with him? For the first two 
 or three years of her married life, she would have 
 answered, " Yes, I have forgotten it." Then had 
 come a period when now and again it recurred to her, 
 not for his sake or its own, but as a summary of her 
 stifled feeling; and during that period she had reso- 
 lutely struggled not to remember it. Of late that 
 struggle had ceased, and the thing lay a perpetual 
 background to her thoughts : when there was nothing 
 else to think about, when the stage of her mind was 
 empty of moving figures, it snatched at the chance 
 of prominence, and thus became a recurrent con- 
 sciousness from which her interests and her occupa- 
 tions could not permanently rescue her. For exam- 
 ple, here she was thinking of it in the very midst of 
 her party. Yet this persistence of memory seemed 
 impertinent, unreasonable, almost insolent. For, as 
 she told herself, finding it necessary to tell herself 
 more and more often, her husband was still all that 
 he had been when he had won her heart — good-look- 
 ing, good-tempered, infinitely kind and devoted. 
 When she married she had triumphed confidently in 
 these qualities ; and the unanimous cry of surprised 
 congratulations at the match she was making had 
 confirmed her own joy and exultation in it. It had 
 been a great match ; and yet, beyond all question, also 
 a love match. 
 
 But now the chorus of wondering applause was
 
 AN INSOLENT MEMORY. 7 
 
 forgotten, and there remained only the one voice 
 which had been raised to break the harmony of ap- 
 probation — a voice that nobody, herself least of all, 
 had listened to then. How should it be listened to ? 
 It came from a nobody — a young man of no account, 
 whose opinion none cared to ask ; whose judgment, 
 had it been worth anything in itself, lay under sus- 
 picion of being biassed by jealousy. Willie Ruston 
 had never declared himself her suitor ; yet (she clung 
 hard to this) he would not have said what he did had 
 not the chagrin of a defeated rival inspired him ; and 
 a defeated rival, as everybody knows, will say any- 
 thing. Certainly she had been right not to listen, 
 and was wrong to remember. To this she had often 
 made up her mind, and to this she returned now as 
 she sat watching her husband and Willie Ruston, for- 
 getful of all the chattering crowd beside. 
 
 As to what it was she resolved not to remember, 
 and did remember, it was just one sentence — his only 
 comment on the news of her engagement, his only 
 hint of any opinion or feeling about it. It was short, 
 sharp, decisive, and, as his judgments were, even in 
 the days when he, alone of all the world, held them of 
 any moment, absolutely confident; it was also, she 
 had felt on hearing it, utterly untrue, unjust, and un- 
 generous. It had rung out like a pistol-shot, " Mag- 
 gie, you're marrying a fool," and then a snap of tight- 
 fitting lips, a glance of scornful eyes, and a quick,
 
 8 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 unhesitating stride away that hardly waited for a con- 
 temptuous smile at her angry cry, " I'll never spe;ik 
 to you again." She had been in a fury of wrath — she 
 had a power of wrath — that a plain, awkward, penni- 
 less, and obscure youth — one whom she sometimes 
 disliked for his arrogance, and sometimes derided for 
 his self-confidence — should dare to say such a thing 
 about her Harry, whom she was so proud to love, and 
 so proud to have won. It was indeed an insolent 
 memory that flung the thing again and again in her 
 teeth. 
 
 The party began to melt away. The first good- 
 bye roused Mrs. Dennison from her enveloping rev- 
 erie. Lady Valentine, from whom it came, lingered 
 for a gush of voluble confidences about the charm of 
 the house, and the people, and the smart little band 
 that played softly in an alcove, and what not; her 
 daughter stood by, learning, it is to be hoped, how it 
 is meet to behave in society, and scanning Evan Has- 
 elden's trim figure with wary, critical glances, alert to 
 turn aside if he should glance her way. Mrs. Denni- 
 son returned the ball of civility, and, released by sev- 
 eral more departures, joined Adela Ferrars. Adela 
 stood facing Haselden and Tom Loring, who were 
 arm-in-arm. At the other end of the room Harry 
 Dennison and Huston were still in conversation. 
 
 " These men, Maggie," began Adela — and it seemed 
 a mere caprice of pronunciation, that the word did
 
 AN INSOLENT MEMORY. 9 
 
 not shape itself into " monkeys " — " are the absurdest 
 creatures. They say I'm not fit to take part in poli- 
 tics ! And why?" 
 
 Mrs. Dennison shook her head, and smiled. 
 
 " Because, if you please, I'm too emotional. Emo- 
 tional, indeed ! And I can't generalise ! Oh, couldn't 
 I generalise about men ! " 
 
 " Women can never say ' No,' " observed Evan 
 Haselden, not in the least as if he were repeating a 
 commonplace. 
 
 " You'll find you're wrong when you grow up," 
 retorted Adela. 
 
 " I doubt that," said Mrs. Dennison, with the 
 kindest of smiles. 
 
 " Maggie, you spoil the boy. Isn't it enough that 
 he should have gone straight from the fourth form — 
 where, I suppose, he learnt to generalise " 
 
 " At any rate, not to be emotional," murmured 
 Loring. 
 
 " Into Parliament, without having his head turned 
 by " 
 
 " You'd better go, Evan," suggested Loring in a 
 warning tone. 
 
 " I shall go too," announced Adela. 
 
 " I'm walking ) r our way," said Evan, who seemed 
 to bear no malice. 
 
 " How delightful ! " 
 
 "You don't object?"
 
 10 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Not the least. I'm driving." 
 
 " A mere schoolbov score ! " 
 
 " How stupid of me ! You haven't had time to 
 forget them." 
 
 " Oh, take her away," said Mrs. Dennison, and 
 they disappeared in a fire of retorts, happy, or happy 
 enough for happy people, and probably Evan drove 
 with the lady after all. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison walked towards where her husband 
 and Ruston sat on a sofa in talk. 
 
 "What are you two conspiring about?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Ruston had something to say to me about busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " What, already ? " 
 
 " Oh, we've met in the city, Mrs. Dennison," ex- 
 plained Ruston, with a confidential nod to Harry. 
 
 " And that was the object of your appearance here 
 to-day ? I was flattering my party, it seems." 
 
 "No. I didn't expect to find your husband. I 
 thought he would be at the House." 
 
 " Ah, Harry, how did the speech go?" 
 
 " Oh, really pretty well, I think," answered Harry 
 Dennison, with a contented air. "I got nearly half 
 through before we were counted out." 
 
 A very faint smile showed on his wife's face. 
 
 " Sd you were counted out ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, or I shouldn't be here."
 
 AN INSOLENT MEMORY. 11 
 
 " You sco, I am acquitted, Mrs. Dennison. Only 
 an accident brought him here." 
 
 " An accident impossible to foresee," she ac- 
 quiesced, with the slightest trace of bitterness — so 
 Blight that her husband did not notice it. 
 
 Huston rose. 
 
 " Well, you'd better talk to Semingham about it," 
 he remarked to Harry Dennison ; " he's one of us, 
 you know." 
 
 " Yes, I will. And I'll just get you that pamphlet 
 of mine ; you can put it in your pocket." 
 
 He ran out of the room to fetch what he promised. 
 Mrs. Dennison, still faintly smiling, held out her hand 
 to Ruston. 
 
 " It's been very pleasant to see you again," she 
 said graciously. " I hope it won't be eight years 
 before our next meeting." 
 
 " Oh, no ; you see I'm floating now." 
 
 " Floating ? " she repeated, with a smile of en- 
 quiry. 
 
 " Yes ; on the surface. I've been in the depths 
 till very lately, and there one meets no good society." 
 
 " Ah ! You've had a struggle ? " 
 
 " Y'es," he answered, laughing ; " you may call it a 
 bit of a struggle." 
 
 She looked at him with grave curious eyes. 
 
 " And you are not married ? " she asked abruptly. 
 
 " No, I'm glad to say."
 
 12 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Why glad, Mr. Ruston ? Some people like being 
 married." 
 
 " Oh, I don't claim to be above it, Mrs. Dennison," 
 he answered with a laugh, " but a wife would have 
 been a great hindrance to me all these years." 
 
 There was a simple and bona fide air about his 
 statement ; it was not raillery ; and Mrs. Dennison 
 laughed in her turn. 
 
 " Oh, how like you ! " she murmured. 
 
 Mr. Ruston, with a passing gleam of surprise at 
 her merriment, bade her a very unemotional farewell, 
 and left her. She sat down and waited idly for her 
 husband's return. Presently he came in. He had 
 caught Ruston in the hall, delivered his pamphlet, 
 and was whistling cheerfully. He took a chair near 
 his wife. 
 
 " Rum chap that ! " he said. " But he's got a good 
 deal of stuff in him ; " and he resumed his lively tune. 
 
 The tune annoyed Mrs. Dennison. To suffer 
 whistling without visible offence was one of her daily 
 trials. Harry's emotions and reflections were prone 
 to express themselves through that medium. 
 
 " I didn't do half-badly, to-day," said Harry, break- 
 ing off again. " Old Tom had got it all splendidly in 
 shape for me — by Jove, I don't know what I should 
 do without Tom — and I think I put it pretty well. 
 But, of course, it's a subject that doesn't catch on 
 with everybody."
 
 AN INSOLENT MEMORY. 13 
 
 It was the dullest subject in the world ; it was 
 also, in all likelihood, one of the most unimportant ; 
 and dull subjects are so seldom unimportant that the 
 perversity of the combination moved Maggie Denni- 
 son to a wondering pity. She rose and came behind 
 the chair where her husband sat. Leaning over the 
 back, she rested her elbows on his shoulders, and 
 lightly clasped her hands round his neck. He 
 stopped his whistle, which had grown soft and con- 
 tented, laughed, and kissed one of the encircling 
 hands, and she, bending lower, kissed him on the 
 forehead as he turned his face up to look at her. 
 
 " You poor dear old thing ! " she said with a smile 
 
 and a sigh.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE COINING OF A NICKNAME. 
 
 When it was no later than the middle of June, 
 Adela Ferrars, having her reputation to maintain, 
 ventured to sum up the season. It was, she said, a 
 Ruston-cum-Violetta season. Violetta's doings and 
 unexampled triumphs have, perhaps luckily, no place 
 here ; her dancing was higher and her songs more 
 surpassing in another dimension than those of any 
 performer who had hitherto won the smiles of so- 
 ciety ; and young men who are getting on in life still 
 talk about her. Ruston's fame was less widespread, 
 but his appearance was an undeniable fact of the 
 year. When a man, the first five years of whose adult 
 life have been spent on a stool in a coal merchant's 
 office, and the second five somewhere (an absolutely 
 vague somewhere) in Southern or Central Africa, 
 comes before the public, offering in one closed hand a 
 new empire, or, to avoid all exaggeration, at least a 
 province, asking with the other opened hand for three 
 million pounds, the public is bound to afford him 
 
 (14)
 
 THE COINING OF A NICKNAME. 15 
 
 the tribute of some curiosity. When he enlists in his 
 scheme men of eminence like Mr. Foster Belford, of 
 rank like Lord Semingham, of great financial re- 
 sources like Dennison Sous & Company, he becomes 
 one whom it is expedient to bid to dinner and ex- 
 amine with scrutinising enquiry. He may have a bag 
 of gold for you ; or you may enjoy the pleasure of ex- 
 ploding his prestige ; at least, you are timely and up- 
 to-date, and none can say that your house is a den of 
 fogies, or yourself, in the language made to express 
 these things (for how otherwise should they get 
 themselves expressed ?) on other than " the inner 
 rail." 
 
 It chanced that Miss Ferrars arrived early at the 
 Seminghams, and she talked with her host on the 
 hearth-rug, while Lady Semingham was elaborately 
 surveying her small but comely person in a mirror at 
 the other end of the long room. Lord Semingham 
 was rather short and rather stout ; he hardly looked 
 as if his ancestors had fought at Hastings — perhaps 
 they had not, though the peerage said they had. He 
 wore close-cut black whiskers, and the blue of his 
 jowl witnessed a suppressed beard of great vitality. 
 His single eye-glass reflected answering twinkles to 
 Adela's pince-nez, and his mouth was puckered at 
 the world's constant entertainment ; men said that 
 he found his wife alone a sufficient and inexhaustible 
 amusemeut.
 
 1G THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " The Heathers are coming," he said, " and Lady 
 Val and Marjory, and young Haselden, and Ruston." 
 
 " Tou jours Ruston," murmured Adela. 
 
 " And one or two more. What's wrong with Rus- 
 ton? There is, my dear Adela, no attitude more of- 
 fensive than that of indifference to what the common 
 herd finds interesting." 
 
 " He's a fright," said Adela. " You'd spike your- 
 self on that bristly beard of his." 
 
 " If you happened to be near enough, you mean ? 
 — a danger my sex and our national habits render 
 remote. Bessie ! " 
 
 Lady Semingham came towards them, with one 
 last craning look at her own back as she turned. 
 She always left the neighbourhood of a mirror with 
 regret. 
 
 " Well ? " she asked with a patient little sigh. 
 
 "Adela is abusing your friend Ruston." 
 
 "He's not my friend, Alfred. What's the matter, 
 Adela ? " 
 
 " I don't think I like him. He's hard." 
 
 "He's got a demon, you see," said Semingham. 
 " For that matter we all have, but his is a whopper." 
 
 " Oh, what's my demon ? " cried Adela. Is not 
 oneself always the most interesting subject ? 
 
 " Yours ? Cleverness ; he goads you into saying 
 things one can't see the meaning of." 
 
 "Thanks! And yours?"
 
 THE (JOINING OF A NICKNAME. 17 
 
 "Grinning — so I grin at your things, though I 
 don't understand 'em." 
 
 "And Bessie's?" 
 
 " Oh, forgive me. Leave us a quiet home." 
 
 " And now, Mr. Ruston's ? " 
 
 " His is " 
 
 But the door opened, and the guests, all arriving 
 in a heap, just twenty minutes late, flooded the room 
 and drowned the topic. Another five minutes passed, 
 and people had begun furtively to count heads and 
 wonder whom they were waiting for, when Evan 
 Haselden was announced. Hot on his heels came 
 Ruston, and the party was completed. 
 
 Mr. Otto Heather took Adela Ferrars in to din- 
 ner. Her heart sank as he offered his arm. She 
 had been heard to call him the silliest man in Eu- 
 rope ; on the other hand, his wife, and some half- 
 dozen people besides, thought him the cleverest in 
 London. 
 
 " That man," he said, swallowing his soup and 
 nodding his head towards Ruston, " personifies all the 
 hideous tendencies of the age — its brutality, its com- 
 mercialism, its selfishness, its " 
 
 Miss Ferrars looked across the table. Ruston was 
 seated at Lady Semingham's left hand, and she was 
 prattling to him in her sweet indistinct little voice. 
 Nothing in his appearance warranted Heather's out- 
 burst, unless it were a sort of alert and almost defiant
 
 18 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 readiness, smacking of a challenge to catch him nap- 
 ping. 
 
 " I'm not a medievalist myself," she observed, 
 and prepared to endure the penalty of an expose of 
 Heather's theories. During its progress, she peered — 
 for her near sight was no affectation — now and again at 
 the occasion of her sufferings. She had heard a good 
 deal about him — something from her host, something 
 from Harry Dennison, more from the paragraphists 
 who had scented their prey, and gathered from the 
 four quarters of heaven (or wherever they dwelt) 
 upon him. She knew about the coal merchant's 
 office, the impatient flight from it, and the rush 
 over the seas ; there were stories of real naked want, 
 where a bed and shelter bounded for the moment 
 all a life's aspirations. She summed him up as a 
 buccaneer modernised ; and one does not expect 
 buccaneers to be amiable, while culture in them 
 would be an incongruity. It was, on the whole, 
 not very surprising, she thought, that few people 
 liked William Roger Huston — nor that many believed 
 in him. 
 
 " Don't you agree with me ? " asked Heather. 
 
 " Not in the least," said Adela at random. 
 
 The odds that he had been saying something fool- 
 ish were very large. 
 
 " I thought you were such friends ! " exclaimed 
 Heather in surprise.
 
 THE COINING OP A NICKNAME. 10 
 
 " Well, to confess, I was thinking of something 
 else. Who do yon mean ? " 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Dennison. I was saying that her 
 calm qneenly manner " 
 
 "Good gracious, Mr." Heather, don't call women 
 'queenly.' You're like — what is it? — a 'dime 
 novel.' " 
 
 If this comparison were meant to relieve her from 
 the genius' conversation for the rest of dinner, it 
 was admirably conceived. He turned his shoulder on 
 her in undisguised dudgeon. 
 
 " And how's the great scheme ? " asked somebody 
 of Ruston. 
 
 " We hope to get the money," he said, turning for 
 a moment from his hostess. "And if we do that, 
 we're all right." 
 
 " Everything's going on very well," called Seming- 
 ham from the foot of the table. " They've killed a 
 missionary." 
 
 " How dreadful ! " lisped his wife. 
 
 " Regrettable in itself, but the first step towards 
 empire," explained Semingham with a smile. 
 
 " It's to stop things of that kind that we are going 
 there," Mr. Belford pronounced ; the speech was evi- 
 dently meant to be repeated, and to rank as authori- 
 tative. 
 
 " Of course," chuckled Semingham. 
 
 If he had been a shopman, he could not have
 
 20 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 resisted showing his customers how the adulteration 
 was done. 
 
 In spite of herself — for she strongly objected to 
 being one of an admiring crowd, and liked a personal 
 cachet on her emotions — Adela felt pleasure when, 
 after dinner, Rnston came straight to her and, dis- 
 placing Evan Haselden, sat down by her side. He 
 assumed the position with a business-like air, as 
 though he meant to stay. She often, indeed habitu- 
 ally, had two or three men round her, but to-night 
 none contested Euston's exclusive possession ; she 
 fancied that the business-like air had something to do 
 with it. She had been taken possession of, she said 
 to herself, with a little impatience and yet a little 
 pleasure also. 
 
 " You know everybody here, I suppose ? " he asked. 
 His tone cast a doubt on the value of the knowledge. 
 
 " It's my tenth season," said Adela, with a laugh. 
 " I stopped counting them once, but there comes a 
 time when one has to begin again." 
 
 He looked at her — critically, she thought — as he 
 said, 
 
 " The ravages of time no longer to be ignored ? " 
 
 " Well, the exaggerations of friends to be checked. 
 Yes, I suppose I know most of " 
 
 She paused for a word. 
 
 " The gang," he suggested, leaning back and cross- 
 ing his legs.
 
 THE COINING OF A NICKNAME. 2L 
 
 " Yes, we are a gang, and all on one chain. You're 
 a recent captive, though." 
 
 " Y"es," he assented, " it's pretty new to me. A 
 year ago I hadn't a dress coat." 
 
 " The gods are giving you a second youth then." 
 
 " Well, I take it. I don't know that 1 have much 
 to thank the gods for." 
 
 "They've been mostly against you, haven't they? 
 However, what does that matter, if you beat 
 them ? " 
 
 He did not disdain her compliment, but neither 
 did he accept it. He ignored it, and Adela, who paid 
 very few compliments, was amused and vexed. 
 
 " Perhaps," she added, " you think your victory 
 still incomplete ? " 
 
 This gained no better attention. Mr. Ruston 
 seemed to be following his own thoughts. 
 
 " It must be a curious thing," he remarked, " to 
 be born to a place like Semingham's." 
 
 " And to use it — or not to use it — like Lord Sem- 
 ingham?" 
 
 "Yes, I was thinking of that," he admitted. 
 
 " To be eminent requires some self-deception, 
 doesn't it? Without that, it would seem too absurd. 
 I think Lord Semingham is overweighted with hu- 
 mour." She paused and then — to show that she was 
 not in awe of him — she added, — " Now, I should say, 
 you have very little."
 
 22 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Very little, indeed, I should think," he agreed 
 composedly. 
 
 " You're the only man I ever heard admit that of 
 himself ; we all say it of one another." 
 
 " I know what I have and haven't got pretty well." 
 
 Adela was beginning to be more sure that she dis- 
 liked him, but the topic had its interest for her and 
 she went on, 
 
 " Now I like to think I've got everything." 
 
 To her annoyance, the topic seemed to lose inter- 
 est for him, just in proportion as it gained interest for 
 her. In fact, Mr. Huston did not apparently care to 
 talk about what she liked or didn't like. 
 
 "Who's that pretty girl over there," he asked, 
 " talking to young Haselden ? " 
 
 " Marjory Valentine," said Adela curtly. 
 
 " Oh ! I think I should like to talk to her." 
 - " Pray, don't let me prevent you," said Adela in 
 very distant tones. 
 
 The man seemed to have no manners. 
 
 Mr. Ruston said nothing, but gave a short laugh. 
 Adela was not accustomed to be laughed at openly. 
 Yet she felt defenceless ; this pachydermatous animal 
 would be impervious to the pricks of her rapier. 
 
 " You're amused ? " she asked sharply. 
 
 "Why were you in such a hurry to take offence? 
 I didn't say I wanted to go and talk to her now." 
 
 " It sounded like it."
 
 THE COINING OF A NICKNAME. 23 
 
 " Oh, well, I'm very sorry," he conceded, still smil- 
 ing, and obviously thinking her very absurd. 
 
 She rose from her seat. 
 
 " Please do, though. She'll be going soon, and 
 you mayn't get another chance." 
 
 " Well, I will then," he answered simply, accom- 
 panying the remark with a nod of approval for her 
 sensible reminder. And he went at once. 
 
 She saw him touch Haselden on the shoulder, and 
 make the young man present him to Marjory. Rus- 
 ton sat down and Haselden drifted, aimless and for- 
 lorn, on a solitary passage along the length of the 
 room. 
 
 Adela joined Lady Semingham. 
 
 " That's a dreadful man, Bessie," she said ; " he's a 
 regular Juggernaut." 
 
 She disturbed Lady Semingham in a moment of 
 happiness ; everybody had been provided with conver- 
 sation, and the hostess could sit in peaceful silence, 
 looking, and knowing that she looked, very dainty 
 and pretty ; she liked that much better than talking. 
 
 " Who's what, dear ? " she murmured. 
 
 "That man — Mr. Ruston. I say he's a Jugger- 
 naut. If you're in the way, he just walks over you — 
 and sometimes when you're not : for fun, I suppose." 
 
 " Alfred says he's very clever," observed Lady Sem- 
 ingham, in a tone that evaded any personal responsi- 
 bility for the truth of the statement.
 
 24 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Well, I dislike him very much," declared Adela. 
 
 " We won't have him again when you're coming, 
 dear," promised her friend soothingly. 
 
 Adela looked at her, hesitated, opened her fan, 
 shut it again, and smiled. 
 
 "Oh, I didn't mean that, Bessie," she said with 
 half a laugh. " Do, please." 
 
 " But if you dislike him " 
 
 " Why, my dear, doesn't one hate half the men one 
 likes meeting — and all the women ! " 
 
 Lady Semingham smiled amiably. She did not 
 care to think out what that meant; it was Adela's 
 way, just as it was her husband's way to laugh at 
 many things that seemed to her to afford no opening 
 for mirth. But Adela was not to escape. Seming- 
 ham himself appeared suddenly at her elbow, and 
 observed, 
 
 " That's either nonsense or a truism, you know." 
 
 " Neither," said Adela with spirit ; but her defence 
 was interrupted by Evan Haselden. 
 
 " I'm going," said he, and he looked out of temper. 
 " I've got another place to go to. And anyhow " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " I'd like to be somewhere where that chap Huston 
 isn't for a little while." 
 
 Adela glanced across. Ruston was still talking to 
 Marjory Valentine. 
 
 " What can he find to say to her? " thought Adela.
 
 THE COINING OF A NICKNAME. 25 
 
 " What the deuce she finds to talk about to that 
 fellow, I can't think," pursued Evan, and lie flung off 
 to bid Lady Semingham good-night. 
 
 Adela caught her host's eye and laughed. Lord 
 Semingham's eyes twinkled. 
 
 " It's a big province," he observed, " so there may 
 be room for him — out there." 
 
 "I," said Adela, with an air of affected modesty, 
 "have ventured, subject to your criticism, to dub him 
 Juggernaut." 
 
 " H'm," said Semingham, " it's a little obvious, but 
 not so bad for you."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MRS. DENNISON'S ORDERS. 
 
 Next door to Mrs. Dennison's large house in Cur- 
 zon Street there lived, in a small house, a friend of 
 hers, a certain Mrs. Cormack. She was a French- 
 woman, who had been married to an Englishman, and 
 was now his most resigned widow. She did not pre- 
 tend to herself, or to anybody else, that Mr. Cormack's 
 death had been a pure misfortune, and by virtue of 
 her past trials — perhaps, also, of her nationality — she 
 was keenly awake to the seamy side of matrimony. 
 She would rhapsodise on the joys of an ideal marriage, 
 with a skilful hint of its rarity, and condemn trans- 
 gressors with a charitable reservation for insupportable 
 miseries. She was, she said, very romantic. Tom 
 Loring, however (whose evidence was tainted by an 
 intense dislike of her), declared that affaires du caiur 
 interested her only when one at least of the parties 
 was lawfully bound to a third person ; when both 
 were thus trammelled, the situation was ideal. But 
 the loves of those who were in a position to marry one 
 
 (26)
 
 MRS. DENNISON'S ORDERS. 27 
 
 another, and had no particular reason for not follow- 
 ing that legitimate path to happiness, seemed to her 
 (still according to Tom) dull, uninspiring — all, in fact, 
 that there was possible of English and stupid. She 
 hardly (Tom would go on, warming to his subject) 
 believed in them at all, and she was in the habit of re- 
 garding wedlock merely as a condition precedent to 
 its own violent dissolution. Whether this unhappy 
 mode of looking at the matter were due to her own 
 peculiarities, or to those of the late Mr. Cormack, 
 or to those of her nation, Tom did not pretend to 
 say ; he confined himself to denouncing it freely, 
 and to telling Mrs. Dennison that her next-door 
 neighbour was in all respects a most undesirable ac- 
 quaintance ; at which outbursts Mrs. Dennison would 
 smile. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison, coming out on to the balcony to 
 see if her carriage were in sight down the street, 
 found her friend close to her elbow. Their balconies 
 adjoined, and friendship had led to a little gate being 
 substituted for the usual dwarf-wall of division. Tom 
 Loring erected the gate into an allegory of direful 
 portent. Mrs. Cormack passed through it, and laid 
 an affectionate grasp on Maggie Dennison's arm. 
 
 " You're starting early," she remarked. 
 
 " I'm going a long way — right up to Hampstead. 
 I've promised Harry to call on some people there." 
 
 "Ah! Who?"
 
 L >s THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Their name's Carlin. He knows Mr. Carlin in 
 
 business. Mr. Carlin's a friend of Mr. Ruston's." 
 
 "Oh, of Ruston's? I like that Ruston. He is 
 interesting — inspiring." 
 
 " Is he?" said Mrs. Dennison, buttoning her glove. 
 " You'd better marry him, Berthe." 
 
 "Marry him? No, indeed. I think he would 
 beat one." 
 
 " Is that being inspiring ? I'm glad Harry's not 
 inspiring." 
 
 " Oh, you know what I mean. He's a man 
 who " 
 
 Mrs. Cormack threw up her arms as though pray- 
 ing for the inspired word. Mrs. Dennison did not 
 wait for it. 
 
 " There's the carriage. Good-bye, dear," she said. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison started with a smile on her face. 
 Berthe was so funny ; she was like a page out of a 
 French novel. She loved anything not quite respect- 
 able, and peopled the world with heroes of loose 
 morals and overpowering wills. She adored a domi- 
 nating mind and lived in the discovery of affinities. 
 What nonsense it all was — so very remote from the 
 satisfactory humdrum of real life. One kept house, 
 and gave dinners, and made the children happy, and 
 
 was fond of one's husband, and life passed most 
 
 Here Mrs. Dennison suddenly yawned, and fell to 
 hoping that the Carlins would not be oppressively
 
 MRS. DENNISON'S ORDERS. 29 
 
 dull. She had been bored all day long ; the children 
 hud been fretful, and poor Harry was hurt and in low 
 spirits because of a cruel caricature in a comic paper, 
 and Tom Loring had scolded her for laughing at the 
 caricature (it hit Harry off so exactly), and nobody 
 had come to see her, except a wretch who had once 
 been her kitchenmaid, and had come to terrible grief, 
 and wanted to be taken back, and of course couldn't 
 be, and had to be sent away in tears with a sovereign, 
 and the tears were no use and the sovereign not much. 
 The Carlins fortunately proved tolerably interest- 
 ing in their own way. Carlin was about fifty-five — 
 an acute man of business, it seemed, and possessed by 
 an unwavering confidence in the abilities of Willie 
 Ruston. Mrs. Carlin was ten or fifteen years younger 
 than her husband — a homely little woman, with a 
 swarm of children. Mrs. Dennison wondered how 
 they all fitted into the small house, but was told that 
 it was larger by two good rooms than their old dwell- 
 ing in the country town, whence Willie had sum- 
 moned them to take a hand in his schemes. "Willie 
 had not insisted on the coal business being altogether 
 abandoned — as Mrs. Carlin said, with a touch of 
 timidity, it was well to have something to fall back 
 upon — but he required most of Carlin's time now, and 
 the added work made residence in London a necessity. 
 In spite of Mr. Carlin's air of hard-headedness, and 
 his wife's prudent recognition of the business aspect
 
 30 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 of life, they neither of them seemed to have a will of 
 their own. Willie — as they both called him — was the 
 Providence, and the mixture of reverence and famil- 
 iarity presented her old acquaintance in a new light 
 to Maggie Denuison. Even the children prattled 
 about " Willie," and their mother's rebukes made 
 " Mr. Huston " no more than a strange and transitory 
 effort. Mrs. Dennison wondered what there was in 
 the man — consulting her own recollections of him in 
 hope of enlightenment. 
 
 " He takes such broad views," said Carlin, and 
 seemed to find this characteristic the sufficient justifi- 
 cation for his faith. 
 
 " I used to know him very well, you know," re- 
 marked Mrs. Dennison, anxious to reach a more 
 friendly footing, and realising that to connect herself 
 with Ruston offered the best chance of it. " I daresay 
 he's spoken of me — of Maggie Sherwood?" 
 
 They thought not, though Willie had been in Car- 
 lin's employ at the time when he and Mrs. Dennison 
 parted. She was even able, by comparison of dates, to 
 identify the holiday in which that scene had occurred 
 and that sentence been spoken ; but he had never 
 mentioned her name. She very much doubted 
 whether he had even thought of her. The fool and 
 the fool's wife had both been dismissed from his mind. 
 She frowned impatiently. Why should it be anything 
 to her if they had ?
 
 MRS. DENNISON'S ORDERS. 31 
 
 There was a commotion among the children, start- 
 ing from one who was perched on the window-sill. 
 Huston himself was walking up to the door, dressed in 
 a light suit and a straw hat. After the greetings, 
 while all were busy getting him tea, he turned to Mrs. 
 Dennison. 
 
 " This is very kind of you," he said in an under- 
 tone. 
 
 " My husband wished me to come," she replied. 
 
 He seemed in good spirits. He laughed, as he 
 answered, 
 
 " Well, I didn't suppose you came to please me." 
 
 " You spoke as if you did," said she, still trying to 
 resent his tone, which she thought a better guide to 
 the truth than his easy disclaimer. 
 
 " Why, you never did anything to please me ! " 
 
 " Did you ever ask me ? " she retorted. 
 
 He glanced at her for a moment, as he began to 
 answer, 
 
 " Well, now, I don't believe I ever did ; but I " 
 
 Mrs. Carlin interposed with a proffered cup of tea, 
 and he broke off. 
 
 " Thanks, Mrs. Carlin. I say, Carlin, it's going 
 first-rate. Your husband's help's simply invaluable, 
 Mrs. Dennison." 
 
 " Harrv ? " she said, in a tone that she regretted a 
 moment later, for there was a passing gleam in Rus- 
 ton's eye before he answered gravely,
 
 32 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " His firm carries great weight. Well, we're all in 
 it here, sink or swim ; aren't we, Carlin ? " 
 
 Carlin nodded emphatically, and his wife gave an 
 anxious little sigh. 
 
 "And what's to be the end of it?" asked Mrs. 
 Dennison. 
 
 " Ten per cent," said Carlin, with conviction. He 
 could not have spoken with more utter satisfaction of 
 the millennium. 
 
 "The end?" echoed Huston. "Oh, I don't 
 know." 
 
 " At least he won't say," said Carlin admiringly. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison rose to go, engaging the Carlins to 
 dine with her — an invitation accepted with some 
 nervousness, until the extension of it to Ruston gave 
 them a wing to come under. Ruston, with that di- 
 rectness of his that shamed mere dexterity and super- 
 seded tact, bade Carlin stay where he was, and him- 
 self escorted the visitor to her carriage. Half-way 
 down the garden walk she looked up at him and re- 
 marked, 
 
 " I expect you're the end." 
 
 His eyes had been wandering, but they came back 
 sharply to hers. 
 
 " Then don't tell anybody," said he lightly. 
 
 She did not know whether what he said amounted 
 to a confession or were merely a jest. The next mo- 
 ment he was off at a tangent.
 
 MRS. DENNISON'S ORDERS. 33 
 
 " I like your friend Miss Ferrars. She says a lot of 
 sharp tilings, and now and then something sensible." 
 
 " Now and then ! Poor Adela ! " 
 
 " Well, she doesn't often try. Besides, she's hand- 
 some." 
 
 " Oh, you've found time to notice that? " 
 
 " I notice that first," said Mr. Euston. 
 
 They were at the carriage-door. 
 
 " I'm not dressed properly, so I mustn't drive with 
 yon," he said. 
 
 " Supposing that was the only reason," she replied, 
 smiling, "would it stop you?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because of other fools." 
 
 " I'll take you as far as Eegent's Park. The other 
 fools are on the other side of that." 
 
 " I'll chance so far," and, waving his hand vaguely 
 towards the house, he- got in. It did not seem to 
 occur to him that there was any want of ceremony in 
 his farewell to the Carlins. 
 
 " I suppose," she said, " you think most of us 
 fools?" 
 
 " I've been learning to think it less and to show it 
 less still." 
 
 " You're not much changed, though." 
 
 " I've had some of my corners chipped off by col- 
 lision with other hard substances."
 
 34 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Thank you for that ' other ' ! " cried Mrs. Denni- 
 son, with a little laugh. " They must have been very 
 hard ones." 
 
 " I didn't say that they weren't a little bit injured 
 too." 
 
 " Poor things ! I should think so." 
 
 " I have my human side." 
 
 " Generally the other side, isn't it ? " she asked 
 with a merry glance. The talk had suddenly become 
 very pleasant. He laughed, and stopped the car- 
 riage. A sigh escaped from Mrs. Dennison. 
 
 " Next time," he said, " we'll talk about you, or 
 Miss Ferrars, or that little Miss Marjory Valentine, 
 not about me. Good-bye," and he was gone before 
 she could say a word to him. 
 
 But it was natural that she should think a little 
 about him. She had not, she said to herself with a 
 weary smile, too many interesting things to think 
 about, and she began to find him decidedly interest- 
 ing ; in which fact again she found a certain strange- 
 ness and some material for reflection, because she 
 recollected very well that as a girl she had not found 
 him very attractive. Perhaps she demanded then 
 more colouring of romance than he had infused into 
 their intercourse; she had indeed suspected him of 
 suppressed romance, but the suppression had been 
 very thorough, betraying itself only doubtfully here 
 and there, as in his judgment of her accepted suitor.
 
 MRS. DENNISON'S ORDERS. 35 
 
 Moreover, let his feelings then have been what they 
 might, he was not, she felt sure, the man to cherish a 
 fruitless love for eight or nine years, or to suffer any 
 resurrection of expired emotions on a renewed en- 
 counter with an old flame. He buried his dead too 
 deep for that ; if they were in the way, she could 
 fancy him sometimes shovelling the earth over them 
 and stamping it down without looking too curiously 
 whether life were actually extinct or only nickering 
 towards its extinction ; if it were not quite gone at 
 the beginning of the gravedigger's work, it would be 
 at the end, and the result was the same. Nor did she 
 suppose that ghosts gibbered or clanked in the or- 
 derly trim mansions of his brain. In fact, she was 
 to him a more or less pleasant acquaintance, sand- 
 wiched in his mind between Adela Ferrars and Mar- 
 jory Valentine — with something attractive about her, 
 though she might lack the sparkle of the one and had 
 been robbed of the other's youthful freshness. This 
 was the conclusion which she called upon herself to 
 draw as she drove back from Hampstead — the plain 
 and sensible conclusion. Yet, as she reached Curzon 
 Street, there was a smile on her face ; and the conclu- 
 sion was hardly such as to make her smile — unless in- 
 deed she had added to it the reflection that it is ill 
 judging of things till they are finished. Her ac- 
 quaintance with Willie Huston was not ended yet. 
 " Maggie, Maggie ! " cried her husband through
 
 36 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 the open door of his study as she passed up-stairs. 
 " Great news ! We're to go ahead. We settled it at 
 the meeting this morning." 
 
 Harry Dennison was in exuberant spirits. The 
 great company was on the verge of actual existence. 
 From the chrysalis of its syndicate stage it was to 
 issue a bright butterfly. 
 
 " And Euston was most complimentary to our 
 house. He said he could never have carried it 
 through without us. He's in high feather." 
 
 Mrs. Dennison listened to more details, thinking, 
 as her husband talked, that Ruston's cheerful mood 
 was fully explained, but wondering that he had not 
 himself thought it worth while to explain to her the 
 cause of it a little more fully. With that achieve- 
 ment fresh in his hand, he had been content to 
 hold his peace. Did he think her not worth tell- 
 ing? 
 
 With a cloud on her brow and her smile eclipsed, 
 she passed on to the drawing-room. The window was 
 open and she saw Tom Loring's back in the balcony. 
 Then she heard her friend Mrs. Cormack's rather 
 shrill voice. 
 
 "Not say such things?" the voice cried, and Mis. 
 Dennison could picture the whirl of expostulatory 
 hands that accompanied the question. "But why 
 not?" 
 
 Tom's voice answered in the careful tones of a
 
 MRS. DENNISON'S ORDERS. 37 
 
 Tii;in who is trying not to lose his temper, or, anyhow, 
 to conceal the loss. 
 
 " Well, apart from anything else, suppose Den- 
 nison heard you? It wouldn't be over-pleasant for 
 him." 
 
 Mrs. Denuison stood still, slowly peeling off her 
 gloves. 
 
 " Oh, the poor man ! I would not like to hurt 
 him. I will be silent. Oh, he does his very best! 
 But you can't help it." 
 
 Mrs. Dennison stepped a yard nearer the window. 
 
 " Help what? " asked Tom in the deepest exasper- 
 ation, no longer to be hidden. 
 
 " Why, what must happen ? It must be that the 
 true man " 
 
 A smile flickered over Maggie Dennison's face. 
 How like Berthe ! But whence came this topic ? 
 
 ** Nonsense, I tell you ! " cried Tom with a stamp 
 of his foot. 
 
 And at the sound Mrs. Dennison smiled again, 
 and drew yet nearer to the window. 
 
 " Oh, it's always nonsense what I say ! Well, we 
 shall see, Mr. Loring," and Mrs. Cormack tripped in 
 through her window, and wrote in her diary — she 
 kept a diary full of reflections — that Englishmen 
 were all stupid. She had written that before, but 
 the deep truth bore repetition. 
 
 Tom went in too, and found himself face to face
 
 38 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 with Mrs. Denuison. Bright spots of colour glowed 
 on her cheeks ; had she answered the question of the 
 origin of the topic? Tom blushed and looked fur- 
 tively at her. 
 
 " So the great scheme is launched," she remarked, 
 " and Mr. Kuston triumphs ! " 
 
 Tom's manner betrayed intense relief, but he was 
 still perturbed. 
 
 " We're having a precious lot of Ruston," he ob- 
 served, leaning against the mantelpiece and putting 
 his hands in his pockets. 
 
 "/ like him," said Maggie Dennison. 
 
 " Those are the orders, are they ? " asked Tom 
 with a rather wry smile. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, smiling at Tom's smile. It 
 amused her when he put her manner into words. 
 
 " Then we all like him," said Tom, and, feeling 
 quite secure now, he added, " Mrs. Cormack said we 
 should, which is rather against him." 
 
 " Oh, Berthe's a silly woman. Xever mind her. 
 Harry likes him too." 
 
 " Lucky for Ruston he does. Your husband's a 
 useful friend. I fancy most of Huston's friends are 
 of the useful variety." 
 
 " And why shouldn't we be useful to him ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, it seems our destiny," grumbled 
 Tom, whose destiny appeared not to please him.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN. 
 
 Lady Valentine was the widow of a baronet of 
 good family and respectable means; the one was to 
 be continued and the other absorbed by her son, 
 young Sir Walter, now an Oxford undergraduate and 
 just turned, twenky-one years of age. Lady Valentine 
 had a jointure, and Marjory a pretty face. The re- 
 maining family assets were a country-house of moder- 
 ate dimensions in the neighbourhood of Maidenhead, 
 and a small flat in Cromwell Eoad. Lady Valentine 
 deplored the rise of the plutocracy, and had some- 
 times secretly hoped that a plutocrat would marry her 
 daughter. In other respects she was an honest and. 
 unaffected woman. 
 
 Young Sir Walter, however, had his own views for 
 his sister, and young Sir Walter, when he surveyed, 
 the position which the laws and customs of the realm 
 gave him, was naturally led to suppose that his opin- 
 ion had some importance. He was hardly responsible 
 for the error, and very probably Mr. Ruston would 
 
 (39)
 
 40 THE GOD IN thp: car. 
 
 have been better advised had his bearing towards the 
 young man not indicated so very plainly that the error 
 was an error. But in the course of the visits to Crom- 
 well Road, which Huston found time to pay in the 
 intervals of floating the Omofaga Company — and he 
 was a man who found time for many things — this 
 impression of his made itself tolerably evident, and, 
 consequently, Sir Walter entertained grave doubts 
 whether Ruston were a gentleman. And, if a fellow 
 is not a gentleman, what, he asked, do brains and all 
 the rest of it go for? Moreover, how did the chap 
 live? To which queries Marjory answered that " Ox- 
 ford boys" were very silly — a remark which embit- 
 tered, without in the least elucidating, the question. 
 
 Almost everybody has one disciple who looks up 
 to him as master and mentor, and, ill as he was suited 
 to such a post, Evan Haselden filled it for "Walter 
 Valentine. Evan had been in his fourth year when 
 Walter was a freshman, and the reverence engendered 
 m those days had been intensified when Evan had 
 become, first, secretary to a minister and then, as he 
 showed diligence and aptitude, a member of Parlia- 
 ment. Evan was a strong Tory, but payment of 
 members had an unholy attraction for him; this indi- 
 cation of his circumstances may suffice. Men thought 
 him a promising youth, women called him a nice boy, 
 and young Sir Walter held him for a statesman and a 
 man of the world.
 
 TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN. 41 
 
 Seeing that what Sir Walter wanted was an unfa- 
 vourable opinion of Ruston, he could not have done 
 better than consult his respected friend. Juggernaut 
 — Adela Ferrara was pleased with the nickname, and 
 it began to be repeated — had been crushing Evan 
 in one or two little ways lately, and he did it with an 
 unconsciousness that increased the brutality. Besides 
 displacing him from the position he wished to occupy 
 at more than one social gathering, Ruston, being in 
 the Lobby of the House one day (perhaps on Omofaga 
 business), had likened the pretty (it was his epithet) 
 young member, as he sped with a glass of water to his 
 party leader, to Ganymede in a frock-coat — a descrip- 
 tion, Evan felt, injurious to a serious politician. 
 
 "A gentleman?" he said, in reply to young Sir 
 Walter's inquiry. " Well, everybody's a gentleman 
 now, so I suppose Ruston is." 
 
 " I call him an unmannerly brute," observed Wal- 
 ter, " and I can't think why mother and Marjory are 
 so civil to him." 
 
 Evan shook his head mournfully. 
 
 " You meet the fellow everywhere," he sighed. 
 
 " Such an ugly mug as he's got too," pursued 
 young Sir AY alter. " But Marjory says it's full of 
 character." 
 
 " Character ! I should think so. Enough to hang 
 him on sight," said Evan bitterly. 
 
 " He's been a lot to our place. Marjory seems to
 
 42 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 like him. I say, Haselden, do you remember what 
 you spoke of after dinner at the Savoy the other 
 day ? " 
 
 Evan nodded, looking rather embarrassed ; indeed 
 he blushed, and little as he liked doing that, it became 
 him very well. 
 
 "Did you mean it? Because, you know, I should 
 like it awfully." 
 
 " Thanks, Val, old man. Oh, rather, I meant it." 
 
 Young Sir Walter lowered his voice and looked 
 cautiously round — they were in the club smoking- 
 room. 
 
 " Because I thought, you know, that you were 
 rather — you know — Adela Ferrars ? " 
 
 " Nothing in that, only j)ovr passer le temps" 
 Evan assured him with that superb man-of-the-world- 
 liness. 
 
 It was a pity that Adela could not hear him. But 
 there was more to follow. 
 
 " The truth is," resumed Evan — and, of course, I 
 rely on your discretion, Val — I thought there might 
 be a — an obstacle." 
 
 Young Sir Walter looked knowing. 
 
 " When you were good enough to suggest what you 
 did — about your sister — I doubted for a moment how 
 such a thing would be received by — well, at a certain 
 house." 
 
 " Oh ! "
 
 TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN. 43 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if you could guess." 
 
 « N— no, I don't think so." 
 
 " Well, it doesn't matter where." 
 
 " Oh, but I say, you might as well tell me. Hang 
 it, I've learnt to hold my tongue." 
 
 "You hadn't noticed it? That's all right. I'm 
 glad to hear it," said Evan, whose satisfaction was not 
 conspicuous in his tone. 
 
 " I'm so little in town, you see," said Walter tact- 
 fully. 
 
 " Well — for heaven's sake, don't let it go any far- 
 ther — Curzon Street." 
 
 "What! Of course! Mrs. " 
 
 "All right, yes. But I've made up my mind. I 
 shall drop all that. Best, isn't it?" 
 
 Walter nodded a sagacious assent. 
 
 " There was never anything in it, really," said 
 Evan, and he was not displeased with his friend's in- 
 credulous expression. It is a great luxury to speak 
 the truth and yet not be believed. 
 
 " Now, what you propose," continued Evan, " is 
 most — but, I say, Val, what does she think ? " 
 
 " She likes you — and you'll have all my influence," 
 said the Head of the Family in a tone of importance. 
 
 " But how do you know she likes me ? " insisted 
 Evan, whose off-hand air gave place to a manner be- 
 traying some trepidation. 
 
 " I don't know for certain, of course. And, I say,
 
 44 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 Haselden, I believe mother's got an idea in her head 
 about that fellow Ruston." 
 
 " The devil ! That brute ! Oh, hang it, Val, she 
 can't — your sister, I mean — I tell you what, I shan't 
 play the fool any longer." 
 
 Sir Walter cordially approved of increased activity, 
 and the two young gentlemen, having settled one 
 lady's future and disposed of the claims of two others 
 to their complete satisfaction, betook themselves to 
 recreation. 
 
 Evan was not, however, of opinion that anything 
 in the conversation above recorded, imposed upon him 
 the obligation of avoiding entirely Mrs. Dennison's 
 society. On the contrary, he took an early opportu- 
 nity of going to see her. His attitude towards her 
 was one of considerably greater deference than Sir 
 Walter understood it to be, and he had a high idea of 
 the value of her assistance. And he did not propose 
 to deny himself such savour of sentiment as the lady 
 would allow; and she generally allowed a little. He 
 intended to say nothing about Ruston, but as it hap- 
 pened that Mrs. Dennison's wishes set in an opposing 
 direction, he had not been long in the drawing room 
 at Curzon Street before he found himself again with 
 the name of his enemy on his lips. He spoke with re- 
 freshing frankness and an engaging confidence in his 
 hostess' sympathy. Mrs. Dennison had no difficulty in 
 seeing that he had a special reason for his bitterness.
 
 TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN. 45 
 
 " Is it only because he called you Ganymede ? And 
 it's a very good name for you, Mr. Haselden." 
 
 To be compared to Ganymede in private by a lady 
 and in public by a scoffer, are things very different. 
 Evan smiled complacently. 
 
 " There's more than that, isn't there? " asked Mrs. 
 Dennison. 
 
 Evan admitted that there was more, and, in obedi- 
 ence to some skilful guidance, he revealed what there 
 was more — what beyond mere offended dignity — be- 
 tween himself and Mr. Euston. He had to complain 
 of no lack of interest on the part of his listener. Mrs. 
 Dennison questioned him closely as to his grounds for 
 anticipating Ruston's rivalry. The idea was evidently 
 quite new to her ; and Evan was glad to detect her re- 
 luctance to accept it — she must think as he did about 
 Willie Euston. The tangible evidence appeared on 
 examination reassuringly small, and Evan, by a strange 
 conversion, found himself driven to defend his appre- 
 hensions by insisting on just that power of attraction 
 in his foe which he had begun by denying altogether. 
 But that, Mrs. Dennison objected, only showed, even 
 if it existed, that Marjory might like Euston, not that 
 Euston would return her liking. On the whole Mrs. 
 Dennison comforted him, and, dismissing Euston 
 from the discussion, said with a smile, 
 
 " So you're thinking of settling down already, are 
 you ? "
 
 4G THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " I say, Mrs. Denuison, you've always been awfully 
 good to me ; I wonder if you'd help me in this ? " 
 
 " How could I help you ? " 
 
 " Oh, lots of ways. Well, for instance, old Lady 
 Valentine doesn't ask me there often. You see, I 
 haven't got any money." 
 
 "Poor boy ! Of course you haven't. Nice young 
 men never have any money." 
 
 " So I don't get many chances of seeing her." 
 
 " And I might arrange meetings for you ? That's 
 how I could help ? Now, why should I help ? " 
 
 Evan was encouraged by this last question, put in 
 his friend's doubtfully-serious doubtfully-playful man- 
 ner. 
 
 " It needn't," he said, in a tone rather more timid 
 than young Sir Walter would have expected, " make 
 any difference to our friendship, need it? If it meant 
 that " 
 
 The sentence was left in expressive incompleteness. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison wanted to laugh ; but why should 
 she hurt his feelings? lie was a pleasant boy, and, in 
 spite of his vanity, really a clever one. He had been 
 a little spoilt ; that was all. She turned her laugh in 
 another direction. 
 
 " Berthe Cormack would tell you that it would be 
 sure to intensify it," she said. " Seriously, I shan't 
 hate you for marrying, and I don't suppose Marjory 
 will hate me."
 
 TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN. 47 
 
 " Then " (Mrs. Dennison had to smile at that little 
 word), " you'll help me?" 
 
 " Perhaps," said Mrs. Dennison, allowing her smile 
 to become manifest. 
 
 " You won't be against me ? " 
 
 " Perhaps not." 
 
 " Good-bye," said Evan, pressing her hand. 
 
 He had enjoyed himself very much, and Mrs. Den- 
 nison was glad that she had been good-natured, and 
 had not laughed. 
 
 " Good-bye, and I hope you'll be very happy, if you 
 succeed. And — Evan — don't kill Mr. Euston ! " 
 
 The laugh came at last, but he was out of the door 
 in time, and Mrs. Dennison had no leisure to enjoy it 
 fully, for, the moment her visitor was gone, Mr. Bel- 
 ford and Lord Semingham were announced. They 
 came together, seeking Harry Dennison. There was 
 a " little hitch " of some sort in the affairs of the 
 Omofaga Company — nothing of consequence, said Mr. 
 Belford reassuringly. Mrs. Dennison explained that 
 Harry Dennison had gone off to call on Mr. Euston. 
 
 " Oh, then he knows by now," said Semingham in 
 a tone of relief. 
 
 "And it'll be all right," added Belford con- 
 tentedly. 
 
 " Mr. Belford," said Mrs. Dennison, " I'm living in 
 an atmosphere of Omofaga. I eat it, and drink it, and 
 wear it, and breathe it. And, what in the end, is it ? "
 
 48 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Ask Euston," interposed Semingham. 
 
 " I did ; but I don't think he told me." 
 
 " But surely, my dear Mrs. Dennison, your hus- 
 band takes you into his confidence?" suggested Mr. 
 Belford. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison smiled, as she replied, 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know what you're doing. But I want 
 to know why you're doing it. I don't believe you'll 
 ever get anything out of it, you know." 
 
 " Oh, directors always get something," protested 
 Semingham. " Penal servitude sometimes, but always 
 something." 
 
 "I've never had such implicit faith in any under- 
 taking in my life," asserted Mr. Belford. " And I 
 know that your husband shares my views. It's bound 
 to be the greatest success of the day. Ah, here's 
 Dennison ! " 
 
 Harry came in wiping his brow. Belford rushed 
 to him, and drew him to the window, button-holing 
 him with decision. Lord Semingham smiled lazily 
 and pulled his whisker. 
 
 " Don't you want to hear the news? " Mrs. Denni- 
 son asked. 
 
 "No! He's been to Huston." 
 
 Mrs. Dennison looked at him for an instant with 
 something rather like scorn in her eye. Lord Sem- 
 ingham laughed. 
 
 " I'm not quite as bad as that, really," he said.
 
 TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN. 49 
 
 " And the others? " she asked, leaning forward and 
 taking care that her voice did not reach the other pair. 
 
 " He turns Belford round his fingers." 
 
 "And Mr. Carlin?" 
 
 " In his pocket." 
 
 Mrs. Dennison cast a glance towards the window. 
 
 " Don't go on," implored Semingham, half-seri- 
 ously. 
 
 " And my husband ? " she asked in a still lower 
 voice. 
 
 Lord Semingham- protested with a gesture against 
 such cross-examination. 
 
 " Surely it's a good thing for me to know ? " she 
 said. 
 
 " Well — a great influence." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 There was a pause for an instant. Then she rose 
 with a laugh and rang the bell for tea. 
 
 " I hope he won't ruin us all," she said. 
 
 " I've got Bessie's settlement," observed Lord 
 Semingham ; and he added after a moment's pause, 
 " What's the matter ? I thought you were a thorough- 
 going believer." 
 
 " I'm a woman," she answered. " If I were a 
 man " 
 
 " You'd be the prophet, not the disciple, eh ? " 
 
 She looked at him, and then across to the couple 
 by the window.
 
 50 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " To do Bclford justice," remarked Semingham, 
 reading her glance, " he never admits that he isn't a 
 great man — though surely he must know it." 
 
 " Is it better to know it, or not to know it ? " she 
 asked, restlessly fingering the teapot and cups which 
 had been placed before her. " I sometimes think that 
 if you resolutely refuse to know it, you can alter it." 
 
 Belford's name had been the only name mentioned 
 in the conversation ; yet Semingham knew that she 
 was not thinking of Belford nor of him. 
 
 " I knew it about myself very soon," he said. " It 
 makes a man better to know it, Mrs. Dennison." 
 
 " Oh, yes — better," she answered impatiently. 
 
 The two men came and joined them. Belford 
 accepted a cup of tea, and, as he took it, he said to 
 Harry, continuing their conversation, 
 
 " Of course, I know his value ; but, after all, we 
 must judge for ourselves." 
 
 ' ; Of course," acquiesced Harry, handing him 
 bread-and-butter. 
 
 " We are the masters," pursued Belford. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison glanced at him, and a smile so full 
 of meaning — of meaning which it was as well Mr. 
 Belford should not see — appeared on her face, that 
 Lord Semingham deftly interposed his person be- 
 tween them, and said, with apparent seriousness, 
 
 " Oh, he mustn't think he can do just what he 
 likes with us."
 
 TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN. 51 
 
 " I am entirely of your opinion," said Belford, with 
 a weighty nod. 
 
 After tea, Lord Semingham walked slowly back to 
 his own house. He had a trick of stopping still, when 
 he fell into thought, and he was motionless on the 
 pavement of Piccadilly more than^once on his way 
 home. The last time he paused for nearly three min- 
 utes, till an acquaintance, passing by, clapped him on 
 the back, and inquired what occupied his mind. 
 
 " I was thinking," said Semingham, laying his 
 forefinger on his friend's arm, " that if you take what 
 a clever man really is, and add to it what a clever 
 woman who is interested in him thinks he is, you get 
 a most astonishing person." 
 
 The friend stared. The speculation seemed hardly 
 pressing enough to excuse a man for blocking the 
 pavement of Piccadilly. 
 
 "If, on the other hand," pursued Semingham, 
 " you take what an ordinary man isn't, and add all 
 that a clever woman thinks he isn't, you get " 
 
 " Hadn't we better go on, old fellow ? " asked the 
 friend. 
 
 " No, I think we'd better not," said Semingham, 
 starting to walk again.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT. 
 
 The success of Lady Valentine's Saturday to 
 Monday party at Maidenhead was spoilt by the un- 
 scrupulous, or (if the charitable view be possible) the 
 muddle-headed conduct of certain eminent African 
 chiefs — so small is the world, so strong the chain of 
 gold (or shares) that binds it together. The party 
 was marred by Willie Huston's absence ; and he was 
 away because he had to go to Frankfort, and he had 
 to go to Frankfort because of that little hitch in the 
 affairs of the Omofaga. The hitch was, in truth, a 
 somewhat grave one, and it occurred, most annoying- 
 ly, immediately after a gathering, marked by uncom- 
 mon enthusiasm and composed of highly influential 
 persons, had set the impress of approval on the 
 scheme. On the following morning, it was asserted 
 that the said African chiefs, from whom Ruston and 
 his friends derived their title to Omofaga, had acted 
 in a manner that belied the character for honesty and 
 simplicity in commercial matters (existing side by side 
 
 (P2)
 
 A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT. 53 
 
 with intense savagery and cruelty in social and polit- 
 ical life) that Mr. Foster Belford had attributed to 
 them at the great meeting. They had, it was said, 
 sold Omofaga several times over in small parcels, and 
 twice, at least, en bloc — once to the Syndicate (from 
 whom the Company was acquiring it) and once to an 
 association of German capitalists. The writer of the 
 article, who said that he knew the chiefs well, went so 
 far as to maintain that any person provided with a 
 few guns and a dozen or so bottles of ardent spirits 
 could return from Omofaga with a portmanteau full 
 of treaties, and this facility in obtaining the article 
 could not, in accordance with the law of supply and 
 demand, do other than gravely affect the value of it. 
 Willie Ruston was inclined to make light of this disclos- 
 ure ; indeed, he attributed it to a desire — natural but 
 unprincipled — on the part of certain persons to obtain 
 Omofaga shares at less than their high intrinsic value ; 
 he called it a " bear dodge " and sundry other oppro- 
 brious names, and snapped his fingers at all possible 
 treaties in the w r orld except his own. Once let him 
 set his foot in Omofaga, and short would be the shrift 
 of rival claims, supposing them to exist at all! But 
 the great house of Dennison, Sons & Company, could 
 not go on in this happy-go-lucky fashion — so the 
 senior partner emphatically told Harry Dennison — 
 they were already, in his opinion, deep enough in this 
 affair ; if they were to go any deeper, this matter of
 
 54 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 the association of German capitalists must be inquired 
 into. The house had not only its money, but its 
 credit and reputation to look after ; it could not touch 
 any doubtful business, nor could it be left with a 
 block of Omofagas on its hands. In effect they were 
 trusting too much to this Mr. Ruston, for he, and he 
 alone, was their security in the matter. Not another 
 step would the house move till the German capitalists 
 were dissolved into thin air. So Willie Huston packed 
 his portmanteau — likely enough the very one that had 
 carried the treaties away from Omofaga — and went to 
 Frankfort to track the German capitalists to their 
 lair. Meanwhile, the issue of the Omofaga was post- 
 poned, and Mr. Carlin was set a-telegraphing to 
 Africa. 
 
 Thus it also happened that, contrary to her fixed 
 intention, Lady Valentine was left with a bedroom to 
 spare, and with no just or producible reason whatever 
 for refusing her son's request that Evan Haselden 
 might occupy it. This, perhaps, should, in the view 
 of all true lovers, be regarded as an item on the credit 
 side of the African chiefs' account, though in the 
 hostess' eyes it aggravated their offence. Adela 
 Ferrars, Mr. Foster Belford and Tom Loring, who 
 positively blessed the African chiefs, were the remain- 
 ing guests. 
 
 All parties cannot be successful, and, if truth be 
 told, this of Lady Valentine's was no conspicuous
 
 A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFURT. 55 
 
 triumph. Belford and Loring quarrelled about Omo- 
 faga, for Loring feared (he used that word) that there 
 might be a good deal in the German treaties, and 
 Belford was loud-mouthed in declaring there could 
 be nothing. Marjory and her brother had a " row " 
 because Marjory, on the Saturday afternoon, would 
 not go out in the Canadian canoe with Evan, but in- 
 sisted on taking a walk with Mr. Belford and hearing 
 all about Omofaga. Finally, Adela and Tom Loring 
 had a rather serious dissension because — well, just 
 because Tom was so intolerably stupid and narrow- 
 minded and rude. That was Adela's own account of 
 it, given in her own words, which seems pretty good 
 authority. 
 
 The unfortunate discussion began with an expres- 
 sion of opinion from Tom. They were lounging very 
 comfortably down stream in a broad-bottomed boat. 
 It was a fine still evening and a lovely sunset. It 
 was then most wanton of Tom — even although he 
 couched his remark in a speciously general form — 
 to say, 
 
 " I wonder at fellows who spend their life worm- 
 ing money out of other people for wild-cat schemes 
 instead of taking to some honest trade." 
 
 There was a pause. Then Adela fitted her glasses 
 on her nose, and observed, with a careful imitation of 
 Tom's forms of expression, 
 
 " I wonder at fellows who drift through life in
 
 56 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 subordinate positions without the — the spunk — to try 
 and do anything for themselves." 
 
 " Women have no idea of honesty." 
 
 " Men are such jealous creatures." 
 
 " I'm not jealous of him," Tom blurted out. 
 
 " Of who ? " asked Adela. 
 
 She was keeping the cooler of the pair. 
 
 " Confound those beastly flies," said Tom, peevish- 
 ly. There was a fly or two about, but Adela smiled 
 in a superior way. "I suppose I've some right to 
 express an opinion," continued Tom. " You know 
 what I feel about the Dennisons, and — well, it's not 
 only the Dennisons." 
 
 " Oh ! the Valentines ? " 
 
 " Blow the Valentines ! " said Tom, very ungrate- 
 fully, inasmuch as he sat in their boat and had eaten 
 their bread. 
 
 He bent over his sculls, and Adela looked at him 
 with a doubtful little smile. She thought Tom Lor- 
 ing, on the whole, the best man she knew, the truest 
 and loyalest ; but, these qualities are not everything, 
 and it seemed as if he meant to be secretary to Harry 
 Dennison all his life. Of course he had no money, 
 there was that excuse ; but to some men want of 
 money is a reason, not for doing nothing, but for at- 
 tempting everything ; it had struck Willie Kuston in 
 that light. Therefore she was at times angry with Tom 
 — and all the more angry the more she ad mired him.
 
 A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT. 57 
 
 " You do me the honour to be anxious on my ac- 
 count ? " she asked very stiffly. * 
 
 " He asked me how much money you had the other 
 day." 
 
 " Ob, you're insufferable ; you really are. Do you 
 always tell women that men care only for their 
 money ? " 
 
 " It's not a bad thing to tell them when it's true." 
 
 " I call this the very vulgarest dispute I was ever 
 entrapped into." 
 
 " It's not my fault. It's Hullo ! " 
 
 His attention was arrested by Lady Valentine's 
 footman, who stood on the bank, calling " Mr Loring, 
 sir," and holding up a telegram. 
 
 " Thank goodness, we're interrupted," said Adela. 
 " Row ashore, Mr. Loring." 
 
 Loring obeyed, and took his despatch. It was 
 from Harry Dennison, and he read it aloud. 
 
 " Can you come up ? News from Frankfort." 
 
 " I must go," said Tom. 
 
 " Oh, yes. If you're not there, Mr. Ruston will do 
 something dreadful, won't he? I should like to come 
 too. News from Frankfort would be more interesting 
 than views from Mr. Belford." 
 
 They parted without any approach towards a 
 reconciliation. Tom w T as hopelessly sulky, Adela 
 
 r
 
 58 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 persistently flippant. The shadow of Omofaga lay 
 heavy on Lady Valentine's party, and still shrouded 
 Tom Loring on his way to town. 
 
 The important despatch from Frankfort had come 
 in cipher, and when Tom arrived in Curzon Street, he 
 found Mr. Carlin, who had been sent for to read it, 
 just leaving the house. The men nodded to one 
 another, and Carlin hastily exclaimed, 
 
 " You must reassure Dennison ! You can do it ! " 
 and leapt into a hansom. 
 
 Tom smiled. If the progress of Omofaga de- 
 pended on encouragement from him, Omofaga would 
 remain in primitive barbarism, though missionaries 
 fell thick as the leaves in autumn. 
 
 Harry Dennison was walking up and down the 
 library ; his hair was roughened and his appearance 
 indicative of much unrest ; his wife sat in an arm- 
 chair, looking at him and listening to Lord Seming- 
 ham, who, poising a cigarette between his fingers, was 
 putting, or trying to put, a meaning to Ruston's 
 message. 
 
 " Position critical. Must act at once. Will you 
 give me a free hand? If not, wire how far I 
 may go." 
 
 That was how it ran when faithfully interpreted 
 by Mr. Carlin.
 
 A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT. 5<) 
 
 " You see," observed Lord Semiugham, " it's clearly 
 a matter of money." 
 
 Tom nodded. 
 
 " Of course it is," said he ; " it's not likely to be 
 a question of anything else." 
 
 " Therefore the Germans have something worth 
 paying for," continued Semingham. 
 
 " Well," amended Tom, " something Ruston thinks 
 it worth his while to pay for, anyhow." 
 
 " That is to say they have treaties touching, or 
 purporting to touch, Omofaga." 
 
 " And," added Harry Dennison, who did not lack 
 a certain business shrewdness, " probably their Gov- 
 ernment behind them to some extent." 
 
 Tom flung himself into a chair. 
 
 " The thing's monstrous," he pronounced. " Sem- 
 ingham and you, Dennison, are, besides himself — and 
 he's got nothing — the only people responsible up to 
 now. And he asks you to give him an unlimited 
 credit without giving you a word of information ! 
 It's the coolest thing I ever heard of in all my life." 
 
 " Of course he means the Company to pay in the 
 end," Semingham reminded the hostile critic. 
 
 " Time enough to talk of the Company when we 
 see it," retorted Tom, with an aggressive scepticism. 
 
 " Position critical ! Hum. I suppose their treaties 
 must be worth something," pursued Semingham. 
 " Dennison, I can't be drained dry over this job. 
 
 n
 
 60 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 Harry Dennison shook his head in a puzzled 
 fashion. 
 
 " Carlin says it's all right," he remarked. 
 
 " Of course he does ! " exclaimed Tom impatiently. 
 " Two and two make five for him if Ruston says they 
 do." 
 
 " Well, Tom, what's your advice?" asked Seming- 
 ham. 
 
 " You must tell him to do nothing till he's seen 
 you, or at least sent you full details of the position." 
 
 The two men nodded. Mrs. Dennison rose from 
 her chair, walked to the window, and stood looking 
 out. 
 
 " Loring just confirms what I thought," said 
 Semingham. 
 
 " He says he must act at once," Harry reminded 
 them ; he was still wavering, and, as he spoke, he 
 glanced uneasily at his wife ; but there was nothing 
 to show that she even heard the conversation. 
 
 " Oh, he hates referring to anybody," said Tom. 
 " He's to have a free hand, and you're to pay the bill. 
 That's his programme, and a very pretty one it is — for 
 him." 
 
 Tom's animus was apparent, and Lord Semingham 
 laughed gently. 
 
 " Still, you're right in substance," he conceded 
 when the laugh was ended, and as he spoke he drew 
 a sheet of notepaper towards him and took up a pen.
 
 A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT. 01 
 
 " We'd better settle just what to say," he observed. 
 " Carlin will be back in half an hour, and we promised 
 to have it ready for him. What you suggest seems all 
 right, Loring." 
 
 Tom nodded. Harry Dennison stood stock still 
 for an instant and then said, with a sigh, 
 
 " I suppose so. He'll be furious — and I hope to 
 God we shan't lose the whole thing." 
 
 Lord Semingham's pen-point was in actual touch 
 with the paper before him, when Mrs. Dennison sud- 
 denly turned round and faced them. She rested one 
 hand on the window-sash, and held the other up in a 
 gesture which demanded attention. 
 
 " Are you really going to back out now ? " she 
 asked in a very quiet voice, but with an intonation of 
 contempt that made all the three men raise their 
 heads with the jerk of startled surprise. Lord Sem- 
 ingham checked the movement of his pen, and leant 
 back in his chair, looking at her. Her face was a 
 little flushed and she was breathing quickly. 
 
 " My dear," said Harry Dennison very apologetic- 
 ally, " do you think you quite understand ? " 
 
 But Tom Loring's patience was exhausted. His 
 interview with Adela left him little reserve of tolera- 
 tion ; and the discovery of another and even worse 
 case of Rustomania utterly overpowered his discretion. 
 
 " Mrs. Dennison," he said, " wants us to deliver 
 ourselves, bound hand and foot, to this fellow."
 
 G2 THE GOD IN THE CAR, 
 
 " Well, and if I do?" she demanded, turning on 
 him. " Can't you even follow, when you've found a 
 man who can lead ? " 
 
 And then, conscious perhaps of having heen 
 goaded to an excess of warmth by Tom's open scorn, 
 she turned her face away. 
 
 " Lead, yes ! Lead us to ruin ! " exclaimed Tom. 
 
 " You won't be ruined, anyhow," she retorted 
 quickly, facing round on him again, reckless in her 
 anger how she might wound him. 
 
 " Tom's anxious for us, Maggie," her husband re- 
 minded her, and he laid his hand on Tom Loring's 
 shoulder. 
 
 Tom's excitement was not to be soothed. 
 
 " Why are we all to be his instruments ? " he de- 
 manded angrily. 
 
 " I should be proud to be," she said haughtily. 
 
 Her husband smiled in an uneasy effort after non- 
 chalance, and Lord Semingham shot a quick glance 
 at her out of his observant eyes. 
 
 " I should be proud of a friend like you if I were 
 Ruston," he said gently, hoping to smooth matters a 
 little. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison ignored his attempt. 
 
 "Can't you see?" she asked. "Can't you see 
 that he's a man to — to do things? It's enough for us 
 if we can help him." 
 
 She had forgotten her embarrassment ; she spoke
 
 A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT. G3 
 
 half in contempt, half in entreaty, wholly in an ear- 
 nest urgency, that made her unconscious of any 
 strangeness in her zeal. Harry looked uncomfortable. 
 Semingham with a sigh blew a cloud of smoke from 
 his cigarette. 
 
 Tom Loring sat silent. He stretched out his legs 
 to their full length, rested the nape of his neck on the 
 chair-back, and stared up at the ceiling. His attitude 
 eloquently and most rudely asserted folly — almost 
 lunacy — in Mrs. Dennison. She noticed it and her 
 eyes flashed, but she did not speak to him. She 
 looked at Semingham and surprised an expression in 
 his eyes that made her drop her own for an instant ; 
 she knew very well what he was thinking — Avhat a 
 man like him would think. But she recovered her- 
 self and met his glance boldly. 
 
 Harry Dennison sat down and slowly rubbed his 
 brow with his handkerchief. Lord Semingham took 
 up the pen and balanced it between his fingers. 
 There was silence in the room for full three minutes. 
 Then came a loud knock at the hall door. 
 
 " It's Carlin," said Harry Dennison. 
 
 No one else spoke, and for another moment there 
 was silence. The steps of the butler and the visitor 
 were already audible in the hall when Lord Seming- 
 ham, with his own shrug and his own smile, as though 
 nothing in the world were worth so much dispute or 
 so much bitterness, said to Dennison,
 
 64 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Hang it ! Shall we chance it, Harry ? " 
 Mrs. Dennison made one swift step forward to- 
 wards him, her face all alight ; but she stopped be- 
 fore she reached the table and turned to her hus- 
 band. At the moment Carlin was announced. He 
 entered with a rush of eagerness. Tom Loring did 
 not move. Semingham wrote on his paper, — 
 
 "Use your discretion, but make every effort to 
 keep down expenses. Wire progress." 
 
 "Will that do?" he asked, handing the paper to 
 Harry Dennison and leaning back with a smile on his 
 face ; and, though he handed the paper to Harry, he 
 looked at Mrs. Dennison. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison was standing by her husband now, 
 her arm through his. As he read she read also. 
 Then she took the paper from his yielding hand and 
 came and bent over the table, shoulder to shoul- 
 der with Lord Semingham. Taking the pen from 
 his fingers, she dipped it in the ink, and with a firm 
 dash she erased all save the first three words of the 
 message. This done, she looked round into Seming- 
 ham's face with a smile of triumph. 
 
 " Well, it'll be cheap to send, anyhow," said he. 
 
 He got up and motioned Carlin to take his place. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison walked back to the window, and ho 
 followed her there. They heard Carlin's cry of de-
 
 A TELKORAM TO FRANKFORT. 65 
 
 light, and Hurry Dennison beginning to make ex- 
 cuses and trying to find business reasons for what hud 
 been done. Suddenly Tom Loring leapt to his feet 
 and strode swiftly out of the room, slamming the door 
 behind him. Mrs. Dennison heard the sound with a 
 smile of content. She seemed to have no misgivings 
 and no regrets. 
 
 " Really," said Lord Semingham, sticking his eye- 
 glass in his eye and regarding her closely," you ought 
 to be the Queen of Omofaga." 
 
 With her slim fingers she began to drum gently 
 on the window-pane. 
 
 " I think there's a king already," she said, looking 
 out into the street. 
 
 " Oh, yes, a king," he answered with a laugh. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison looked round. He did not stop 
 laughing, and presently she laughed just a little herself. 
 
 " Oh, of course, it's always that in a woman, isn't 
 it ? " she asked sarcastically. 
 
 " Generally," he answered, unashamed. 
 
 She grew grave, and looked in his face almost — so 
 it seemed to him — as though she sought there an 
 answer to something that puzzled her. He gave her 
 none. She sighed and drummed on the window 
 again ; then she turned to him with a sudden bright 
 smile. 
 
 " I don't care ; I'm glad I did it," she said de- 
 fiantly.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 
 
 Probably no one is always wrong ; at any rate, 
 Mr. Otto Heather was right now and then, and lie 
 had hit the mark when he accused Willie Ruston of 
 " commercialism." But he went astray when he con- 
 cluded, per solium, that the object of his antipathy 
 was a money-grubbing, profit-snatching, upper-hand- 
 getting machine, and nothing else in the world. 
 Probably, again, no one ever was. Ruston had not 
 only feelings, but also what many people consider a 
 later development — a conscience. And, whatever the 
 springs on which his conscience moved, it acted as a 
 restraint upon him. Both his feelings and his con- 
 science would have told him that it would not do for 
 him to delude his friends or the public with a scheme 
 which was a fraud. He would have delivered this 
 inner verdict in calm and temperate terms; it would 
 have been accompanied by no disgust, no remorse, no 
 revulsion at the idea having made its way into his 
 mind ; it was just that, on the whole, such a thing 
 
 (66)
 
 WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 67 
 
 wouldn't do. The vagueness of the phrase faithfully 
 embodied the spirit of the decision, for whether it 
 wouldn't do, because it was in itself unseemly, or 
 merely because, if found out, it would look unseemly, 
 was precisely one of those curious points with which 
 Mr. Ruston's practical intellect declined to trouble 
 itself. If Omofaga had been a fraud, then Ruston 
 would have whistled it down the wind. But Omofaga 
 was no fraud — in his hands at least no fraud. For, 
 while he believed in Omofaga to a certain extent, 
 Willie Ruston believed in himself to an indefinite, 
 perhaps an infinite, extent. He thought Omofaga a 
 fair security for anyone's money, but himself a superb 
 one. Omofaga without him — or other people's Omo- 
 fagas — might be a promising speculation ; add him, 
 and Omafaga became a certainty. It will be seen, 
 then, that Mr. Heather's inspiration had soon failed — 
 unless, that is, machines can see visions and dream 
 dreams, and melt down hard facts in crucibles heated 
 to seven times in the fires of imagination. But a 
 man may do all this, and yet not be the passive victim 
 of his dreams and imaginings. The old buccaneers — 
 and Adela Ferrars had thought Ruston a buccaneer 
 modernised — dreamt, but they sailed and fought too ; 
 and they sailed and fought and won because they 
 dreamt. And if many of their dreams were tinted 
 with the gleam of gold, they were none the less 
 powerful and alluring for that.
 
 68 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 Ruston had laid the whole position before Baron 
 von Geltschmidt of Frankfort, with — as it seemed — 
 the utmost candour. He and his friends were not 
 deeply committed in the matter ; there was, as yet, 
 only a small syndicate ; of course they had paid some- 
 thing for their rights, but, as the Baron knew (and 
 "Willie's tone emphasised the fact that he must know) 
 the actual sums paid out of pocket in these cases 
 were not of staggering magnitude ; no company was 
 formed yet ; none would be, unless all went smoothly. 
 If the Baron and his friends were sure of their 
 ground, and preferred to go on — why, he and his 
 friends were not eager to commit themselves to a long 
 and arduous contest. There must, he supposed, be a 
 give-and-take between them. 
 
 " It looks," he said, " as far as I can judge, as if 
 either we should have to buy you out, or you would 
 have to buy us out." 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested the Baron, blinking lazily 
 behind his gold spectacles, " we could get rid of you 
 without buying you out." 
 
 " Oh, if you drove us to it, by refusing to treat, we 
 should have a shot at that too, of course," laughed Willie 
 Kuston, swallowing a glass of white wine. The Baron 
 had asked him to discuss the matter over luncheon. 
 
 " It seems to me," observed the Baron, lighting a 
 cigar, " that people are rather cold about speculations 
 just now."
 
 WHOSE SriALL IT BE? G9 
 
 " I should think so ; but this is not a speculation ; 
 it's a certainty." 
 
 " Why do you tell me that, when you want to get 
 rid of me ? " 
 
 " Because you won't believe it. Wasn't that Bis- 
 marck's way ? " 
 
 " You are not Bismarck — and a certainty is what 
 the public thinks one." 
 
 " Is that philosophy or finance ? " asked Huston, 
 laughing again. 
 
 The Baron, who had in his day loved both the 
 subjects referred to, drank a glass of wine and 
 chuckled as he delivered himself of the following doc- 
 trine : 
 
 " What the public thinks a certainty, is a certainty 
 for the public — that would be philosophy, eh ? " 
 
 " I believe so. I never read much, and your ex- 
 tract doesn't raise my idea of its value." 
 
 " But what the public thinks a certainty, is a cer- 
 tainty — for the promotors — that is finance. You see 
 the difference is simple." 
 
 "And the distinction luminous. This, Baron, 
 seems to be the age of finance." 
 
 " Ah, well, there are still honest men," said the 
 Baron, with the optimism of age. 
 
 " Yes, I'm one — and you're another." 
 
 " I'm much obliged. You've been in Omo- 
 f aga ? "
 
 70 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Oh, yes. And you haven't, Baron." 
 
 " Friends of mine have." 
 
 " Yes. They came just after I left." 
 
 The Baron knew that this statement was true. 
 As his study of Willie Euston progressed, he became 
 inclined to think that it might be important. Mere 
 right (so far as such a thing could be given by prior 
 treaties) was not of much moment ; but right and 
 Huston together might be formidable. Now the 
 Baron (and his friends were friends much in the way, 
 mutatis mutandis, that Mr. Wagg and Mr. Wenham 
 were friends of the Marquis of Steyne, and may there- 
 fore drop out of consideration) was old and rich, and, 
 by consequence, at a great disadvantage with a man 
 who was young and poor. 
 
 " I don't see the bearing of that," he observed, 
 having paused for a moment to consider all its bear- 
 ings. 
 
 " It means that you can't have Omofaga," said 
 Willie Ruston. " You were too late, you see." 
 
 The Baron smoked and drank and laughed. 
 
 " You're a young fool, my boy — or something quite 
 different," said he, laying a hand on his companion's 
 arm. Then he asked suddenly, " What about Den- 
 nisons V " 
 
 " They're behind me if " 
 
 « Well ? " 
 
 " If you're not in front of me."
 
 WHOSE SHALL IT BE? ?L 
 
 " But if I am, my son ? " asked the Baron, almost 
 caressingly. 
 
 " Then I leave for Omofaga by the next boat." 
 
 " Eh ! And for what ? " 
 
 " Never mind what. You'll find out when you 
 come." 
 
 The Baron sighed and tugged his beard. 
 
 " You English ! " said he. " Your Government 
 won't help you." 
 
 " Damn my Government." 
 
 " You English ! " said the Baron again, his tone 
 struggling between admiration and a sort of oppres- 
 sion, while his face wore the look a man has who sees 
 another push in front of him in a crowd, and wonders 
 how the fellow works his way through. 
 
 There was a long pause. Euston lit his pipe, and, 
 crossing his arms on his breast, blinked at the sun ; 
 the Baron puffed away, shooting a glance now and 
 then at his young friend, then he asked, 
 
 " Well, my boy, what do you offer ? " 
 
 " Shares," answered Ruston composedly. 
 
 The Baron laughed. The impudence of the offer 
 pleased him. 
 
 " Yes, shares, of course. And besides ? " 
 
 Willie Ruston turned to him. 
 
 " I shan't haggle," he announced. " I'll make you 
 one offer, Baron, and it's an uncommon handsome 
 offer for a trunk of waste paper."
 
 72 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " What's the offer?" asked the Baron, smiling 
 with rich subdued mirth. 
 
 " Fifty thousand down, and the same in shares 
 fully paid." 
 
 " Not enough, my son." 
 
 " All right," and Mr. Huston rose. " Much obliged 
 for your hospitality, Baron," he added, holding out 
 his hand. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " asked the Baron. 
 
 " Omofaga — via London." 
 
 The Baron caught him by the arm, and whispered 
 in his ear, 
 
 " There's not so much in it, first and last." 
 
 " Oh, isn't there ? Then why don't you take the 
 offer ? " 
 
 " Is it your money ? " 
 
 " It's good money. Come, Baron, you've always 
 liked the safe side," and Willie smiled down upon his 
 host. 
 
 The Baron positively started. This young man 
 stood over him and told him calmly, face-to-face, the 
 secret of his life. It was true. How he had envied 
 men of real nerve, of faith, of daring !, But he had 
 always liked the safe side. Ilence he was very rich — 
 and a rather weary old man. 
 
 Two days later, Willie Ruston took a cab from 
 Lord Semingham's, and drove to Curzon Street. He 
 arrived at twelve o'clock in the morning. Harry Den-
 
 WHOSE SHALL IT BE! 73 
 
 nison had gone to a Committee at the House. The 
 butler had just told him so, when a voice cried from 
 within, 
 
 " Is it you, Mr. Ruston ? " 
 
 Mrs. Dennison was standing in the hall. lie went 
 in, and followed her into the library. 
 
 " Well ? " she asked, standing by the table, and 
 wasting no time in formal greetings. 
 
 " Oh, it's all right," said he. 
 
 " You got my telegram ? " 
 
 " Your telegram, Mrs. Dennison ? " said he with a 
 smile. 
 
 " I mean — the telegram," she corrected herself, 
 smiling in her turn. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Ruston, and he took a step towards 
 her. " I've seen Lord Semingham," he added. 
 
 " Yes ? And these horrid Germans are out of the 
 way ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and Semingham is letting his shooting 
 this year." 
 
 She laughed, and glanced at him as she asked, 
 
 " Then it cost a great deal ? " 
 
 " Fifty thousand ! " 
 
 " Oh, then we can't take Lord Semingham's shoot- 
 ing, or anybody else's. Poor Harry ! " 
 
 " He doesn't know yet ? " 
 
 "Aren't you almost afraid to tell him, Mr. Rus- 
 ton?"
 
 74 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Aren't you, Mrs. Dennison ? " 
 
 lie smiled as he asked, and Mrs. Dennison lifted 
 her eyes to his, and let them dwell there. 
 
 " Why did you do it?" he asked. 
 
 " Will the money be lost ? " 
 
 " Oh, I hope not ; but money's always uncertain." 
 
 " The thing's not uncertain ? " 
 
 " No ; the thing's certain now." 
 
 She sat down with a sigh of satisfaction, and 
 passed her hand over her broad brow. 
 
 " Why did you do it ? " Ruston repeated ; and she 
 laughed nervously. 
 
 " I hate going back," she said, twisting her hands 
 in her lap. 
 
 He had asked her the question which she had been 
 asking herself without response. 
 
 He sat down opposite her, flinging his soft cloth 
 hat — for he had not been home since his arrival in 
 London — on the table. 
 
 " What a bad hat ! " said Mrs. Dennison, touching 
 it with the end of a forefinger. 
 
 " It's done a journey through Omofaga." 
 
 " Ah ! " she laughed gently. " Dear old hat ! " 
 
 "Thanks to you, it'll do another soon." 
 
 Mrs. Dennison sat up straight in her chair. 
 
 " You hope ? " she began. 
 
 " To be on my way in six months," he answered 
 in solid satisfaction.
 
 WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 75 
 
 " And for long ? " 
 
 " It must take time." 
 
 "What must?" 
 
 " My work there." 
 
 She rose and walked to the window, as she had 
 when she was about to send the telegram. Now also 
 she was breathing quickly, and the flush, once so rare 
 on her cheeks, was there again. 
 
 " And we," she said in a low voice, looking out of 
 the window, " shall just hear of you once a year ? " 
 
 " We shall have regular mails in no time," said he. 
 " Once a year, indeed ! Once a month, Mrs. Denni- 
 son ! " 
 
 With a curious laugh, she dashed the blind-tassel 
 asrainst the window. It was not for the sake of hear- 
 ing of her that he wanted the mails. With a sudden 
 impulse she crossed the room and stood opposite him. 
 
 "Do you care that" she asked, snapping her 
 fingers, " for any soul alive ? You're delighted to 
 leave us all and go to Omofaga ! " 
 
 Willie Ruston seemed not to hear ; he was men- 
 tally organizing the mail service from Omofaga. 
 
 " I beg pardon ? " he said, after a perceptible 
 pause. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Maggie Dennison, and at last her 
 tone caught his attention. 
 
 He looked up with a wrinkle of surprise on his 
 brow.
 
 jq THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Why," said he, " I believe you're angry about 
 something. You look just as you did on — on the 
 memorable occasion." 
 
 " Oh, we aren't all Carlins ! " she exclaimed, car- 
 ried away by her feelings. 
 
 The least she had expected from him was grateful 
 thanks; a homage tinged with admiration was, in 
 truth, no more than her due ; if she had been an ugly 
 dull woman, yet she had done him a great service, and 
 she was not an ugly dull woman. But then neither 
 was she Omofaga. 
 
 " If everybody was as good a fellow as old Car- 
 lin " began Willie Ruston. 
 
 " If everybody was as useful and docile, you mean ; 
 as good a tool for you " 
 
 At last it was too plain to be missed. 
 
 " Hullo ! " he exclaimed. " What are you pitching 
 into me for, Mrs. Dennison ? " 
 
 His words were ordinary enough, but at last he 
 was looking at her, and the mails of Omofaga were for 
 a moment forgotten. 
 
 " I wish I'd never made them send the wretched 
 telegram," she flashed out passionately. "Much 
 thanks I get ! " 
 
 " You shall have a statue in the chief street of the 
 chief town of " 
 
 '• I low dare you ! I'm not a girl to be chaffed." 
 
 The tears were standing in her eyes, as she threw
 
 WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 77 
 
 herself back in a chair. Willie Huston got up and 
 stood by her. 
 
 " You'll be proud of that telegram some day," ho 
 said, rather as though he felt bound to pay her a com- 
 pliment. 
 
 " Oli, you think that now ? " she said, unconvinced 
 of his sincerity. 
 
 " Yes. Though was it very difficult ? " he asked 
 with a sudden change of tone most depreciatory of 
 her exploit. 
 
 She glanced at him and smiled joyfully. She 
 liked the depreciation better than the compliment. 
 
 " Not a bit," she whispered, "for me." 
 
 He laughed slightly, and shut his lips close again, 
 lie becran to understand Mrs. Dennison better. 
 
 o 
 
 " Still, though it was easy for you, it was precious 
 valuable to me," he observed. 
 
 " And how you hate being obliged to me, don't 
 you ? " 
 
 He perceived that she understood him a little, but 
 he smiled again as he asked, 
 
 " Oh, but what made you do it, you know ?" 
 
 " You mean you did ? Mr. Ruston, I should like 
 to see you at work in Omofaga." 
 
 " Oh, a very humdrum business," said he, with a 
 shrug. 
 
 " Y'ou'll have soldiers?" 
 
 " We shall call 'em police," he corrected, smiling.
 
 Y8 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Yes ; but they keep everybody down, and — and 
 do as you order ? " 
 
 " If not, I shall ask 'em why." 
 
 " And the natives ? " 
 
 " Civilise 'em." 
 
 " You — you'll be governor?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no. Local administrator." 
 
 She laughed in his face ; and a grim smile from 
 him seemed to justify her. 
 
 " I'm glad I sent the telegram," she half-whis- 
 pered, lying back in the chair and looking up 
 at him. " I shall have had something to do 
 with all that, shan't I? Do you want any more 
 money ? " 
 
 " Look here," said Willie Ruston, " Omofaga's 
 mine. I'll find you another place, if you like, when 
 I've put this job through." 
 
 A luxury of pleasure rippled through her laugh. 
 She darted out her hand and caught his. 
 
 " No. I like Omofaga too ! " she said, and as she 
 said it, the door suddenly opened, and in walked Tom 
 Loring — that is to say — in Tom Loring was about to 
 walk ; but when he saw what he did see, he stood still 
 for a moment, and then, without a single word, either 
 of greeting or apology, he turned his back, walked out 
 again, and shut the door behind him. His entrance 
 and exit were so quick and sudden, that Mrs. Denni- 
 son had hardly dropped Willie Ruston's hand before
 
 WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 7<l 
 
 he was gone ; she had certainly not dropped it before 
 he came. 
 
 Willie Kuston sat down squarely in a chair. Mrs. 
 Dennison's hot mood had been suddenly cooled. She 
 would not ask him to go, but she glanced at the hat 
 that had been through Omofaga. lie detected her. 
 
 " I shall stay ten minutes," he observed. 
 
 She understood and nodded assent. Very little 
 was said during the ten minutes. Mrs. Dennison 
 seemed tired ; her eyes dropped towards the ground, 
 and she reclined in her chair. Huston was frowning 
 and thrumming at intervals on the table. But pres- 
 ently his brow cleared and he smiled. Mrs. Dennison 
 saw him from under her drooping lids. 
 
 " Well ? " she asked in a petulant tone. 
 
 " I believe you were going to light me for Omo- 
 faga." 
 
 " I don't know what I was doing." 
 
 " Is that fellow a fool ? " 
 
 " He's a much better man than you'll ever be, Mr. 
 Kuston. Really you might go now." 
 
 " All right, I will. I'm going down to the city to 
 see your husband and Carlin." 
 
 " I'm afraid I've wasted your time." 
 
 She spoke with a bitterness which seemed impos- 
 sible to miss. But he appeared to miss it. 
 
 " Oh, not a bit, really," he assured her anxiously. 
 " Good-bye," he added, holding out his hand.
 
 80 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 '■ Good-bye. I've shaken hands once." 
 
 He waited a moment to see if she would speak 
 again, but she said nothing. So he left her. 
 
 As he called a hansom, Mrs. Cormack was leaning 
 over her balcony. She took a little jewelled watch 
 out of her pocket and looked at it. 
 
 "An hour and a quarter!" she cried. "And I 
 know the poor man isn't at home ! "
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AN ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS. 
 
 Miss Adela Ferraks lived in Queen's Gate, in 
 compauy with her aunt, Mrs. Topham. Mrs. Top- 
 ham's husband had been the younger son of a peer 
 of ancient descent; and a practised observer might 
 almost have detected the fact in her manner, for she 
 took her station in this life as seriously as her position 
 in the next, and, in virtue of it, assumed a respon- 
 sibility for the morals of her inferiors which betrayed 
 a considerable confidence in her own. But she was a 
 good woman, and a widow of the pattern most op- 
 posite to that of Mrs. Cormack. She dwelt more 
 truly in the grave of her husband than in Queen's 
 Gate, and permitted herself no recreations except 
 such as may privily creep into religious exercises and 
 the ministrations of favourite clergymen ; and it is 
 pleasant to think that she was very happy. As may 
 be supposed, however, Adela (who was a good woman 
 in quite another way, and therefore less congenial 
 with her aunt than any mere sinner could have been) 
 
 (81)
 
 82 THE GOD IN THE CAlt. 
 
 and Mrs. Topham saw very little of one another, and 
 would not have thought of living together unless each 
 had been able to supply what the other wanted. 
 Adela found money for the house, and Mrs. Topham 
 lent the shelter of her name to her niece's unpro- 
 tected condition. There were separate sitting-rooms 
 for the two ladies, and, if rumour were true (which, 
 after all, it usually is not), a separate staircase for the 
 clergy. 
 
 Adela was in her drawing-room one afternoon 
 when Lord Semingham was announced. He appeared 
 to be very warm, and he carried a bundle of papers iu 
 his hand. Among the papers there was one of those 
 little smooth white volumes which epitomise so much 
 of the joy and sorrow of this transitory life. He gave 
 himself a shake, as he sat down, and held up the 
 book. 
 
 " The car has begun to move," he observed. 
 
 "Juggernaut's?" 
 
 "Yes; and I have been to see my bankers. I take 
 a trip to the seaside instead of a moor this year, and 
 have let my own pheasant shooting." 
 
 He paused and added, 
 
 " Dennison has not taken my shooting. They go 
 to the seaside too — with the children." 
 
 He paused again and concluded, 
 
 "The Omofaga prospectus will be out to-morrow." 
 
 Adela laughed.
 
 AN ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS. 83 
 
 " Bessie is really quite annoyed," remarked Lord 
 Semingham. " I have seldom seen her so perturbed — 
 but I've sent Huston to talk to her." 
 
 "And why did you do it?" asked Adela. 
 
 " I should like to tell you a little history," said he. 
 
 And he told her how Mrs. Dennison had sent a 
 telegram to Frankfort. This history was long, for 
 Lord Semingham told it dramatically, as though he 
 enjoyed its quality. Yet Adela made no comment be- 
 yond asking, 
 
 " And wasn't she right ? " 
 
 "Oh, for the Empire perhaps — for us, it means 
 trips to the seaside." 
 
 He drew his chair a little nearer hers, and dropped 
 his affectation of comic plaintiveness. 
 
 " A most disgusting thing has happened in Curzon 
 Street," he said. " Have you heard ? " 
 
 " No ; I've seen nothing of Maggie lately. You've 
 all been buried in Omofaga." 
 
 " Hush ! No words of ill-omen, please ! Well, it's 
 annoyed me immensely I can't think what the fool- 
 ish fellow means. Tom Loring's going." 
 
 "Tom — Loring — going?" she exclaimed with a 
 punctuated pause between every word. " What in the 
 world for?" 
 
 " What is the ultimate cause of everything that 
 happens to us now ? " he asked, sticking his glass in 
 his eye.
 
 84: THE UOU IN THE CAR. 
 
 Adela felt as though she were playing at some ab- 
 surd game of questions and answers, and must make 
 her reply according to the rules. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Huston ! " she said, with a grimace. 
 
 Her visitor nodded — as though he had been an- 
 swered according to the rules. 
 
 " Tom broke out in the most extraordinary man- 
 ner. He said he couldn't stay with Dennison, if Den- 
 nison let Huston lead him by the nose (ipsisxima 
 verba, my dear Adela), and told Huston to his face 
 that he came for no good." 
 
 " Were you there ? " 
 
 " Yes. The man seemed to choose the most public 
 opportunity. Did you ever hear such a thing?" 
 
 " He's mad about Mr. Huston. He talked just 
 the same way to me. What did Harry Denni- 
 son say ? " 
 
 "Harry went up to him and took his hand, and 
 shook it, and, you know old Harry's way, tried to 
 smooth it all down, and get them to shake hands. 
 Then Huston got up and said he'd go and leave them 
 to settle it between Tom and him. Oh, Huston be- 
 haved very well. It was uncommonly awkward for 
 him, you know." 
 
 " Yes ; and when he'd gone ? " 
 
 " Harry told Tom that he must keep his engage- 
 ments; but that, sooner than lose him, he'd go no 
 deeper. That was pretty handsome, I thought, but it
 
 AN ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS. 85 
 
 didn't suit Tom. ' I can't stay in the house while 
 that fellow comes,' he said." 
 
 " While he comes to the house?" cried Adela. 
 
 Lord Semingham nodded. " You've hit the point," 
 he seemed to say, and he went on, 
 
 " And then they both turned and looked at Maggie 
 Dennison. She'd been sitting there without speaking 
 a single word the whole time. I couldn't go — Harry 
 wouldn't let me — so I got into a corner and looked at 
 the photograph book. I felt rather an ass, between 
 ourselves, you know." 
 
 " And what did Maggie say ? " 
 
 " Harry was looking as puzzled as an owl, and Tom 
 as obstinate as a toad, and both stared at her. She 
 looked first at Harry, and then at Tom, and smiled in 
 that quiet way of hers. By the way, I never feel that 
 I quite understand " 
 
 " Oh, never mind ! Of course you don't. Go on." 
 
 " And then she said, ' What a fuss ! I hope that 
 after all this Omofaga business is over Mr. Loring 
 will come back to us.' Pretty straight for Tom, 
 eh? He turned crimson, and walked right out 
 of the room, and she sat down at the piano and be- 
 gan to play some infernal tune, and that soft-hearted 
 old baby, Harry, blew his nose, and damned the 
 draught," 
 
 " And he's going ? " 
 
 « Yes."
 
 86 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " But," she broke out, " how can he ? He's got no 
 money. AVhat'll he live on ? " 
 
 " Harry offered him as much as he wanted ; but he 
 said he had some savings, and wouldn't take a far- 
 thing. He said he'd write for papers, or some such 
 stuff." 
 
 " He's been with the Dennisons ever since — oh, 
 years and years ! Can't you take him ? He'd be 
 awfully useful to you." 
 
 " My dear girl, I can't offer charity to Tom Lor- 
 ing," said Semingham, and he added quickly, " No 
 more can you, you know." 
 
 "I quarrelled with him desperately a week ago," 
 said she mournfully. 
 
 " About Ruston ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. About Mr. Ruston, of course." 
 
 Lord Semingham whistled gently, and, after a 
 pause, Adela leant forward and asked, 
 
 " Do you feel quite comfortable about it ? " 
 
 " Hang it, no! But I'm too deep in. I hope to 
 heaven the public will swallow it ! " 
 
 " I didn't mean your wretched Company." 
 
 "Oh, you didn't?" 
 
 "No; I meant Curzon Street." 
 
 "It hardly lies in my mouth to blame Dennison, 
 or his wife either. If they've been foolish, so have I." 
 A<!ela looked at him as if she thought him profoundly 
 unsatisfactory. lie was vaguely conscious of her
 
 AN ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS. 87 
 
 depreciation, and added, " Huston's not a rogue, you 
 know." 
 
 " No. If I thought he was, I shouldn't be going 
 to take shares in Omofaga." 
 
 "You're not?" 
 
 " Oh, but I am ! " 
 
 " Another spinster lady on my conscience ! I shall 
 certainly em] in the dock ! " Lord Semingham took 
 his hat and shook hands. Just as he got to the door, 
 he turned round, and, with an expression of deprecat- 
 ing helplessness, fired a last shot. " Huston came to 
 see Bessie the other day," he said. " The new mantle 
 she's just invented is to be called — the Omofaga: 
 That is unless she changes it because of the moor. I 
 suggested the Pis-aller, but she didn't see it. She 
 never does, you know. Good-bye." 
 
 The moment he was gone, Adela put on her hat 
 and drove to Curzon Street. She found Mrs. Denni- 
 son alone, and opened fire at once. 
 
 " What have you done, Maggie ? " she cried, fling- 
 ing her gloves on the table and facing her friend with 
 accusing countenance. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison was smelling a rose ; she smelt it a 
 little longer, and then replied with another question. 
 
 " Why can't men hate quietly ? They must make 
 a fuss. I can go on hating a woman for years and 
 never show it." 
 
 " We have the vices of servility," said Adela.
 
 88 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Harry is a melancholy sight," resumed Mrs. Den- 
 nisou. " He spends his time looking for the blot- 
 ting-paper ; Tom Loring used to keep it, you 
 know." 
 
 Her tone deepened the expression of disapproval 
 on Adela's face. 
 
 " I've never been so distressed about anything in 
 my life," said she. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, he'll come back." As she spoke, a 
 sudden mischievous smile spread over her face. " You 
 should hear Bertho Cormack on it ! " she said. 
 
 " I don't want to hear Mrs. Cormack at all. I 
 hate the woman— and I think that I — at any rate- 
 show it." 
 
 It surprised Adela to find her friend in such ex- 
 cellent spirits. The air of listlessness, which was apt 
 to mar her manner, and even to some degree her ap- 
 pearance (for to look bored is not becoming), had 
 entirely vanished. 
 
 " You don't seem very sorry about poor Mr. Lor- 
 ing," Adela observed. 
 
 "Oh, I am; but Mr. Loring can't stop the wheels 
 of the world. And it's his own fault." 
 
 Adela Bighed. It did not seem of consequence 
 whose fault it was. 
 
 " I don't think I care much about the wheels of 
 the world," she said. "How are the children, Mag- 
 gie?"
 
 AN ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS. 89 
 
 "Oh, splendid, and in groat glee about the sea- 
 side " — and Mrs. Dennison laughed. 
 
 " And about losing Tom Loring? " 
 
 " They cried at first." 
 
 " Does anyone ever do anything more than ' cry at 
 first '? " exclaimed Adela. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, don't be tragical, or cynical, or 
 whatever you are being," said Maggie pettishly. 
 " Mr. Loring has chosen to be very silly, and there's 
 an end of it. Have you seen the prospectus? Do 
 you know Mr. Huston brought it to show me before it 
 was submitted to Mr. Belford and the others— the 
 Board, I mean ? " 
 
 " I think you see quite enough of Mr. Rus- 
 ton," said Adela, putting up her glass and exam- 
 ining Mrs. Dennison closely. She spoke coolly, 
 but with a nervous knowledge of her presump- 
 tion. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison may have had a taste for diplo- 
 macy and the other arts of government, but she 
 was no diplomatist. She thought herself gravely 
 wronged by Adela's suggestion, and burst out an- 
 grily, 
 
 " Oh, you've been listening to Tom Loring ! " and 
 her heightened colour seemed not to agree with the 
 idea that, if Adela had listened, Tom had talked 
 of nothing but Omofaga. " I don't mind it from 
 Berthe," Mrs. Dennison continued, " but from you it's
 
 00 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 too bad. I suppose he told you the whole thing ? I 
 declare I wasn't dreaming of anything of the kind ; 
 
 1 was just excited, and " 
 
 " I haven't seen Mr. Loring," put in Adela as soon 
 as she could. 
 
 " Then how do you know ? " 
 
 "Lord Semingham told me you quarrelled with 
 Mr. Loring about Omofaga." 
 
 " Is that all ? " 
 
 " Yes. Maggie, was there any more ? " 
 
 " Do you want to quarrel with me too? " 
 
 " I believe Mr. Loring had good reasons." 
 
 " You must believe what you like," said Mrs. Den- 
 nison, tearing her rose to pieces. " Yes, there was 
 some more." 
 
 "What?" asked Adela, expecting to be told to 
 mind her own business. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison flung away the rose and began to 
 laugh. 
 
 "He found me holding Willie Ruston's hand and 
 telling him I— liked Omofaga ! That's all." 
 
 " Holding his hand ! " exclaimed Adela, justifiably 
 scandalised and bopelessly puzzled. " What did you 
 do that for?" 
 
 " I don't know," said Mrs. Dennison. " It hap- 
 pened somehow as we were talking. We got inter- 
 ested, you know." 
 
 Adela's next question was also one at which it was
 
 AN ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS. 91 
 
 possible to take offence ; but sbe was careless now 
 whether offence were taken or not. 
 
 " Are you and the children going to the seaside 
 soon ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," rejoined her friend, still smiling. " We 
 shall soon be deep in pails and spades and bathing, 
 and buckets and paddling, and a final charming walk 
 with Harry in the moonlight." 
 
 As the sentence went on, the smile became more 
 fixed and less pleasant. 
 
 " You ought to be ashamed to talk like that," said 
 Adela. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison walked up the room and down 
 again. 
 
 " So I am," she said, pausing to look down on 
 Adela, and then resuming her walk. 
 
 " I wish to goodness this Omofaga affair — yes, and 
 Mr. Ruston too — had never been invented. It seems 
 to set us all wrong." 
 
 " Wrong ! " cried Mrs. Dennison. " Oh, yes, if 
 it's wrong to have something one can take a little 
 interest in ! " 
 
 " You're hopeless to-day, Maggie. I shall go away. 
 What did you take his hand for ? " 
 
 " Nothing. I tell you I was excited." 
 
 " Well, I think he's a man one ought to keep cool 
 with." 
 
 " Oh, he's cool enough. He'll keep you cool."
 
 92 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 " But he didn't " 
 
 " Oh, don't — pray don't ! " cried Mrs. Dennison. 
 
 Adela took her leave ; and, as luck would have it, 
 opened the door just as Tom Loring was walking 
 downstairs with an enormous load of dusty papers in 
 lii.s hands. She pulled the door close behind her 
 hastily, exclaiming, 
 
 " Why, I thought you'd gone ! " 
 
 " So you've heard ? I'm just putting things ship- 
 shape. I go this evening." 
 
 " Well, I'm sorry — still, for your sake, I'm glad." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 "You may do something on your own account 
 
 now." 
 
 " I don't want to do anything," said Tom obsti- 
 nately. 
 
 " Come and see me some day. I've forgiven you, 
 you know." 
 
 " So I will." 
 
 " Mr. Loring, are you going to say good-bye to 
 Maggie ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I suppose so." Then he added, 
 detecting Adela's unexpressed hope, " Oh, it's not a 
 bit of use, you know." 
 
 Adela passed on, and, later, Loring, having 
 finished his work and being about to go, sought out 
 Mrs. Dennison. 
 
 "You're determined to go, are you?" she asked,
 
 AN ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS. 93 
 
 with the air of one who surrenders before an inex- 
 plicable whim. 
 
 " Yes," said Tom. " You know I must go." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I'm not a saint — nor a rogue ; if I were either, 
 I might stay." 
 
 " Or even if you were a sensible man," suggested 
 Maggie Denuison. 
 
 " Beiug merely an honest man, I think I'll go. 
 I've tried to put all Harry's things right for him, and 
 to make it as easy for him to get along as I can." 
 
 " Can he find his papers and blue-books and 
 things ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; and I got abstracts ready on all the 
 things he cares about." 
 
 " He'll miss you horribly. Ah, well ! " 
 
 " I suppose a little ; but, really, I think he'll learn 
 to get along " 
 
 Mrs. Dennison interrupted with a laugh. 
 
 " Do you know," she asked, " what we remind me 
 of? Why, of a husband and wife separating, and 
 wondering whether the children will miss poor papa — 
 though poor papa insists in going, and mamma is sure 
 he must." 
 
 " I never mentioned the children," said Tom 
 angrily. 
 
 " I know you didn't." 
 
 Tom looked at her for an instant. 
 
 7
 
 94: THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " For God's sake," said he, " don't let him see 
 that ! " 
 
 " Oh, how you twist things ! " she cried in im- 
 patient protest. 
 
 Tom only shook his head. The charge was not 
 sincere. 
 
 " Good-bye, Tom," she went on after a pause. " I 
 believe, some day or other, you'll come back — or, at 
 any rate, come and live next door— instead of Berthe 
 Cormack, you know. But I don't know in what 
 state you'll find us." 
 
 " I'd just like to tell you one thing, if I may," said 
 Tom, resolutely refusing to meet the softened look in 
 her eyes with any answering friendliness. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " You've got one of the best fellows in the world 
 for a husband." 
 
 " Well, I know that, I suppose, at least, as well as 
 you do." 
 
 " That's all. Good-bye." 
 
 AVithout more he left her. She drew the window- 
 curtain aside and watched him get into his cab and 
 be driven away. The house was very still. Her 
 husband was in his place at Westminster, and the 
 children had gone to a party. She went upstairs to 
 the nursery, hoping to find something to criticise; 
 then to Harry's dressing-room, where she filled his 
 pin-cushion with pins and put fresh water to the
 
 AN ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS. 95 
 
 flowers in the vase. She could find no other offices of 
 wife or mother to do, and she presently found herself 
 looking into Tom's room, which was very bare and 
 desolate, stripped of the homelike growth of a five 
 years' tenancy. Her excitement was over; she felt 
 terribly like a child after a tantrum ; she flung open 
 the window of the room and stood listening to the 
 noise of the town. It was the noise of happy people, 
 who had plenty to do ; or of happier still, who did 
 not want to do anything, and thus found content. 
 She turned away and walked downstairs with a step 
 as heavy as physical weariness brings with it. It 
 
 came as a curious aggravation — light itself, but gain- 
 ing weight from its surroundings — that, for once in a 
 way, she had no engagements that evening. All the 
 tide seemed to be flowing by, leaving her behind high 
 and dry on the shore. Even the children had their 
 party, even Harry his toy at Westminster ; and Willie 
 Ruston was working might and main to give a good 
 start to Omofaga. Only of her had the world no 
 need— and no heed.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONVERTS AND HERETICS. 
 
 Had Lord Semingham and Harry Dennison taken 
 an opportunity which many persons would have 
 thought that they had a right to take, they might 
 have shifted the burden of the Baron's douceur and 
 of sundry other not trifling expenses on to the shoul- 
 ders of the public, and enjoyed their moors that year 
 after all ; for at the beginning Omofaga obtained such 
 a moderate and reasonable " boom " as would have en- 
 abled them to perform the operation known as " un- 
 loading" (and literary men must often admire the 
 terse and condensed expressiveness of " City " meta- 
 phors) with much profit to themselves. But either 
 they conceived this course of conduct to be beneath 
 them, or they were so firm of faith in Mr. Ruston 
 that they stood to their guns and their shares, and 
 took their seats at the Board, over which Mr. Foster 
 Belford magniloquently presided, still possessed of the 
 strongest personal interest in the success of Omo- 
 faga. Lady Semingham, having been made aware 
 
 (96)
 
 CONVERTS AND HERETICS. 97 
 
 that Omofaga shares were selling at forty shillings a 
 piece, was quite unable to understand why Alfred and 
 Mr. Dennison did not sell all they had, and thereby 
 procure moors or whatever else they wanted. Willie 
 Ruston had to be sent for again, and when he told 
 her that the same shares would shortly be worth five 
 pounds (which he did with the most perfect confi- 
 dence), she was equally at a loss to see why they were 
 on sale to anybody who chose to pay forty shillings. 
 Ruston, who liked to make everybody a convert to his 
 own point of view, spent the best part of an afternoon 
 conversing with the little lady, but, when he came 
 away, he left her placidly admiring the Omofaga man- 
 tle which had just arrived from the milliner's, and 
 promised to create an immense sensation. 
 
 " I believe she's all gown," said he despairingly, at 
 the Valentines in the evening. " If you undressed 
 her there'd be no one there." 
 
 " Well, there oughtn't to be many people," said 
 young Sir Walter, with a hearty laugh at his boyish 
 joke. 
 
 " Walter, how can you ! " cried Marjory. 
 
 This little conversation, trivial though it be, has 
 its importance, as indicating the very remarkable 
 change which had occurred in young Sir Walter. 
 There at least Ruston had made a notable convert, 
 and he had effected this result by the simple but 
 audacious device of offering to take Sir Walter with
 
 98 TUB GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 him to Omofaga. Sir Walter was dazzled. Between 
 spending another year or two at Oxford in statu pu- 
 pillary vexed by schools and disciplined by proctors 
 — between being required to be in by twelve at night 
 and unable to visit London without permission — be- 
 tween this unfledged state and the position of a man 
 among the men who were in the vanguard of the em- 
 pire there rolled a flood; and the flood was mighty 
 enough to sweep away all young Sir Walter's doubts 
 about Mr. Ruston being a gentleman, to obliterate 
 Evan Haselden's sneers, to upi*oot his influence — in a 
 word, to transform that youthful legislator from a 
 paragon of wisdom and accomplishments into " a good 
 chap, but rather a lot of side on, you know." 
 
 Marjory, having learnt from literature that hers 
 was supposed to be the fickle sex, might well open her 
 eyes and begin to feel very sorry indeed for poor Evan 
 Ilaselden. But she also was under the spell and 
 hailed the sun of glory rising for her brother out of 
 the mists of Omofaga; and if poor Lady Valentine 
 slid! some tears before Willie Ruston convinced her 
 of the rare chance it was for her only boy — and a few 
 more after he had so convinced her — why, it would be 
 lucky if these were the only tears lost in the process 
 of developing Omofaga; for it seems that great enter- 
 prises must always be watered by the tears of mothers 
 and nourished on the blood of sons. Sic fortis Etru- 
 ria crcvit.
 
 CONVERTS AND HERETICS. 00 
 
 One or two other facts may here be chronicled 
 about Omofaga. There were three great meetings : 
 one at the Cannon Street Hotel, purely commercial ; 
 another at the Westminster Town Hall, commercial- 
 political ; a third at Exeter Hall, commercial-reli- 
 gious. They were all very successful, and, taken to- 
 gether, were considered to cover the ground pretty 
 completely. The most unlike persons and the most 
 disparate views found a point of union in Omofaga. 
 Adela Ferrars put three thousand pounds into it, 
 Lady Valentine a thousand. Mr. Carlin finally dis- 
 posed of the coal business, and his wife dreamt of the 
 workhouse all night and scolded herself for her lack 
 of faith all the morning. Willie Huston spoke of be- 
 ing off in five months, and Sir Walter immediately 
 bought a complete up-country outfit. 
 
 Suddenly there was a cloud. Omofaga began to 
 be " written down," in the most determined and able 
 manner. The anonymous detractor — in such terms 
 did Mr. Foster Belford refer to the writer — used the 
 columns of a business paper of high standing, and his 
 letters, while preserving a judicial and temperate 
 tone, were uncompromisingly hostile and exceedingly 
 damaging. A large part of Omofaga (he said) had 
 not been explored, indeed, nobody knew exactly what 
 was and what was not Omofaga ; let the shareholders 
 get what comfort they could out of that ; but, so far 
 as Omofaga had been explored, it had been proved to
 
 100 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 be barren of all sources of wealth. The writer grudg- 
 ingly admitted that it might feed a certain head of 
 cattle, though he hastened to add that the flies were 
 fatal all the hot months ; but as for gold, or dia- 
 monds, or any such things as companies most love, 
 there were none, and if there were, they could not be 
 won, and if they could be won no European could live 
 to win them. It was a timid time on the markets 
 then, and people took fright easily. In a few days any 
 temptation that might have assailed Lord Semingham 
 and Harry Dennison lost its power. Omofagas were 
 far below par, and Lady Semingham was entreating 
 her husband to buy all he could against the hour when 
 they should be worth five pounds a piece, because, as 
 she said, Mr. Ruston was quite sure that they were 
 going to be, and who knew more about it than Mr. 
 Ruston ? 
 
 It was just about this time that Tom Loring, who 
 had vanished completely for a week or two, after his 
 departure from Curzon Street, came up out of the 
 depths and called on Adela Ferrars in Queen's Gate; 
 and her first remark showed that she was a person of 
 some perspicacity. 
 
 "Isn't this rather small of you?" she asked, 
 putting on her eyeglasses and finding an article 
 which she indicated. " You may not like him, but 
 still " 
 
 " How like a woman ! " said Tom Loring in the
 
 CONVERTS AND HERETICS. 1<U 
 
 tone of a man who expects and, on the whole, wel- 
 comes ill-usage. " How did you know it was mine?" 
 
 " It's so like that article of Harry Dennison's. 1 
 think you might put your name, anyhow." 
 
 "Yes, and rob what I say of all weight. Who 
 knows my name ? " 
 
 Adela felt an impulse to ask him angrily why 
 nobody knew his name, but she inquired instead what 
 he thought he knew about Omofaga. She put this 
 question in a rather offensive tone. 
 
 It appeared that Tom Loring knew a great deal 
 about Omofaga, all, in fact, that there was to be 
 learnt from blue-books, consular reports, gazetteers, 
 travels, and other heavy works of a like kind. 
 
 " You've been moling in the British Museum," 
 cried Adela accusingly. 
 
 Tom admitted it without the least shame. 
 
 " I knew this thing was a fraud and the man a 
 fraud, and I determined to show him up if I could," 
 said he. 
 
 " It's because you hate him." 
 
 " Then it's lucky for the British investor that I do 
 hate him." 
 
 " It's not lucky for me," said Adela. 
 
 " You don't mean to say you've been " 
 
 " Fool enough ? Yes, I have. No, don't quarrel 
 again. It won't ruin me, anyhow. Are the things 
 you say really true ? "
 
 102 TnE G0D 1N THE CAR. 
 
 Tom replied by another question. 
 
 " Do you think I'd write 'em if I didn't believe 
 they were ? " 
 
 " No, but you might believe they were because you 
 hate him." 
 
 Tom seemed put out at this idea. It is not one 
 that generally suggests itself to a man when his own 
 views are in question. 
 
 " I admit I began because I hate him," he said, 
 with remarkable candour, after a moment's considera- 
 tion ; " but, by Jove, as I went on I found plenty of 
 justification. Look here, you mustn't tell anyone I'm 
 writing them." 
 
 Tom looked a little embarrassed as he made this 
 request. 
 
 Adela hesitated for a moment. She did not like 
 the request, either. 
 
 "No, I won't," she said at last; and she added, 
 " I'm beginning to think I hate him, too. lie's turn- 
 ing me into an hospital." 
 
 " What?" 
 
 " People he wounds come to me. Old Lady Valen- 
 tine came and cried because Walter's going to Omo- 
 faea: and Evan came and — well, swore because Walter 
 worships Mr. Ruston ; and Harry Dennison came and 
 looked bewildered, and — you know — because — oh, be- 
 cause of you, and so on." 
 
 "And now I come, don't IV"
 
 Converts and heretics. 103 
 
 " Yes, and now you." 
 
 "And has Mrs. Dennison come?" asked Tom, 
 with a look of disconcerting directness. 
 
 " No," snapped Adela, and she looked at the floor, 
 whereupon Tom diverted his eyes from her and stared 
 ut the ceiling. 
 
 Presently he searched in his waistcoat pocket and 
 brought out a little note. 
 
 "Read that," he said, a world of disgust in his 
 
 tone. 
 
 " < I told you so.— B. C. ' " read Adela." Oh, it's 
 that Cormack woman ! " she cried. 
 
 "You see what it means? She means I've been 
 
 got rid of in order that " Tom stopped, and 
 
 brought his clenched fist down on his opened palm. 
 " If I thought it, I'd shoot the fellow," he ended. 
 
 He looked at her for the answer to his unexpressed 
 question. 
 
 Adela turned the pestilential note over and over in 
 her fingers, handling it daintily as though it might 
 stain. 
 
 " I don't think he means it," she said at last, with- 
 out trying to blink the truth of Tom's interpretation. 
 
 Tom rose and began to walk about. 
 
 " Women beat me," he broke out. " I don't un- 
 derstand 'em. How should I ? I'm not one of these 
 fellows who catch women's fancy — thank God ! " 
 
 " If you continue to dislike the idea, you'll prob-
 
 104 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 ably manage to escape the reality," observed Adela, 
 and her tone, for some reason or other — perhaps 
 merely through natnral championship of her sex — 
 was rather cold and her manner stiff. 
 
 " Oh, some women are all right ; " and Adela ac- 
 knowledged the concession with a satirical bow. 
 " Look here, can't you help ? " he burst out. " Tell 
 her what a brute he is." 
 
 " Oh, you do not understand women ! " 
 
 " Well, then, I shall tell Dennison. lie won't 
 stand nonsense of that kind." 
 
 " You'll deserve horsewhipping if you do," re- 
 marked Adela. 
 
 "Then what am I to do?" 
 
 " Nothing. In fact, Mr. Loring, you have no gen- 
 ius for delicate operations." 
 
 " Of course I'm a fool." 
 
 Adela played with her pince-nez for a minute or 
 two, put it on, looked at him, and then said, with just 
 a touch of unwonted timidity in her voice, 
 
 " Anyhow, you happen to be a gentleman." 
 
 Poor Tom had been a good deal buffeted of late, 
 and a friendly stroking was a pleasant change. He 
 looked up with a smile, but as he looked up Adela 
 looked away. 
 
 " I think I'll stop those articles," said he. 
 
 " Yes, do," she cried, a bright smile on her face. 
 
 " They've pretty well done their work, too."
 
 CONVERTS AND BERETIC& 105 
 
 " Don't ! Don't spoil it ! But— but don't you get 
 money for them ? " 
 
 Tom was in better humour now. lie held out his 
 hand with his old friendly smile. 
 
 " Oh, wait till I am in the workhouse, and then 
 you shall take me out." 
 
 " I don't believe I did mean that," protested 
 Adela. 
 
 " You always mean everything that — that the best 
 woman in the world could mean," and Tom wrung her 
 hand and disappeared. 
 
 Adela's hand was rather crushed and hurt, and for 
 a moment she stood regarding it ruefully. 
 
 "I thought he was going to kiss it," she said. 
 " One of those fellows who take women's fancy, per- 
 haps, would have ! And — and it wouldn't have hurt 
 so much. Ah, well, I'm very glad he's going to stop 
 the articles." 
 
 And the articles did stop; and perhaps things 
 might have fallen out worse than that an honest 
 man, driven hard by bitterness, should do a useful 
 thing from a doubtful motive, and having done just 
 enough of it, should repent and sin no more ; for un- 
 questionably the articles prevented a great many per- 
 sons from paying an unduly high price for Omofaga 
 shares. This line of thought seems defensible, but it 
 was not Adela's. She rejoiced purely that Tom should 
 turn away from the doubtful thing ; and if Tom had
 
 lOu THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 been a man of greater acuteness, it would have struck 
 him as worthy of note, perhaps even of gratification, 
 that Miss Adela Ferrars should care so much whether 
 ho did or did not do doubtful things. But then Miss 
 Ferrars — for it seems useless to keep her secret any 
 longer, the above recorded interview having somewhat 
 impaired its mystery — was an improbably romantic 
 person — such are to be met even at an age beyond 
 twenty-five — and was very naturally ashamed of her 
 weakness. People often are ashamed of being better 
 than their surroundings. Being better they feel better, 
 and feeling better they feel priggish, and then they try 
 not to be better, and happily fail. So Adela was very 
 shamefaced over her ideal, and would as soon have 
 thought of preaching on a platform — of which prac- 
 tice she harboured a most bigoted horror — as of pro- 
 claiming the part that love must play in her marriage. 
 The romantic resolve lay snug in its hidden nest, shel- 
 tered from cold gusts of ridicule by a thick screen of 
 worldly sayings, and, when she sent away a suitor, of 
 worldly-wise excuses. Thus no one suspected it, not 
 even Tom Loring, although he thought her " the 
 best of women;" a form of praise, by the way, that 
 gave the lady honoured by it less pleasure than less 
 valuable commendation might have done. Why best? 
 Why not most charming ? Well, probably because he 
 thought the one and didn't think the other. She was 
 the best; but there was another whose doings and
 
 CONVERTS AND HERETICS. 107 
 
 whose peril had robbed Tom Loring of his peace, and 
 made him do the doubtful thing. Why had he done 
 it? Or (and Adda smiled mockingly at this resur- 
 rection of the Old Woman), if he did do it, why did 
 he do it for Maggie Deunison ? She didn't believe he 
 would ever do a doubtful thing for her. For that she 
 loved him ; but perhaps she would have loved him — 
 well, not less — if he did ; for how she would forgive 
 him ! 
 
 After half-an-hour of this kind of thing — it was 
 her own summary of her meditations — she dressed, 
 went out to dinner, sat next Evan Ilaselden, and said 
 cynical things all the evening; so that, at last Evan 
 told her that she had no more feeling than a mummi- 
 fied Methodist. This was exactly what she wanted.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE. 
 
 The Right Honourable Foster Belford, although 
 not, like Mr. Pitt, famous for " ruining Great Britain 
 gratis " — perhaps merely from want of the opportuni- 
 ty — had yet not made a fortune out of political life, 
 and it had suggested a pleasant addition to his means, 
 when Willie Ruston offered him the chairmanship of 
 the Omofaga Company, with the promise of a very 
 comfortable yearly honorarium. He accepted the 
 post with alacrity, but without undue gratitude, for 
 he considered himself well worth the price ; and the 
 surprising fact is that he was well worth it. lie 
 bulked large to the physical and mental view. His 
 colleagues in the Cabinet had taken a year or two to 
 find out his limits, and the public had not found them 
 out yet. Therefore he was not exactly a fool. On 
 the other hand, the limits were certainly there, and so 
 there was no danger of his developing an inconvenient 
 greatness. As has been previously hinted, he enjoyed 
 
 Harry Dennison's entire confidence ; and he could be 
 
 am)
 
 AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE. 109 
 
 relied upon not to understand Lord Semingham's 
 irreverence. Thus his appointment did good to the 
 Omofaga as well as to himself, and only the initiated 
 winked when Willie Ruston hid himself behind this 
 imposing figure and pulled the strings. 
 
 " The best of it is," Ruston remarked to Seming- 
 ham, " that you and Carlin will have the whole thing 
 in your own hands when I've gone out. Belford 
 won't give you any trouble." 
 
 " But, my dear fellow, I don't want it all in my 
 hands. I want to grow rich out of it without any 
 trouble." 
 
 Ruston twisted his cigar in his mouth. The pros- 
 pect of immediate wealth flowing in from Omo- 
 faga was, as Lord Semingham knew very well, not 
 assured. 
 
 " Loring's stopped hammering us," said Ruston ; 
 " thats one thing." 
 
 " Oh, you found out he wrote them ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and uncommonly well he did it, confound 
 him. I Avish we could get that fellow. There's a 
 good deal in him." 
 
 " You see," observed Lord Semingham, " he 
 doesn't like you. I don't know that you went the 
 right way about to make him." 
 
 The remark sounded blunt, but Semingham bad 
 
 learnt not to waste delicate phrases on Willie Ruston. 
 
 " Well, I didn't know he was worth the trouble." 
 8
 
 110 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " One path to greatness is said to be to make no 
 enemies." 
 
 "A very roundabout one, I should think. I'm 
 going to make a good many enemies in Omofaga." 
 
 Lord Semingham suddenly rose, put on his hat, 
 and left the offices of the Company. Mrs. Dennison 
 had, a little while ago, complained to him that she 
 ate, drank, breathed and wore Omofaga. He had 
 detected the insincerity of her complaint, but he was 
 becoming inclined to echo it in all genuineness on his 
 own account. There were moments when he won- 
 dered how and why he had allowed this young man to 
 lead him so far and so deep ; moments when a con- 
 vulsion of Nature, redistributing Africa and blotting 
 out Omofaga, would have left him some thousands of 
 pounds poorer in purse, but appreciably more cheerful 
 in spirit. Perhaps matters would mend when the 
 Local Administrator had departed to his local admin- 
 istration, and only the mild shadow of him which 
 bore the name of Carlin trod the boards of Queen 
 Street, Cheapside. Ruston began to be oppressive. 
 The restless energy and domineering mind of the man 
 wearied Semingham's indolent and dilettante spirit, 
 and he hailed the end of the season as an excellent 
 excuse for putting himself beyond the reach of his 
 colleague for a few weeks. Yet, the more he quailed, 
 the more he trusted ; and when a very great man, 
 holding a very great office, met him in the House of
 
 AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE. m 
 
 Lords, and expressed the opinion that when the Com- 
 pany and Mr. Ruston went to Omofaga they would 
 find themselves in a pretty hornets' nest, Lord Sem- 
 ingham only said that he should be sorry for the 
 hornets. 
 
 " Don't ask us to fetch your man out for you, 
 that's all," said the very great man. 
 
 And for an instant Lord Semingham, still feeling 
 that load upon his shoulders, fancied that it would be 
 far from his heart to prefer such a request. There 
 might be things less just and fitting than that Willie 
 Ruston and those savage tribes of Omofaga should be 
 left to fight out the quarrel by themselves, the civil- 
 ised world standing aloof. And the dividends— well, 
 of course, there were the dividends, but Lord Seming- 
 ham had in his haste forgotten them. 
 
 " Ah, you don't know Ruston," said he, shaking a 
 forefinger at the great man. 
 
 " Don't I ? He came every day to my office for a 
 fortnight." 
 
 " Wanted something ? " 
 
 "Yes, he wanted something certainly, or he 
 wouldn't have come, you know." 
 
 " Got it, I suppose ? " asked Lord Semingham, in 
 a tone curiously indicative of resignation rather than 
 triumph. 
 
 " W T ell, yes ; I did, at last, not without hesitation, 
 accede to his request."
 
 112 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 Then Lord Semingham, with no apparent excuse, 
 laughed in the face of the great man, left the House 
 (much in the same sudden way as he had left Queen 
 Street, Cheapside), and passed rapidly through the 
 lobbies till he reached Westminster Hall. Here he 
 met a young man, clad to perfection, but looking sad. 
 It was Evan Haselden. With a sigh of relief at meet- 
 ing no one of heavier metal, Semingham stopped him 
 and began to talk. Evan's melancholy air enveloped 
 his answers in a mist of gloom. Moreover there was 
 a large streak on his hat, where the nap had been 
 rubbed the wrong way ; evidently he was in trouble. 
 Presently he seized his friend by the arm, and pro- 
 posed a walk in the Park. 
 
 " But are you paired ? " asked Semingham ; for an 
 important division was to occur that day in the Com- 
 mons. 
 
 " No," said Evan fiercely. " Come along ; " and 
 Lord Semingham went, exclaiming inwardly, "A 
 girl ! " 
 
 " I'm the most miserable devil alive," said Evan, 
 as they left the Horse Guards on the right hand. 
 
 Semingham put up his eyeglass. 
 
 " I've always regarded you as the favourite of for- 
 tune," he said. " What's the matter ? " 
 
 The matter unfolded itself some half-hour after 
 they had reached the Row and sat down. It came 
 forth with difficulty; pride obstructed the passage,
 
 AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE, 113 
 
 and something better than pride made the young man 
 diffuse in the telling of his trouble. Lord Seming- 
 ham grew very grave indeed. Let who would laugh 
 at happy lovers, he had a groan for the unfortunate — 
 a groan with reservations. 
 
 " She said she liked me very much, but didn't feel 
 — didn't, you know, look up to me enough, and so on," 
 said poor Evan in puzzled pain. " I — I can't think 
 what's come over her. She used to be quite different. 
 I don't know what she means by talking like that." 
 
 Lord Semingham played a tune on his knee with 
 the fingers of one hand. He was waiting. 
 
 " Young Val's gone back on me too," moaned 
 Evan, who took the brother's deposal of him hardly 
 more easily than the sister's rejection. Suddenly he 
 brightened up; a smile, but a bitter one, gleamed 
 across his face. 
 
 " I think I've put one spoke in his wheel, though," 
 he said. 
 
 " Huston's ? " inquired Semingham, still playing 
 his tune. 
 
 " Yes. A fortnight ago, old Detchmore " (Lord 
 Detchmore was the very great man before referred to) 
 " asked me if I knew Loring. Y r ou know Ruston's 
 been trying to get Detchmore to back him up in mak- 
 ing a railway to Omofaga ? " 
 
 " I didn't know," said Lord Semingham, with an 
 unmoved face.
 
 114 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " You're a director, aren't you ? " 
 
 " Yes. Go on, my dear boy." 
 
 " And Detchmore had seen Loring's articles. Well, 
 I took Tom to him, and we left him quite decided to 
 have nothing to do with it. Oh, by Jove, though, I 
 forgot ; 1 suppose you'd be on the other side there, 
 wouldn't you ? " 
 
 " I suppose I should, but it doesn't matter." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because I fancy Ruston's got what he wanted ; " 
 and Lord Semingham related what he had heard from 
 the Earl of Detchmore. 
 
 Evan listened in silence, and, the tale ended, the 
 two lay back in their chairs, and idly looked at the 
 passing carriages. At last Lord Semingham spoke. 
 
 " He's going to Omofaga in a few months," he ob- 
 served. "And, Evan, you don't mean that he's your 
 rival at the Valentines' ? " 
 
 " I'm not so sure, confound him. You know how 
 pretty she is." 
 
 Semingham knew that she was pretty ; but he also 
 knew that she was poor, and thought that she was, if 
 not too insipid (for he recognised the unusual taste of 
 his own mind), at least too immature to carry Willie 
 Ruston off his feet, and into a love affair that prom- 
 ised no worldly gain. 
 
 " I asked Mrs. Dennison what she thought," pur- 
 sued Evan.
 
 AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE. 115 
 
 " Oh, you did ? " 
 
 " But the idea seemed quite a new one to her. 
 That's good, you know. I expect she'd have noticed 
 if he'd shown any signs." 
 
 Lord Semingham thought it very likely. 
 
 "Anyhow," Evan continued, "Marjory's awfully 
 keen about him." 
 
 "He'll be in Omofaga in three or four months," 
 Semingham repeated. It was all the consolation he 
 could offer. 
 
 Presently Evan got up and strode away. Lord 
 Semingham sat on, musing on the strange turmoil the 
 coming of the man had made in the little corner of 
 the world he dwelt in. He was reminded of what was 
 said concerning Lord Byron by another poet. They 
 all felt Ruston. His intrusion into the circle had 
 changed all the currents, so that sympathy ran no 
 longer between old friends, and hearts answered to a 
 new stimulus. Some he attracted, some he repelled ; 
 none did he leave alone. From great to small his in- 
 fluence ran ; from the expulsion of Tom Loring to the 
 christening of the Omofaga mantle. Semingham had 
 an acute sense of the absurdity of it all, but he had 
 seen absurd things happen too often to be much re- 
 lieved by his intuition. And when absurd things 
 happen, they have consequences just as other things 
 have. And the most exasperating fact was the utter 
 unconsciousness of the disturber. He had no mys-
 
 116 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 tery-airs, no graces, no seeming fascinations. He was 
 relentlessly business-like, unsentimental, downright; 
 he took it all as a matter of course. He did not pry 
 for weak spots. He went right on — on and over — 
 and seemed not to know when he was going over. A 
 very Juggernaut indeed ! Semingham thanked Adela 
 for teaching him the word. 
 
 He was suddenly roused by the merry laughter of 
 children. Three or four little ones were scampering 
 along the path in the height of glee. As they came 
 up, he recognised them. He had seen them once be- 
 fore. They were Carlin's children. Five there were, 
 he counted now ; three ran ahead ; two little girls 
 held each a hand of Willie Ruston's, who was laugh- 
 ing as merrily as his companions. The whole group 
 knew Semingham, and the eldest child was by his 
 knees in a moment. 
 
 "We've been to the Exhibition," she cried exult- 
 antly; "and now Willie — Mr. Ruston, I mean — is 
 taking us to have ices in Bond Street." 
 
 " A human devil ! " said the astonished man to 
 himself, as Willie Ruston plumped down beside him, 
 imploring a brief halt, and earnestly asseverating that 
 his request was in good faith, and concealed no lurk- 
 ing desire to evade the ices. 
 
 " I met young Haselden as we came along," Rus- 
 ton observed, wiping his brow. 
 
 " Ah ! Yes, he's been with me."
 
 AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE. H7 
 
 The children had wandered a few yards off, and 
 stood impatiently looking at their hero. 
 
 " lie's had a bit of a facer, I fancy," pursued 
 Willie Ruston. " Heard about it ? " 
 
 " Something." 
 
 " It'll come all right, I should think," said Rus- 
 ton, in a comfortably careless tone. " He's not a bad 
 fellow, you know, though he's not over-appreciative of 
 me." Lord Semingham found no comment. " 1 
 hear you're going to Dieppe next week ? " asked Rus- 
 ton. 
 
 "Yes. My wife and Mrs. Dennison have put 
 their heads together, and fixed on that. You know 
 we're economising." 
 
 Ruston laughed. 
 
 " I suppose you are," he said through his white 
 teeth. The idea seemed to amuse him. " We may 
 meet there. I've promised to run over for a few days 
 if I can." 
 
 " The deuce you have ! " would have expressed his 
 companion's feelings ; but Lord Semingham only 
 said, " Oh, really ? " 
 
 " All right, I'm coming directly," Ruston cried a 
 moment later to his young friends, and, with a 
 friendlv nod, he rose and went on his wav. Lord 
 Semingham watched the party till it disappeared 
 through the Park gates, hearing in turn the children's 
 shrill laugh and Willie Ruston's deeper notes. The
 
 118 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 effect of the chance meeting was to make his fancies 
 and his fancied feelings look still more absurd. That 
 he perceived at once ; the devil appeared so very hu- 
 man in such a mood and such surroundings. Yet 
 that attribute — that most demoniac attribute — of 
 ubiquity loomed larger and larger. For not even a 
 foreign land — not even a watering-place of pronounced 
 frivolity — was to be a refuge. The man was coming 
 to Dieppe! And on whose bidding? Semingham 
 had no doubt on whose bidding ; and, out of the airy 
 forms of those absurd fancies, there seemed to rise a 
 more material shape, a reality, a fabric not com- 
 pounded wholly of dreams, but mixed of stuff that 
 had made human comedies and human tragedies since 
 the world began. Mrs. Dennison had bidden AVillie 
 Ruston to Dieppe. That was Semingham's instant 
 conclusion ; she had bidden him, not merely by a for- 
 mal invitation, or by a simple acquiescence, but by 
 the will and determination which possessed her to be 
 of his mind and in his schemes. And perhaps Evan 
 Ilaselden's innocent asking of her views had carried its 
 weight also. For nearly an hour Semingham sat and 
 mused. For awhile he thought he would act ; but how 
 should he act? And why? And to what end ? Since 
 what must be must, and in vain do we meddle with fate. 
 An easy, almost eager, recognition of the inevitable 
 in the threatened, of the necessary in everything that 
 demanded effort for its avoidance, had stamped his
 
 AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE. HO 
 
 life and grown deep into his mind. Wherefore now, 
 faced with possibilities that set his nerves on edge, 
 and wrung his heart for good friends, he found noth- 
 ing better to do than shrug his shoulders and thank 
 God that his own wife's' submission to the man went 
 no deeper than the inside lining of that famous Omo- 
 faga mantle, nor his own than the bottom, or near the 
 bottom, of his trousers' pocket. 
 
 " Though that, in faith," he exclaimed ruefully, 
 as at last he rose, " is, in this world of ours, pretty 
 deep ! "
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 a lady's bit of work. 
 
 The Dennison children, after a two nights' ban- 
 ishment, had come down to dessert again. They had 
 been in sore disgrace, caused (it was stated to Mrs. 
 Cormack, who had been invited to dine enfamille) by 
 a grave breach of hospitality and good manners which 
 Madge had led the younger ones — who tried to look 
 plaintively innocent — into committing. 
 
 The Carlin children had come to tea, and a great 
 dissension had arisen between the two parties. The 
 Carlins had belauded the generous donor of ices ; 
 Madge had taken up the cudgels fiercely on Tom 
 Loring's behalf, and Dora and Alfred had backed her 
 up. Each side proceeded from praise of its own fa- 
 vourite to sneers — by no means covert — at the other's 
 man, and the feud had passed from the stage of words 
 to that of deeds before it was discovered by the supe- 
 rior powers and crushed. On the hosts, of course, 
 the blame had to fall ; they were sent to bed, while 
 the guests drove off in triumph, comforted by sweets
 
 A LADY'S BIT OF WORK. 121 
 
 and shillings. Madge did not think, or pretend to 
 think, that this was justice, and her mother's recital 
 of her crimes to Mrs. Cormack, so far from reducing 
 her to penitence, brought back to her cheeks and eyes 
 the glow they had worn when she slapped (there is no 
 use in blinking facts) Jessie Carlin, and told her that 
 she hated Mr. Ruston. Madge Dennison was like her 
 mother in face and temper. That may have been the 
 reason why Harry Dennison squeezed her hand under 
 the table, and bv his tacit aid broke the force of his 
 wife's cold reproofs. But there was perhaps another 
 reason also. 
 
 Mrs. Cormack said that she was shocked, and 
 looked very much amused. The little history made 
 up for the bore of having the children brought in. 
 That was a thing she objected to very much ; it 
 stopped all rational conversation. But now her curi- 
 osity was stirred. 
 
 " Why don't you like Mr. Ruston, my child ? " she 
 asked Madge. 
 
 " I don't dislike him," said Madge, rosy red, and 
 speaking with elaborate slowness. She said it as 
 though it were a lesson she had learnt. 
 
 " But why, then," said Mrs. Cormack, whirling her 
 hands, " beat the little Carlin ? " 
 
 " That was before mamma told me," answered 
 Madge, the two younger ones sitting by, open- 
 mouthed, to hear her explanation.
 
 122 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Oh, what an obedient child ! How I should have 
 liked a little girl like you, darling ! " 
 
 Madge hated sarcasm, and her feelings towards 
 Mrs. Cormack reflected those of her idol, Tom Lor- 
 ing. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," she said curtly ; 
 and then she looked anxiously at her mother. 
 
 But Mrs. Dennison was smiling. 
 
 " Let her alone, Berthe," she said. " She's been 
 punished, (rive her some fruit, Harry." 
 
 Harry Dennison piled up the plate eagerly held 
 out to him. 
 
 " Who'll give you fruit at Dieppe?" he asked, 
 stroking his daughter's hair. 
 
 Mrs. Cormack pricked up her ears. 
 
 " Didn't we tell you ? " asked Mrs. Dennison. 
 " Harry can't come for a fortnight. That tiresome 
 old Sir George " (Sir George was the senior partner in 
 Dennison, Sons & Company) " is down with the gout, 
 and Harry's got to stay in town. But I'll give Madge 
 fruit — if she's good." 
 
 " Papa gives it me anyhow," said Madge, who pre- 
 ferred unconditional benefits. 
 
 Harry laughed dolefully. He had been looking 
 forward to a holiday with his children. Their unin- 
 terrupted society would have easily consoled him for 
 the loss of the moor. 
 
 " It's an awful bore," he said ; " but there's no
 
 A LADY'S BIT OP WORK. 123 
 
 help for it. Sir George can't put a foot to the 
 ground." 
 
 " Anyhow," suggested Mrs. Cormack, " you will be 
 able to help Mr. Ruston with the Omofaga." 
 
 "Papa," broke out Madge, her face bright with a 
 really happy idea, which must, she thought, meet with 
 general acceptance, "since you can't come, why 
 shouldn't Tom ? " 
 
 Mrs. Cormack grew more amused. Oh, it was 
 quite worth while to have the children! They were 
 so good at saying things one couldn't say oneself ; and 
 then one could watch the effect. In an impulse of 
 gratitude, she slid a banana on to Madge's plate. 
 
 " Marjory Valentine's coming," said Mrs. Dennison. 
 " You like her, don't you, Madge?" 
 
 " She's a girl," said Madge scornfully ; and Harry, 
 with a laugh, stroked her hair again. 
 
 " You're a little flirt," said he. 
 
 " But why can't Tom ? " persisted Madge, as she 
 attacked the banana. It was Mrs. Cormack's gift, but 
 — non diet. 
 
 For a moment nobody answered. Then Harry 
 Dennison said — not in the least as though he believed 
 it, or expected anybody else to believe it — 
 
 " Tom's got to stay and work." 
 
 " Have all the gentlemen we know got to stay and 
 work ? " 
 
 Harrv nodded assent.
 
 124 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 Mrs. Cormack was leaning forward. A moment 
 later she sank back, hiding a smile behind her nap- 
 kin ; for Madge observed, in a tone of utter content- 
 ment, 
 
 " Oh, then, Mr Ruston won't come ; " and she 
 wagged her head reassuringly at the open-mouthed 
 little ones. They were satisfied, and fell again to eat- 
 ing. 
 
 After a few moments, Mrs. Dennison, who had 
 made no comment on her daughter's inference, swept 
 the flock off to bed, praying Berthe to excuse her tem- 
 porary absence. It was her habit to go upstairs with 
 them when possible, and Harry would see that coffee 
 came. 
 
 " Poor Madge ! " said Harry, when the door was 
 shut, " what'll she say when Huston turns up?" 
 
 "Then he does go?" 
 
 " I think so. We'd asked him to stay with us, and 
 though he can't do that now, he and young Walter 
 Valentine talk of running over for a few days. I 
 hope they will." 
 
 Mrs. Cormack, playing with her teaspoon, glanced 
 at her host out of the corner of her eye. 
 
 " He can go all the better, as I shall be here," con- 
 tinued Harry. " I can look after Omofaga." 
 
 Mrs. Cormack rapped the teaspoon sharply on her 
 cup. The man was such a fool. Harry, dimly recog- 
 nising her irritation, looked up inquiringly; but she
 
 A LADY'S BIT OF WORK. 125 
 
 hesitated before she spoke. Would it spoil sport or 
 make sport if she stirred a suspicion in him? A 
 thought threw its weight in the balance. Maggie 
 Dennison's friendship had been a trille condescending, 
 and the grateful friend pictured her under the indig- 
 nity of enforced explanations, of protests, even of 
 orders to alter her conduct. But how would Harry 
 take a hint? There were men silly enough to resent 
 such hints. Caution was the word. 
 
 " Well, I almost wish he wasn't going," she said at 
 last. " For Maggie's sake, I mean. She wants a 
 complete rest." 
 
 " Oh, but she likes him. He amuses her. Why, 
 she's tremendously interested in Omofaga, Mrs. Cor- 
 mack." 
 
 " Ah, but he excites her too. We poor women 
 have nerves, Mr. Dennison. It would be much bet- 
 ter for her to hear nothing of Omofaga for a few 
 weeks." 
 
 " Has she been talking to you much about it ? " 
 asked Harry, beginning to feel anxious at his guest's 
 immensely solemn tone. 
 
 Indeed, little Mrs. Cormack spoke for the nonce 
 quite like a family physician. 
 
 " Oh, yes, about it and him," she replied. " She's 
 never off the subject. Mr. Loring was half right." 
 
 " Tom's objections were based on quite other 
 
 grounds." 
 9
 
 12G THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Oh, were they really ? I thought — well, anyhow, 
 Mr. Huston being there will do her no good. She'll 
 like it immensely, of course." 
 
 Harry Denuison rubbed his hand over his chin. 
 
 " I see what you mean," he said. " Yes, she'd 
 have been better away from everything. But I can't 
 object to Ruston going. I asked him myself." 
 
 " Yes, when you were going." 
 
 " That makes no difference." 
 
 Mrs. Cormack said nothing. She tapped her 
 spoon against the cup once more. 
 
 " Why, we should have talked all the more about 
 it if I'd been there." 
 
 His companion was still silent, her eyes turned 
 down towards the table. Harry looked at her with 
 perplexity, and when he next spoke, there was a curi- 
 ous appealing note in his voice. 
 
 "Surely it doesn't make any difference?" he 
 asked. " What difference can it make ? " 
 
 No answer came. Mrs. Cormack laid down the 
 spoon and sat back in her chair. 
 
 " You mean there'll be no one to make a change 
 for her — to distract her thoughts?" 
 
 Mrs. Cormack flung her hands out with an air of 
 impatience. 
 
 " Oh, I meant nothing," said she petulantly. 
 
 The clock seemed to tick very loud in the silence 
 that followed her words.
 
 A LADY'S BIT OP WORK. 127 
 
 " I wish I could go," said Harry at last, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " Oh, I wish you could, Mr. Dennison ; " and as 
 she spoke she raised her eyes, and, for the first time, 
 looked full in his face. 
 
 Harry rose from his chair; at the same moment 
 his wife re-entered the room. He started a little at 
 the sight of her. 
 
 She held a letter in her hand. 
 
 " Mr. Huston will be at Dieppe on the 15th with 
 Walter Valentine," she said, referring to it. " Give 
 me some coffee, Harry." 
 
 He poured it out and gave it to her, saying, 
 
 " A letter from Huston ? Let's see what he says." 
 
 " Oh, there's nothing else," she answered, laying it 
 beside her. 
 
 Mrs. Oormack sat looking on. 
 
 " May I see ? " asked Harry Dennison. 
 
 " If you like," she answered, a little surprised ; 
 and, turning to Mrs. Cormack, she added, " Mr. Rus- 
 ton's a man of few words on paper." 
 
 "Ah, he makes every word mean something, I 
 expect," returned that lady, who was quite capable of 
 the same achievement herself, and exhibited it in this 
 very speech. 
 
 " What does he mean by the postscript ? — ' Have 
 you found another kingdom yet?'" asked Harry, 
 with a puzzled frown.
 
 128 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " It's a joke, dear." 
 
 " But what does it mean ? " 
 
 " Oh, my dear Harry, I can't explain jokes." 
 
 Harry laid the note down again. 
 
 " It's a joke between ourselves," Mrs. Dennison 
 went on. " I oughtn't to have shown you the letter. 
 Come, Berthe, we'll go upstairs." 
 
 And Mrs. Cormack had no alternative but to obey. 
 
 Left alone, Harry Dennison drew his chair up to 
 the hearthrug. There was no fire, but he acted as 
 though there were, leaning forward with his elbows 
 on his knees, and gazing into the grate. He felt hurt 
 and disconsolate. His old grievance — that people left 
 him out — was strong upon him. He had delighted in 
 the Omofaga scheme, because he had been in the in- 
 side ring there — because he was of importance to it — 
 because it showed him to his wife as a mover in great 
 affairs. And now — somehow — he seemed to be being 
 pushed outside there too. What was this joke be- 
 tween themselves? At Dieppe they would have all 
 that out; he would not be in the way there. Then 
 he did not understand what Berthe Cormack would 
 be at. She had looked at him so curiously. He did 
 not know what to make of it, and he wished that 
 Tom Loring were on the other side of the fireplace. 
 Then he could ask him all about it. Tom ! Why, 
 Turn had looked at him almost in the same way as 
 Berthe Cormack had — just when he was wringing Lis
 
 A LADY'S BIT OF WORK. 129 
 
 hand in farewell. No, it was not the same way — and 
 yet in part the same. Tom's look had pity in it, and 
 no derision. Mrs. Cormack's derision was but touched 
 with pity. Yet both seemed to ask, " Don't you 
 see ? " See what ? Why had Tom gone away ? He 
 could rely on Tom. See what ? There was nothing 
 to see. 
 
 He sat longer than he meant. It was past ten 
 when he went upstairs. Mrs. Cormack had gone, and 
 his wife was in an armchair by the open window. 
 He came in softly and surprised her with her head 
 thrown back on the cushions and a smile on her lips. 
 And the letter was in her hands. Hearing his step 
 when he was close by her, she sat up, letting the note 
 fall to the ground. 
 
 "What a time you've been! Berthe's gone. 
 Were you asleep ? " 
 
 "No. I was thinking; Maggie, I wish I could 
 come to Dieppe with you." 
 
 " Ah, I wish you could," said she graciously. 
 " But you're left in charge of Omofaga." 
 
 She spoke as though in that charge lay consolation 
 more than enough. 
 
 " I believe you care— I mean you think more about 
 Omofaga than about " 
 
 " Anything in the world ? " she asked, in playful 
 mockery. 
 
 " Than about me," he went on stubbornly.
 
 130 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Than about your coming to Dieppe, you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " I mean, than about me," he repeated. 
 
 She looked at him wonderingly. 
 
 " My dear man," said she, taking his hand, 
 " what's the matter ? " 
 
 " You do wish I could come ? " 
 
 " Must I say ? " smiled Mrs. Dennison. " For 
 shame, Harry ! You might be on your honey- 
 moon." 
 
 He moved away, and flung himself into a chair. 
 
 " I don't think it's fair of Ruston," he broke out, 
 *' to run away and leave it all to me." 
 
 " Why, you told him you could do it perfectly ! 
 I heard you say so." 
 
 " How could I say anything else, when — when " 
 
 " And originally you were both to be away ! Af- 
 ter all, you're not stopping because of Omofaga, but 
 because Sir George has got the gout." 
 
 Harry Dennison, convicted of folly, had no an- 
 swer, though he was hurt that he should be con- 
 victed out of his wife's mouth. He shuffled his feet 
 about and began to whistle dolefully. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison looked at him with smothered im- 
 patience. Their little boy behaved like that when he 
 was in a naughty mood — when he wanted the moon, 
 or something of that kind, and thought mother and 
 nurse cruel because it didn't come, Mrs. Dennison
 
 A LADY'S BIT OF WORK. 131 
 
 forgot that mother and nurse were fate to her little 
 boy, or she might have sympathised with his naughty 
 moods a little better. 
 
 She rose now and walked slowly over to her hus- 
 band. She had a hand on his chair, and was about to 
 speak, when he stopped his whistling and jerked out 
 abruptly, 
 
 " What did he mean about the kingdom ? " 
 
 Mrs. Dennison's hand slid away and fell by her 
 side. Harry caught her look of cold anger. He 
 leapt to his feet. 
 
 " Maggie, I'm a fool," he cried. " I don't know 
 what's wrong with me. Sit down here." 
 
 He made her sit, and half-crouched, half-knelt be- 
 side her. 
 
 " Maggie," he went on, " are you angry ? Damn 
 the joke ! I don't want to know. Are you sorry 
 I'm not coming?" 
 
 " What a baby you are, Harry ! Oh, yes, awfully 
 sorry." 
 
 He knew so well what he wanted to say : he 
 wanted to tell her that she was everything to him, 
 that to be out of her heart was death : that to feel 
 her slipping away was a torture : he wanted to woo 
 and win her over again — win her more truly than he . 
 had even in those triumphant days when she gave 
 herself to him. He wanted to show her that he un- 
 derstood her — that he was not a fool — that he was
 
 132 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 man enough for her ! Yes, that she need not turn to 
 Euston or anybody else. Oh, yes, he could under- 
 stand her, really he could. 
 
 Not a word of it would come. He dared not be- 
 gin : he feared that he would look — that she would 
 find him — more silly still, if he began to say that sort 
 of thing. She was smiling satirically now — indul- 
 gently but satirically, and the emphasis of her pur- 
 posely childish " awfully " betrayed her estimation of 
 his question. She did not understand the mood. 
 She was accustomed to his admiration — worship 
 would hardly be too strong a word. But the implied 
 demand for a response to it seemed strange to her. 
 Her air bore in upon him the utter difference between 
 his thoughts of her and the way she thought about 
 him. Always dimly felt, it had never pressed on him 
 like this before. 
 
 " Really, I'm very sorry, dear," she said, just a lit- 
 tle more seriously. "But it's only a fortnight. We're 
 not separating for ever," and her smile broke out 
 again. 
 
 With a queer feeling of hopelessness, he rose to 
 his feet. No, he couldn't make her feel it. He had 
 suffered in the same way over his speeches; he 
 couldn't make people feel them either. She didn't 
 understand. It was no use. He began to whistle 
 again, staring out of the open window. 
 
 " I shall go to bed, Harry. Via tired. I've been
 
 A LADY'S BIT OF WORK. 133 
 
 seeing that the maid's packed what I wanted, and it's 
 harder work than packing oneself." 
 
 " Give me a kiss, Meg," he said, turning round. 
 
 She did not do that, but she accepted his kiss, and 
 lie, turning away abruptly, shaped his lips to resume 
 his tune. But now the tune wouldn't come. His 
 wife left him alone. The tune came when she was 
 there. Now it wouldn't. Ah, but the words would. 
 He muttered them inaudibly to himself as he stood 
 looking out of the window. They sounded as though 
 they must touch any woman's heart. With an oath 
 he threw himself on to the sofa, trying now to banish 
 the haunting words — the words that would not come 
 at his call, and came, in belated uselessness, to mock 
 him now. He lay still ; and they ran through his 
 head. At last they ceased ; but, before he could 
 thank God for that, a strange sense of desolation came 
 over him. He looked round the empty, silent room, 
 that seemed larger now than in its busy daylight 
 hours. The house was all still ; there might have 
 been one lying dead in it. It might have been the 
 house of a man who had lost his wife.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 AGAINST HIS COMING. 
 
 " The great Napoleon once observed " 
 
 "Don't quote from 'Anecdotes, New and Old,'" 
 interrupted Adela unkindly. 
 
 "That when his death was announced," pursued 
 Lord Semingham, who thought it good for Adela to 
 take no notice of such interruptions, "everybody 
 would say Oaf. I say 'Oiif' now," and he stretched 
 his arms luxuriously to their full length. " There's 
 room here," he added, explaining the gesture. 
 
 " Well, who's dead ? " asked Adela, choosing to be 
 exasperatingly literal. 
 
 " Nobody's dead ; but a lot of people — and things 
 — are a long way off." 
 
 " That's not so satisfactorily final," said Adela. 
 
 " No, but it serves for the time. Did vou see me 
 on my bicycle this morning ? " 
 
 " What, going round here ? " and Adela waved her 
 hand circularly, as though embracing the broad path 
 that runs round the grass by the sea at Dieppe. 
 
 (134)
 
 AGAINST HIS COMING. 135 
 
 " Yes — just behind a charming Parisienne in a 
 pair of — behind a charming Parisienne in an ap- 
 propriate costume." 
 
 " Bessie must get one," said Adela. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " 
 
 " I mean a bicycle." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, if she likes ; but she'd as soon 
 mount Salisbury Spire." 
 
 " How did you learn ? " 
 
 "I really beg your pardon," said Semingham, 
 " but the fact is — Ruston taught me." 
 
 " Let's change the subject," said Adela, smiling. 
 
 " A charming child, this Marjory Valentine," ob- 
 served Semingham. " She's too good for young Evan. 
 I'm very glad she wouldn't have him." 
 
 " I'm not." 
 
 "You're always sorry other girls don't marry. 
 Heaven knows why." 
 
 " Well, I'm sorry she didn't take Evan." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I can't tell you." 
 
 " Not — not the forbidden topic ? " 
 
 " I half believe so." 
 
 " But she's here with Maggie Dennison." 
 
 " Well, everybody doesn't chatter as you do," said 
 Adela incisively. 
 
 "I don't believe it. She Hallo! here she 
 
 is!"
 
 136 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 Marjory Valentine came along, bending her slim 
 figure a little, the better to resist a fresh breeze that 
 blew her skirts out behind her, and threatened to 
 carry off her broad-brimmed hat. She had been bath- 
 ing ; the water was warm, and her cheeks glowed with 
 a fine colour. As she came up, both Adela and Lord 
 Semingham put on their eyeglasses. 
 
 " An uncommon pretty girl," observed the latter. 
 
 " Isn't it glorious ? " cried Marjory, yet several yards 
 away. " Walter will enjoy the bathing tremendously." 
 
 " When's he coming ? " 
 
 " Saturday," answered Marjory. " Where is Lady 
 Semingham ? " 
 
 "Dressing," said Semingham solemnly. "Cos- 
 tume number one, off at 11.30. Costume number two, 
 on at 12. Costume number two, off at 3.30. Cos- 
 tume " 
 
 " After all, she's your wife," said Adela, in tones of 
 grave reproach. 
 
 " But for that, I shouldn't have a word to say 
 against it. Women are very queer reasoners." 
 
 Marjory sat down next to Adela. 
 
 " Women do waste a lot of time on dress, don't 
 they? " she asked, in a meditative tone ; " and a lot of 
 thought, too ! " 
 
 "Hallo!" exclaimed Lord Semingham. 
 
 " I mean, thought they might give to really im- 
 portant things. You can't imagine George Elliot "
 
 AGAINST HIS COMING. 137 
 
 " What about Queen Elizabeth ? " interrupted 
 Semingham. 
 
 " She was a horrible woman," said Adela. 
 
 " Phryne attached no importance to it," added 
 Semingham. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot ! Tell me about her," cried Mar- 
 jory. 
 
 " A strong-minded woman, Miss Marjory." 
 
 " He's talking nonsense, Marjory." 
 
 " I supplied a historical instance in Miss Valen- 
 tine's favour." 
 
 " I shall look her up," said Marjory, at which Lord 
 Semingham smiled in quiet amusement. He was a 
 man who saw his joke a long way off, and could wait 
 patiently for it. 
 
 " Yes, do," he said, lighting a cigarette. 
 
 Adela had grown grave, and was watching the 
 girl's face. It was a pretty face, and not a silly one ; 
 and Marjory's blue eyes gazed out to sea, as though 
 she were looking at something a great way off. Adela, 
 with a frown of impatience, turned to her other neigh- 
 bour. She would not be troubled with aspirations 
 there. In fact, she was still annoyed with her young 
 friend on Evan Haselden's account. But it was no 
 use turning to Lord Semingham. His eyes were 
 more than half-closed, and he was beating time gently 
 to the Casino band, audible in the distance. Adela 
 sighed. At last Marjory broke the silence.
 
 138 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " When Mr. Ruston comes," she began, " I shall 
 ask him whether " 
 
 The sentence was not finished. 
 
 " When who comes ? " cried Adela ; and Seming- 
 ham opened his eyes and stilled his foot-pats. 
 
 " Mr. Ruston." 
 
 " Is he coming after all ? I thought, now that 
 Dennison " 
 
 " Oh, yes — he's coming with Walter. Didn't you 
 know ? " 
 
 " Is he coming to-day ? " 
 
 " I suppose so. Aren't you glad ? " 
 
 " Of course," from Adela, and " Oh, uncommonly," 
 from Lord Semingham, seemed at first sight answers 
 satisfactory enough ; but Marjory's inquiring gaze 
 rested on their faces. 
 
 " Come for a stroll," said Adela abruptly, and pass- 
 ing her arm through Marjory's, she made her rise. 
 Semingham, having gasped out his conventional reply, 
 sat like a man of stone, but Adela, for all that it was 
 needless, whispered imperatively, " Stay where you 
 are." 
 
 " Well, Marjory," she went on, as they began to 
 walk, " I don't know that I am glad after all." 
 
 " I believe you don't like him." 
 
 " I believe I don't," said Adela slowly. It was a 
 point she had not yet quite decided. 
 
 "I didn't use to."
 
 AGAINST HIS COMING. 139 
 
 " Bat you do now ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Adcla hated the pregnant brevity of this affirma- 
 tive. 
 
 " Mamma doesn't," laughed Marjory. " She's so 
 angry with him carrying off Walter. As if it wasn't a 
 grand thing for Walter ! So she's quite turned round 
 about him." 
 
 " He's not staying in— with you, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, no. Though I don't see why he shouldn't. 
 Conventions are so stupid, aren't they ? Mrs. Denni- 
 son's there," and Marjory looked up with an appeal to 
 calm reason as personified in Adela. 
 
 At another time, nineteen's view of twenty-nine — 
 Marjory's conception of Maggie Deunison as a suffic- 
 ing chaperon — would have amused Adela. But she 
 was past amusement. Her patience snapped, as it 
 Avere, in two. She turned almost fiercely on her 
 companion, forgetting all prudence in her irrita- 
 tion. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, child, what do you mean ? 
 Do you think he's coming to see you ? " 
 
 Marjory drew her arm out from Adela's, and re- 
 treated a step from her. 
 
 " Adela ! I never thought " She did not end, 
 
 conscious, perhaps, that her flushed face gave her 
 words the lie. Adela swept on. 
 
 " You ! He's not coming to see you. I don't be-
 
 140 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 lieve he's coming to see anyone — no, not even Maggie 
 — I mean no one, at all." 
 
 The girl's look marked the fatal slip. 
 
 " Oh ! " she gasped, just audibly. 
 
 " I don't believe he cares that for any of us — for 
 anyone alive. Marjory, I didn't mean what I said 
 about Maggie, I didn't indeed. Don't look like that. 
 Oh, what a stupid gild you are ! " and she ended with, a 
 half-hysterical laugh. 
 
 For some moments they stood facing one another, 
 saying nothing. The meaning of Adela's words was 
 sinking into Marjory's mind. 
 
 " Let's walk on. People will wonder," said she at 
 last ; and she enlaced Adela's arm again. After an- 
 other long pause, during which her face expressed the 
 turmoil of her thoughts, she whispered, 
 
 " Adela, is that why Mr. Loring went away ? " 
 
 " I don't know why he went away." 
 
 " You think me a child, so you say you don't mean 
 it now. You do mean it, you know. You wouldn't 
 say a thing like that for nothing. Tell me what you 
 do mean, Adela." It was almost an order. Adda 
 suddenly realised that she had struck down to a 
 force and a character. "Tell me exactly what you 
 mean," insisted Marjory ; " you ought to tell me, 
 Adela." 
 
 Adela found herself obeying. 
 
 " I don't know about him ; but I'm afraid of her,"
 
 AGAINST HIS COMING. 141 
 
 she stammered, as if confessing a shameful deed of 
 her own. A moment later she broke into entreaty. 
 " Go away, dear. Don't get mixed up in it. Don't 
 have anything to do with him." 
 
 " Do you go away when your friends are in trouble 
 or in danger ? " 
 
 Adela felt suddenly small — then wise — then small 
 because her wisdom was of a small kind. Yet she 
 gave it utterance. 
 
 " But, Marjory, think of— think of yourself. If 
 you " 
 
 " I know what you're going to say. If I care for 
 him? I don't. I hardly know him. But, if I did, I 
 might — I might be of some use. And are you going 
 to leave her all alone ? I thought you Avere her 
 friend. Are you just going to look on ? Though you 
 think — what you think ! " 
 
 Adela caught hold of the girl's hands. There was 
 a choking in her throat, and she could say nothing. 
 
 " But if he sees ? " she murmured, when she found 
 speech. 
 
 " He won't see. There's nothing to see. I shan't 
 show it. Adela, I shall stay. Why do you think 
 what — what you think ? " 
 
 People might wonder, if they would — perhaps they 
 
 did — Avhen Adela drew Marjory towards her, and 
 
 kissed her lips. 
 
 " I couldn't, my dear," she said, " but, if you can, 
 10
 
 14:2 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 for heaven's sake do. I may be wrong, but — I'm un- 
 easy." 
 
 Marjory's lips quivered, but she held her head 
 proudly up ; then she sobbed a short quick-stifled sob, 
 and then smiled. 
 
 " I daresay it's not a bit true," she said. 
 
 Adela pressed her hand again, saying, 
 
 " I'm an emotional old creature." 
 
 " Why did Mr. Loring go away?" demanded Mar- 
 jory. 
 
 " I don't know. He thought it " 
 
 " Best ? Well, he was wrong." 
 
 Adela could not hear Tom attacked. 
 
 " Maggie turned him out," she said — which ac- 
 count of the matter was, perhaps, just a little one- 
 sided, though containing a part of the truth. Mar- 
 jory meditated on it for a moment, Adela still covertly 
 looking at her. The discovery was very strange. 
 Ilalf-an-hour ago she had smiled because the girl 
 hinted a longing after something beyond frocks, and 
 had laughed at her simple acceptance of Semingham's 
 joke. Now she found herself turning to her, looking 
 to her for help in the trouble that had puzzled her. 
 In her admiration of the girl's courage, she forgot to 
 wonder at her intuition, her grasp of evil possibilities, 
 tin- knowledge of Maggie Dennison that her resolve 
 implied. Adela watched her, as, their farewell said, 
 she walked, first quickly, then very slowly, towards
 
 AGAINST HIS (OMING. 1 |;j 
 
 the villa which Mrs. Dennison had hired, on the cliff- 
 Bide, near the old Castle. Then, with a last sigh, she 
 put up her parasol and sauntered back to the Hotel 
 de Rome. Costume number two would be on by now, 
 and Bessie Semingham ready for luncheon. 
 
 Marjory, finally sunk into the slow gait that means 
 either idleness or deep thought, made her way up to 
 the villa. With every step she drew nearer, the bur- 
 den she had taken up seemed heavier. It was not sor- 
 row for the dawning dream that the storm-cloud had 
 eclipsed that she really thought of. But the task 
 loomed large in its true difficulty, as her first enthu- 
 siasm spent itself. If Adela were right, what could 
 she do? If Adela were wrong, what unpardonable 
 offence she might give. Ah, was Adela right? 
 Strange and new as the idea was, there was an unques- 
 tioning conviction in her manner that Marjory could 
 hardly resist. Save under the stress of a conviction, 
 speech on such a matter would have been an impossi- 
 ble crime. And Marjory remembered, with a sinking 
 heart, Maggie Dennison's smile of happy triumph 
 when she read out the lines in which Euston told of 
 his coming. Yes, it was, or it might be, true. But 
 where lay her power to help ? 
 
 Coming round the elbow of the rising path, she 
 caught sight of Maggie Dennison sitting in the gar- 
 den. Mrs. Dennison wore white; her pale, clear-cut 
 profile was towards Marjory ; she rested her chin on
 
 144 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 her hand, and her elbow on her knee, and she was 
 looking on the ground. Softly Marjory drew near. 
 An unopened letter from Harry lay on a little table ; 
 the children had begun their mid-day meal in the 
 room, whose open window was but a few feet behind ; 
 Mrs. Dennison's thoughts were far away. Marjory 
 stopped short. A stronger buffet of fear, a more over- 
 whelming sense of helplessness, smote her. She un- 
 derstood better why Adela had been driven to do 
 nothing — to look on. She smiled for an instant; the 
 idea put itself so whimsically ; but she thought that, 
 had Mrs. Dennison been walking over a precipice, it 
 would need all one's courage to interfere with her. 
 She would think it such an impertinence. And Hus- 
 ton ? Marjory saw, all in a minute, his cheerful 
 scorn, his unshaken determination, his rapid dismissal 
 of one more obstacle. She drew in her breath in a 
 long inspiration, and Mrs. Dennison raised her eyes 
 and smiled. 
 
 " I believe I felt you there," she said, smiling. " At 
 least, I began to think of you." 
 
 Marjory sat near her hostess. 
 
 " Did you meet anyone?" asked Mrs. Dennison. 
 
 " Adela Ferrars and Lord Semingham." 
 
 " Well, had they anything to say? " 
 
 " No — I don't think so," she answered slowly. 
 
 "What should they have to say in this place? 
 The children have begun. Aren't you hungry?"
 
 AGAINST HIS COMING. 145 
 
 " Not very." 
 
 " Well, I am," and Mrs. Dennison arose. " I for- 
 got it, but I am." 
 
 " They didn't k,now Mr. Rustou was coming." 
 
 "Didn't they?" smiled Mrs. Dennison. "And 
 has Adela forgiven you ? Oh, you know, the poor boy 
 is a friend of hers, as he is of mine." 
 
 " We didn't talk about it." 
 
 " And you don't want to ? Very well, we won't. 
 See, here's a long letter — it's very heavy, at least — 
 from Harry. I must read it afterwards." 
 
 " Perhaps it's to say he can come sooner." 
 
 " I expect not," said Mrs. Dennison, and she opened 
 the letter. " No ; a fortnight hence at the soonest," 
 she announced, after reading a few lines. 
 
 Marjory was both looking and listening closely, 
 but she detected neither disappointment nor relief. 
 
 " He's seen Tom Loring ! Oh, and Tom sends me 
 his best remembrances. Poor Tom ! Marjory, does 
 Adela talk about Mr. Loring ? " 
 
 " She mentioned him once." 
 
 " She thinks it was all my fault," laughed Mrs. 
 Dennison. " A woman always thinks it's a woman's 
 fault ; at least, that's our natural tendency, though 
 we're being taught to overcome it. Marjory, you 
 look dull ! It will be livelier for you when your 
 brother and Mr. Ruston come." 
 
 The hardest thing about great resolves and lofty
 
 140 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 moods is their intermixture with everyday life. The 
 intervals, the " waits," the mass of irrelevant triviali- 
 ties that life iuartistically mingles with its drama, 
 Hinging down pell-mell a heap of great and small — 
 these cool courage and make discernment distrust 
 itself. Mrs. Dennison seemed so quiet, so placid, so 
 completely the affectionate but not anxious wife, the 
 kind hostess, and even the human gossip, that Mar- 
 jory wanted to rub her eyes, wondering if all her 
 heroics were nonsense — a girl's romance gone wrong. 
 There was nothing to be done but eat and drink, and 
 talk and lounge in the sun — there was no hint of a 
 drama, no call for a rescue, no place for a sacrifice. 
 And Marjory had heen all aglow to begin. Uer face 
 grew dull and her eyelids half-dropped as she leant 
 her head on the back of her chair. 
 
 " Dejeuner ! " cried Mrs. Dennison merrily. " And 
 this afternoon we're all going to gamble at petits <■//<•- 
 vaux, and if we win we're going to buy more Omo- 
 fagas. There's a picture of a speculator's family ! " 
 
 " Mr. Dcnnison's not a speculator, is he ? " 
 
 " Oh, it depends on what you mean. Anyhow, I 
 am ; " and Mrs. Dennison, waving her letter in the air 
 and singing softly, almost danced in her merry walk 
 to the house. Then, crying her last words, " Be 
 quick !" from the door, she disappeared. 
 
 A moment later she was laughing and chattering 
 to her children. Marjory heard her burlesque com-
 
 AGAINST HIS COMING. 147 
 
 plaints over the utter disappearance of an omelette 
 she had set her heart upon. 
 
 That afternoon they all played at pctits chevaux, 
 and the only one to win was Madge. But Madge 
 utterly refused to invest her gains in Omofagas. She 
 assigned no reasons, stating that her mother did not 
 like her to declare the feeling which influenced her, 
 and Mrs. Dennison laughed again. But Adela Fer- 
 rars would not look towards Marjory, but kept her 
 eyes on an old gentleman who had been playing also, 
 and playing with good fortune. He had looked round 
 curiously when, in the course of the chaff, they had 
 mentioned Omofaga, and Adela detected in him the 
 wish to look again. She wondered who he was, scru- 
 tinising his faded blue eyes and the wrinkles of weari- 
 ness on his brow. Willie Ruston could have told her. 
 It was Baron von Geltschmidt of Frankfort.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IT CAN WAIT. 
 
 In all things evil and good, to the world, and— a 
 thing quite rare— to himself, Willie Ruston was an 
 unaffected man. Success, the evidence of power and 
 the earnest of more power, gave him his greatest pleas- 
 ure, and he received it with his greatest and most 
 open satisfaction. It did not surprise him, but it 
 elated him, and his habit was to conceal neither the 
 presence of elation nor the absence of surprise. That 
 irony in the old sense, which means the well-bred 
 though hardly sincere depreciation of a man's own 
 qualities and achievements, was not his. When he 
 had done anything, he liked to dine with his friends 
 and talk it over. He had been sharing the Carlins' 
 unfashionable six o'clock meal at Hampstead this 
 evening, and had taken the train to Baker Street, and 
 was now sauntering home with a cigar. lie had talked 
 the whole thing over with them. Carlin had said 
 that no one could have managed the affair so well as 
 he had, and Mrs. Carlin had not once referred to that 
 
 (148)
 
 IT CAN WAIT. 149 
 
 lost tabula in naufragio, the coal business. Yes, his 
 attack on London had been a success. He had known 
 nothing of London, save that its denizens were human 
 beings, and that knowledge, whether in business or 
 society, had boon enough. His great scheme was 
 floated ; a few months more would see him in Omo- 
 faga ; there was money to last for a long time to 
 come ; and he had been cordially received and even 
 made a lion of in the drawing-rooms. They would 
 look for his name in tbe papers (" and find it, by 
 Jove," he interpolated). Men in high places would 
 think of him when there was a job to be "put 
 through ; " and women, famous in regions inacces- 
 sible to the vulgar, would recollect their talks with 
 Mr. Ruston. Decidedly they were human beings, and 
 therefore, raw as he was (he just knew that he had 
 come to them a little raw), he had succeeded. 
 
 Yet they were, some of them, strange folk. There 
 were complications in them which he found it neces- 
 sary to reconnoitre. They said a great many things 
 which they did not think, and, en revanche, would 
 
 often only hint what they did. And But here he 
 
 yawned, and, finding his cigar out, relit it. He was 
 not in the mood for analysing his acquaintance. He 
 let his fancy play more lightly. It was evening, and 
 work was done. He liked London evenings. He had 
 liked bandying repartees with Adela Ferrars (though 
 she had been too much for him if she could have
 
 150 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 kept her temper) ; lie liked talking to Marjory Val- 
 entine and seeing her occupied with his ideas. Most 
 of all, he liked trying to catch Maggie Dennison's 
 thought as it flashed out for a moment, and fled 
 to shelter again. He had laughed again and again 
 over the talk that Tom Loring had interrupted — and 
 not less because of the interruption. There was little 
 malice in him, and he bore no grudge against Tom. 
 Even his anger at the Omofaga articles had been 
 chiefly for public purposes and public consumption. 
 It was always somebody's " game " to spoil his game, 
 and one must not quarrel with men for playing their 
 own hands. Tom amused him, and had amused him, 
 especially by his behaviour over that talk. No doubt 
 the position had looked a strange one. Tom had 
 been so shocked. Poor Tom, it must be very serious 
 to be so easily shocked. Mr. Huston was not easily 
 shocked. 
 
 Unaffected, free from self-consciousness, undi- 
 videdly bent on his schemes, unheeding of everything 
 but their accomplishment, he had spent little time in 
 considering the considerable stir which he had, in 
 fact, created in the circle of his more intimate as- 
 sociates. They had proved pliable and pleasant, and 
 these were the qualities he liked in his neighbours. 
 They said agreeable things to him, and they did what 
 he wanted. He had stayed not (save once, and half 
 in jest, with Maggie Dennison) to inquire why, and
 
 IT CAN WAIT. 151 
 
 the quasi-real, quasi-burlesque apprehension of him — 
 burlesqued perhaps lest it should seem too real — 
 which had grown up among such close observers as 
 Adela Ferrars and Semingham, would have struck 
 him as absurd, the outcome of that idle business of 
 brain which weaves webs of line fancies round the 
 obvious, and loses the power of action in the fascina- 
 tion of self -created puzzles. The nuances of a wom- 
 an's attraction towards a man, whether it be admira- 
 tion, or interest, or pass beyond — whether it be liking 
 and just not love — or interest running into love — or 
 love masquerading as interest, or what-not, Willie 
 Ruston recked little of. He was a man, and a young 
 man. He liked women and clever wonren — yes, and 
 handsome women. But to spend your time thinking 
 of or about women, or, worse still, of or about what 
 women thought of you, seemed poor economy of pre- 
 cious days — amusing to do, maybe, in spare hours, 
 inevitable now and again — but to be driven or laughed 
 away when there was work to be done. 
 
 Such was the colour of his floating thoughts, and 
 the loose-hung meditation brought him to his own 
 dwelling, in a great building which overlooked Hyde 
 Park. He lived high up in a small, irregular, many- 
 cornered room, sparely-furnished, dull and pictureless. 
 The only thing hanging on the walls was a large scale 
 map of Omofaga and the neighbouring territories ; in 
 lieu of nicnacks there stood on the mantlepiece lumps
 
 152 TIIE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 of ore, specimens from the mines of Omofaga (would 
 not these convince the most obstinate unbeliever?), 
 and half-smothered by ill-dusted papers, a small pho- 
 tograph of Rnston and a potent Omofagan chief seated 
 on the ground with a large piece of paper before them 
 — a treaty no doubt. A well-worn sofa, second-hand 
 and soft, and a deep arm-chair redeemed the place 
 from utter comfortlessness, but it was plain that 
 beauty in his daily surroundings was not essential to 
 Willie Ruston. lie did not notice furniture. 
 
 He walked in briskly, but stopped short with his 
 hand still on the knob of the door. Harry Dennison 
 lay on the sofa, with his arm flung across his face. 
 He sprang up on Ruston's entrance. 
 
 " Hullo ! Been here long? I've been dining with 
 Carlin," said Ruston, and, going to a cupboard, he 
 brought out Avhisky and soda water. 
 
 Harry Dennison began to explain his presence. 
 In the first place he had nothing to do; in the second 
 he wanted someone to talk to; in the third — at last 
 he blurted it out — the first, second, third and only 
 reason for his presence. 
 
 " I don't believe I can manage alone in town," he 
 said. 
 
 "Not manage? There's nothing to do. And 
 ('.ill iii's here." 
 
 " You see I've got other work besides Omofaga," 
 pleaded Harry.
 
 IT CAN WAIT. 153 
 
 "Oil, I know Dcnnisons have lots of irons in the 
 fire. But Omofaga won't trouble you. I've told Car- 
 lin to wire me if any news comes, and I can be back 
 in a few hours." 
 
 Harry had come to suggest that the expedition to 
 Dieppe should be abandoned for a week or two. He 
 got no chance and sat silent. 
 
 " It's all done," continued Huston. " The stores 
 are all on their way. Jackson is waiting for them 
 on the coast. Why, the train will start inland in a 
 couple of months from now. They'll go very slow 
 though. I shall catch them up all right." 
 
 Harry brightened a little. 
 
 " Belford said it was uncertain when you would 
 start," he said. 
 
 " It may be uncertain to Belford, it's not to me," 
 observed Mr. Buston, lighting his pipe. 
 
 The speech sounded unkind ; but Mr. Belford's 
 mind dwelt in uncertainty contentedly. 
 
 " Then you think of ? " 
 
 " My dear Dennison, I don't ' think ' at all. To- 
 day's the 12th of August. Happen what may, I sail 
 on the 10th of November. Nothing will keep me 
 after that — nothing." 
 
 " Belford started for the Engadine to-day." 
 
 " Well, he won't worry you then. Let it alone, my 
 dear fellow. It's all right." 
 
 Clearly Mr. Euston meant to go to Dieppe. That
 
 154 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 was now to Harry Denuison bad news ; but he meant 
 to go to Omofaga also, and to go soon ; that was good. 
 Harry, however, had still something that he wished to 
 convey — a bit of diplomacy to carry out. 
 
 " I hope you'll find Maggie better," he began. 
 " She was rather knocked up when she went." 
 
 "A few days will have put her all right," re- 
 sponded Ruston cheerfully. 
 
 He was never ill and treated fatigue with a cheery 
 incredulousness. But, at least, he spoke with an utter 
 absence of undue anxiety on the score of another 
 man's wife. 
 
 Harry Dennison, primed by Mrs. Cormack's sug- 
 gestions, went on, 
 
 " I wish you'd talk to her as little as you can about 
 Omofaga. She's very interested in it, you know, and 
 — and very excitable — and all that. We want her 
 mind to get a complete rest." 
 
 " Hum. I expect, then, I mustn't talk to her at 
 all." 
 
 The manifest impossibility of making such a re- 
 quest did not prevent Harry yearning after it. 
 
 " I don't ask that," he said, smiling weakly. 
 
 " It won't hurt her," said Willie Ruston. " And 
 she likes it." 
 
 She liked it beyond question. 
 
 "It tires her," Harry persisted. " It — it gets on 
 her nerves. It absorbs her too much."
 
 IT CAN WAIT. 155 
 
 His face was turned up to Ruston. As he spoke 
 the last words, Ruston directed his eyes, suddenly and 
 rapidly, upon him. Harry could not escape the en- 
 counter of eyes ; hastily he averted his head, and his 
 face Hushed. Ruston continued to look at him, a 
 slight smile on his lips. 
 
 "Absorbs her?" he repeated slowly, fingering his 
 beard. 
 
 " Well, you know what I mean." 
 
 Another long stare showed Ruston's meditative 
 preoccupation. Harry sat uncomfortable under it, 
 wishing he had not let fall the word. 
 
 "Well, I'll be careful," said Ruston at last. 
 "Anything else ? " 
 
 Harry rose. Ruston carried an atmosphere of 
 business about with him, and the visit seemed natu- 
 rally to end with the business of it. Taking his hat, 
 Harry moved towards the door. Then, pausing, he 
 smiled in an embarrassed way, and remarked, 
 
 " You can talk to Marjory Valentine, you 
 know." 
 
 " So I can. She's a nice girl." 
 
 Harry twirled his hat in his fingers. His brain 
 had conceived more diplomacy. 
 
 " It'll be a fine chance for you to win her heart," 
 he suggested with a tentative laugh. 
 
 " I might do worse," said Willie Ruston. 
 
 " You might — much worse, 11 said Harry eagerly.
 
 15G THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Aren't you rather giving away your friend young 
 Haselden ? " 
 
 " Who told you, Huston ? " 
 
 " Lady Val. Who told you ? " 
 
 " Semingharn." 
 
 " Ah ! Well, what would Haselden say to your 
 idea ? " 
 
 " Well, she won't have him — he's got no chance 
 anyhow." 
 
 " All right. I'll think about it. Good-night." 
 
 He watched his guest depart, but did not accom- 
 pany him on his way, and, left alone, sat down in the 
 deep arm-chair. His smile was still on his lips. Poor 
 Harry Dennison was a transparent schemer — one of 
 those whose clumsy efforts to avert what they fear 
 effects naught save to suggest the doing of it. Yet 
 Willie Huston's smile had more pity than scorn in it. 
 True, it had more of amusement than of either. He 
 could have taken a slate and written down all Harry's 
 thoughts during the interview. But whence had 
 come the change? Why had Dennison himself 
 bidden him to Dieppe, to come now, a fortnight 
 later, and beg him not to go? Why did he now 
 desire his wife to hear no more of Omofaga, whose 
 chief delight in it had been that it caught her fancy 
 and imparted to him some of the interest she found 
 in it? Ruston saw in the transformation the working 
 of another mind.
 
 IT CAN WAIT. 157 
 
 "Somebody's been putting it into his head," he 
 muttered, still half-amused, but now half-angry also. 
 
 And, with his usual rapidity of judgment, he 
 darted unhesitatingly to a conclusion. He identified 
 the hand in the business ; he recognised whose more 
 subtle thoughts Harry Dennison had stumbled over 
 and mauled in his painful devices. But to none is it 
 given to be infallible, and want of doubt does not 
 always mean absence of error. Forgetting this com- 
 monplace truth, Willie Huston slapped his thigh, 
 leapt up from his chair and, standing on the rug, 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Loring — by Jove ! " 
 
 It was clear to him. Loring was his enemy ; he 
 had displaced Loring. Loring hated him and Omo- 
 faga. Loring had stirred a husband's jealousy to 
 further his own grudge. The same temper of mind 
 that made his anger fade away when he had arrived at 
 this certainty, prevented any surprise at the discovery. 
 It was natural in man to seek revenge, to use the 
 nearest weapon, to counter stroke with stroke, not to 
 throw away any advantages for the sake of foibles of 
 generosity. So, then, it" was Loring who bade him 
 not go to Dieppe, who prayed him to not to " absorb" 
 Mrs. Dennison in Omofaga, who was ready, notwith- 
 standing his hatred and distrust, to see him the lover 
 of Marjory Valentine sooner than the too engrossing 
 
 friend of Mrs. Dennison ! What a fool they must 
 11
 
 158 THE GOD IN TIIE CAR. 
 
 think him ! — and, with this reflection, he put the whole 
 mutter out of his head. It could wait till he was at 
 Dieppe, and, taking hold of the great map by the 
 roller at the bottom, he drew it to him. Then he 
 reached and lifted the lamp from the table, and set it 
 high on the mantlepiece. Its light shone now on his 
 path, and with his finger he traced the red line that 
 ran, curving and winding, inwards from the coast, 
 till it touched the blue letters of the " Omofaga" that 
 sprawled across the map. The line ended in a cross 
 of red paint. The cross was Fort Imperial — was to 
 be Fort Imperial, at least ; but Willie Ruston's mind 
 overleapt all difference of tenses, lie stood and looked, 
 pulling hard and fast at his pipe. He was there — 
 there in Fort Imperial already — far away from Lon- 
 don and London folk — from weak husbands and their 
 causes of anxiety — from the pleasing recreations of 
 fascinating society, from the covert attacks of men 
 whose noses he had put out of joint. lie forgot them 
 all; their feelings became naught to him. What 
 mattered their graces, their assaults, their weal or 
 woe? He was in Omofaga, carving out of its rock a 
 stable scat, carving on the rock face, above the seat, 
 a name that should live. 
 
 At last he turned away, flinging his empty pipe 
 on the table and dropping the map from his hand. 
 
 " I shall go to bed," he said. " Three months 
 more of it !"
 
 IT CAN WAIT. 159 
 
 And to bed ho went, never having thought once 
 during the whole evening of a French lady, who 
 liked to get amusement out of her neighbours, and 
 had stayed in town on purpose to have some more 
 talks with Harry Dennison. Had Willie Kuston not 
 been quite so sure that he read Tom Loring's character 
 aright, he might have spared a thought for Mrs. Cor- 
 mack.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A SPASM OF PENITENCE. 
 
 Tom Loring had arranged to spend the whole of 
 the autumn in London. His Omofaga articles had 
 gained such favourable notice that his editor had 
 engaged him to contribute a series dealing with 
 African questions and African companies (and the 
 latter are in the habit of producing the former), while 
 he was occupied, on his own account, at the British 
 Museum, in making way with a treatise of a politico- 
 philosophical description, which had been in his head 
 for several years. He hailed with pleasure the 
 prospect of getting on with it; the leisure afforded 
 him by his departure from the Dennisons was, in its 
 way, a consolation for the wrench involved in the 
 parting. Could he have felt more at ease about the 
 course of events in his absence, he would have endured 
 his sojourn in town with equanimity. 
 
 Of course, the place was fast becoming a desert, 
 but, at this moment, chance, which always objects to 
 our taking things for granted, brought a carriage 
 
 .100)
 
 A SPASM OF PENITENCE. 161 
 
 exactly opposite the bench on which Tom was seated, 
 and he heard his name called in a high-pitched voico 
 that he recognised. Looking up, he saw Mrs. Cor- 
 mack leaning over the side of her victoria, smiling 
 effusively and beckoning to him. That everyone 
 should go save Mrs. Cormack seemed to Tom the 
 irony of circumstance. With a mutter to himself, he 
 rose and walked up to the carriage. He then per- 
 ceived, to his surprise, that it contained, hidden 
 behind Mrs. Oormack's sleeves — sleeves were large 
 that year — another inmate. It was Evan Haselden, 
 and he greeted Tom with an off-hand nod. 
 
 " The good God," cried Mrs. Cormack, " evidently 
 kept me here to console young men ! Are you left 
 desolate like Mr. Haselden here ? " 
 
 " Well, it's not very lively," responded Tom, as 
 amiably as he could. 
 
 "No, it isn't," she agreed, with the slightest, 
 quickest glance at Evan, who was staring moodily at 
 the tops of the trees. 
 
 Tom laughed. The woman amused him in spite 
 of himself. And her failures to extract entertain- 
 ment from poor heart-broken Evan struck him as 
 humorous. 
 
 " But I'm at work," he went on, " so I don't 
 mind." 
 
 " Ah ! Are you still crushing ? " 
 
 " No," interrupted Tom quickly. " That's done."
 
 1G2 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " I should not have guessed it," said Mrs. Cor- 
 mack, opening her eyes. 
 
 " I mean, I've finished the articles on that point." 
 
 " That is rather a different thing," laughed she. 
 
 " I'm afraid so," said Tom. 
 
 " I wish to heaven it wasn't ! " ejaculated Evan 
 suddenly, without shifting his gaze from the tree- 
 tops. 
 
 " Oh, he is very very bad," whispered Mrs. Cor- 
 mack. "Poor young man! Are you bad too?" 
 
 « Eh ? " 
 
 " Oh, but I know." 
 
 " Oh, no, you don't," said Tom. 
 
 Suddenly Evan rose, opened the carriage door, got 
 out, shut it, and lifted his hat. 
 
 " Good-bye," said Mrs. Cormack, smiling merrily. 
 
 " Good-bye. Thanks," said Evan, with unchanged 
 melancholy, and, with another nod to Tom, he walked 
 round to the path and strode quickly away. 
 
 " How absurd ! " said she. 
 
 " Not at all. I like to see him honest about it. 
 lie's hard hit — and he's not ashamed of it." 
 
 " Oh, well," said Mrs. Cormack, shrugging the 
 subject away in weariness of it. "And how do you 
 .stand banishment? Will you get in?" 
 
 " Yes, if you won't assume " 
 
 " Too great familiarity, Mr. Loring?" 
 
 "Oh, I was only going to say — with my affairs.
 
 A SPASM OF PENITENCE. 1G3 
 
 With me— I should be charmed," and Tom settled 
 himself in the victoria. 
 
 lie had, now he came to think of it, been really 
 very much bored; and the little woman was quite a 
 resource. 
 
 She rewarded his ironical gallantry with a look 
 that told him she took it for what it was worth, but 
 liked it all the same ; and, after a pause, asked, 
 
 " And you see Mr. Dennison often ?" 
 
 " Very seldom, on the contrary. I don't know 
 what he does with himself." 
 
 " The poor man ! He walks up and down. I 
 hear him walking up and down." 
 
 " What does he do that for ? " 
 
 "Ah! what? Well, he cannot be happy, can 
 
 he?" 
 
 " Can't he ? " said Tom, determined to understand 
 nothing. 
 
 " You are very discreet," she said, with a malicious 
 smile. 
 
 " I'm obliged to be. Somebody must be." 
 "Mr. Loring," she said abruptly, "you don't like 
 me, neither you nor Miss Ferrars." 
 
 " I never answer for others. For myself " 
 
 " Oh, I know. W^hat does it matter ? Well, any- 
 how, I'm sorry for that poor man." 
 
 " Your sympathy is very ready, Mrs. Cormack." 
 " You mean it is too soon — premature?"
 
 104 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " I mean it's altogether unnecessary, to my hum- 
 ble thinking." 
 
 " But I'm not a fool," she protested. 
 
 Tom could not help laughing. The laugh, how- 
 ever, rather spoilt his argument. 
 
 " Have it your own way," he conceded, conscious 
 of his error, and trying to cover it by a burlesque sur- 
 render. " lie's miserable." 
 
 " Well, he is." 
 
 There was a placid certainty about her that dis- 
 turbed Tom's attitude of incredulity. 
 
 " Why is he ? " he asked curiously. 
 
 " I have talked to him. I know," she answered, 
 with a nod full of meaning. 
 
 " Oh, have you ? " 
 
 " Yes, and he — well, do you want to hear, or will 
 you be angry and despise me as you used ? " 
 
 " I want to hear." 
 
 "What did I use to say? That the man would 
 come ? Well, he has come. Voila tout ! " 
 
 " Oh, so you say. But Harry doesn't think such — 
 I beg pardon, I was about to say, nonsense." 
 
 " Yes, he does. At least, he is afraid of it." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " I tell you, we have talked. And I saw. He al- 
 most cried that he couldn't go to Dieppe, and that 
 somebody else " 
 
 Tom suddenly turned upon her.
 
 A SPASM OP PENITENCE. 105 
 
 " Who began the talk ? " he demanded. 
 
 " What do you say?" 
 
 "Who began?" 
 
 " Oh, what nonsense! Who does begin to talk? 
 How do I know ? It came, Mr. Loring." 
 
 Tom said nothing. 
 
 " You look as if you didn't believe me," she re- 
 marked, pouting. 
 
 " I don't. He's the most unsuspicious fellow 
 alive." 
 
 " Well, if you like, I began. I'm not ashamed. 
 But I said very little. When he asked me if I thought 
 it good that she and — the other — should be together 
 out there and he here — well, was I to say yes ? " 
 
 " I think," observed Tom, in quiet and deliberate 
 tones, " that it's a great pity that some women can't 
 be gagged." 
 
 " They can, but only with kisses," said Mrs. Cor- 
 mack, not at all offended. " Oh, don't be frightened. 
 I do not wish to be gagged at all. If I did — there is 
 more than one man in the world." 
 
 Tom despised and half-hated her ; but he liked 
 her good-nature, and, in his heart, admired her for not 
 flinching. Her shamelessness was crossed with cour- 
 age. 
 
 " So you've made him miserable ? " 
 
 " Well, I might say, I, a wicked Frenchwoman, 
 that it is better to be deceived than to be wretched.
 
 1(56 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 But you, an Englishman ! Oh, never, Mr. Lor- 
 
 mg 
 
 Tom sat silent a little while. 
 
 " I don't know what to do," he said, half in reverie. 
 
 " Who thought you would?" asked Mrs. Cormack, 
 unkindly. 
 
 " I believe it's all a mare's nest." 
 
 " That means a mistake, a delusion ? " 
 
 " It does." 
 
 " Then I don't think you do believe it. And, if 
 you do, you are wrong. It is not all a — a mare's 
 nest." 
 
 She pronounced the word with unfamiliar delicate- 
 ness. 
 
 Tom knew that he did not believe that it was all 
 a mare's nest. He would have given everything in 
 the world — save one thing — and that, he thought, he 
 had not got — to believe it. 
 
 "Then, if you believed it, why didn't you do 
 something?" he asked rather fiercely. 
 
 "What have you all done? I, at least, warned 
 him. ' Yes, since you insist, I hinted it. But you — 
 you ran away; and your Adela Ferrars, she looks 
 prim and pained, oh! and shocked, and doesn't come 
 so much." 
 
 It was a queer source to learn lessons from, and 
 Tom was no less surprised than Adela had been a 
 day or two before at Dieppe.
 
 A SPASM OF PENITENCE. 107 
 
 "What should you do?" he asked, in new-born 
 humility. 
 
 " 1 ? Nothing. What is it to me ? " 
 
 " What should you do, if you were me ? " 
 
 " Make love to her myself," smiled Mrs. Cormack. 
 She was having her revenge on Tom for many a scorn- 
 ful speech. 
 
 " If you'd held your tongue, it would all have 
 blown over ! " he exclaimed in exasperation. 
 
 "It will blow over still ; but it will blow first," she 
 said. " If that contents you, hold your tongue." 
 
 Then she turned to Tom, and laid a small fore- 
 finger on his arm. 
 
 " Mark this," said she, " he does not care for her. 
 He cares for himself ; she is — what would you say '? 
 an incident — an accident — I do not know how to say 
 it — to him." 
 
 " Well, if you're right there " began Tom in 
 
 some relief. 
 
 " If I'm right there, it will make no difference — 
 at first. But, as you say, it will blow over — and 
 sooner." 
 
 Tom looked at her, and thought, and looked 
 
 again. 
 
 " By Jove, you're not a fool, Mrs. Cormack," said 
 he, almost under his breath. 
 Then he added, louder, 
 " It's the wisdom of the devil."
 
 1G8 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 "Oh, you surpass yourself," she smiled. "Your 
 compliments are magnificent." 
 
 " You must have learnt it from him." 
 
 " Oh, no. From my husband," said Mrs. Cor- 
 mack. 
 
 The carriage, which during their talk had moved 
 slowly round the circle, stopped again. 
 
 Mrs. Cormack turned to Tom. He was already 
 looking at her. 
 
 " I don't understand you," said he. 
 
 "No? Well, you'll hardly believe it, but that 
 does not surprise me." 
 
 " I'm not sure you don't mean well, if you weren't 
 ashamed to confess it," said Tom. 
 
 For the first time since he had known her, she 
 blushed and looked embarrassed. Then she began, in 
 a quick tone, 
 
 " Well, I talked. I wanted to see how he took it; 
 and it amused me. And — well, our dear Maggie — she 
 is so very magnificent at times. She looks down so 
 calmly — oh ! from such a height — on one. She had 
 told me that day — well, never mind that ; it was true, 
 I daresay. I don't love truth. I don't see what right 
 people have to say things to me, just because one 
 may know they are true." 
 
 " So you made a little mischief ? " 
 
 " Well, I hear that poor man walking up and 
 down. I want to comfort him. I asked him to come
 
 A SPASM OF PENITENCE. 1G0 
 
 in, and he refused. Then I offered to go in — he was 
 very frightened. Oh, wow Dieu!" and she laughed 
 almost hysterically. 
 
 This very indirect confession proved in the end to 
 be all that Mrs. Corraack's penitence could drive her 
 to, and Tom left her, feeling a little softened towards 
 her, but hardly better equipped for action. What, 
 indeed, could be done? Tom's sense of futility ex- 
 pressed itself in a long letter to Adela Ferrars. As 
 he had no suggestions for present action, he took 
 refuge in future promises. 
 
 " It will be very awkward fo,r me to come, but if, 
 as time goes on, you think I should be any good, I 
 will come." 
 
 And Adela, when she read it, was tempted to send 
 for him on the spot ; he would have been of no use, 
 but he would have comforted her. But then his pres- 
 ence would unquestionably exasperate Maggie Denni- 
 son. Adela decided to wait. 
 
 Now, by the time Tom Loring's letter reached 
 Dieppe, young Sir Walter and Willie Ruston were on 
 the boat, and they arrived hard on its heels. They 
 took up their abode at a hotel a few doors from where 
 the Seminghams were staying, and Walter at once 
 went round to pay his respects. 
 
 Ruston stayed in to write letters. So he said ; but 
 when he was alone he stood smoking at the window 
 and looking at the people down below. Presently, to
 
 170 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 his surprise, he saw the same old gentleman whom 
 Adela had noticed in the Casino. 
 
 " The Baron, by Jove ! " he exclaimed. " Now, 
 what brings him here ? " 
 
 The Baron was sauntering slowly by, wrapped in a 
 cloak, and leaning heavily on a malacca cane. In a 
 moment Willie Huston was down the stairs and after 
 him. 
 
 Hearing his name cried, the Baron stopped and 
 turned round. 
 
 "What chance brings you here?" asked Willie, 
 holding out his hand. 
 
 " Oh, hardly chance," said the Baron. " I always 
 go to some seaside place, and I thought I might meet 
 friends here," and he smiled significantly. 
 
 "Yes," said Rnston, after a pause; "I believe I 
 did mention it in Threadneedle Street. I went in 
 there the other day." 
 
 By the general term Threadneedle Street he meant 
 to indicate the offices of the Baron's London corre- 
 spondents, which were situate there. 
 
 " They keep you informed, it seems? " 
 
 " I live by being kept informed," said the Baron. 
 
 Huston was walking by him, accommodating his 
 pace to the old man's feeble walk. 
 
 " You mean you came to see me?" he asked. 
 
 " Well, if you'll forgive the liberty — in part." 
 
 "And why did you want me?"
 
 A SPASM OF PENITENCE. 171 
 
 
 " Oli, I've not lost all interest in Omofaga. 
 
 " No, you haven't," said Huston. " On the con- 
 trary, you've been increasing your interest." 
 
 The Baron stopped and looked at him. 
 
 "Oh, you know that?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 The Baron laughed. 
 
 " Then you can tell me whether I shall lose my 
 money," he said. 
 
 " Do you ever lose your money, Baron ? " 
 
 "But am I to hear about Omofaga?" asked the 
 Baron, countering question by question. 
 
 " As much as you like," answered Ruston, with the 
 indifference of perfect candour. 
 
 " Ah, by the way, I have heard about it already. 
 Who are the ladies here who talk about it? " 
 
 Willie Euston gave a careful catalogue of all the 
 persons in Dieppe who were interested in the Omofaga 
 Company. The Baron identified the Seminghams and 
 Adela. Then he observed, 
 
 "And the other lady is Mrs. Dennison, is she?" 
 
 " She is. I'm going to her house to-morrow. 
 Shall I take you ? " 
 
 " I should be charmed." 
 
 " Very well. To-morrow afternoon." 
 
 " And you'll dine with me to-night ? " 
 
 Euston was about to refuse ; but the Baron added, 
 half seriously,
 
 172 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " I've come a long way to see you." 
 
 " All right, I'll come," lie said. Then he paused a 
 moment, and looked at the Baron curiously. "And 
 perhaps you'll tell me then," he added. 
 
 " Why I've come ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and why you've been buying. You were 
 bought out. What do you want to come in again 
 for ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you all that now," said the Baron. " I've 
 come because I thought I should like to see some more 
 of you ; and I've been buying because I fancy you'll 
 make a success of it." 
 
 Willie Ruston pulled his beard thoughtfully. 
 
 " Don't you believe me ? " asked the Baron. 
 
 " Let's wait a bit," suggested Ruston. Then, with 
 a sudden twinkle of his eye, his holiday mood seemed 
 to come back again. Seizing the Baron's arm, he 
 pressed it, and said with a laugh, " I say, Baron, if 
 you want to get control over Omofaga " 
 
 " But, my dear friend " protested the Baron. 
 
 "If you do — I only say 'if — I'm not the only 
 man you've got to fight. Well, yes, I am the only 
 man." 
 
 " My dear young friend, I don't understand you," 
 pleaded the Baron. 
 
 " We'll go and see Mrs. Dennison to-morrow," said 
 Willie Ruston.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 the thing or the man. 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 It was the morning of the next day, Mrs. Denni- 
 son sat in her place in the little garden on the cliff, 
 and Willie Ruston stood just at the turn of the 
 mounting path, where Marjory had paused to look at 
 her friend. 
 
 " Well, here I am," said he. 
 
 She did not move, but held out her hand. He 
 advanced and took it. 
 
 " I met your children down below," he went on, 
 " but they would hardly speak to me. Why don't 
 they like me ? " 
 
 " Never mind the children." 
 
 " But I do mind. Most children like me." 
 
 " How is everything? " 
 
 " In London ? Oh, first-rate. I saw your hus- 
 band the " 
 
 " I mean, how is Omofaga ? " 
 
 " Capital ; and here ? " 
 
 12 (173)
 
 174 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " It has been atrociously dull. What could you 
 expect ? " 
 
 " Well, I didn't expect that, or I shouldn't have 
 
 come." 
 
 " Are the stores started ? " 
 
 " I thought it was holiday time ? Well, yes, they 
 
 are." 
 
 She had been looking at him ever since he came, 
 and at last he noticed it. 
 
 " Do I look well ? " he asked in joke. 
 
 " You know, it's rather a pleasure to look at you," 
 she replied. " I've been feeling so shut in," and she 
 pushed her hair back from her forehead, and glanced 
 at him with a bright smile. " And it's really going 
 well?" 
 
 " So well," he nodded, " that everything's quiet, 
 and the preparations well ahead. In three months " 
 (and his enthusiasm began to get hold of him) " I 
 shall be off ; in two more I hope to be actually there, 
 and then — why, forward ! " 
 
 She had listened at first with sparkling eyes ; as 
 he finished, her lips drooped, and she leant back in 
 her chair. There was a moment's silence ; then she 
 said in a low voice, 
 
 " Three months ! " 
 
 " It oughtn't to take more than two, if Jackson 
 has arranged things properly for me." 
 
 Evidently he was thinking of his march up conn-
 
 THE THING OR THE MAN. 175 
 
 try ; but it was the first three months that were in 
 her mind. She had longed to see the thing really 
 started, hastened by all her efforts the hour that was 
 to set him at work, and dreamt of the day when ho 
 should set foot in Omofaga. Now all this seemed 
 assured, imminent, almost present ; yet there was no 
 exultation in her tone. 
 
 " I meant, before you started," she said slowly. 
 
 He looked up in surprise. 
 
 " I can't manage sooner," he said, defending him- 
 self. " You know I don't waste time." 
 
 He was still off the scent ; and even she -herself 
 was only now, for the first time and as yet dimly, 
 realising her own mind. 
 
 " I have to do everything myself," he said. " Dear 
 old Carlin can't walk a step alone, and the Board " — 
 he paused, remembering that Harry Dennison was on 
 the Board — " well, I find it hard to make them move 
 as quick as I want. I had to fix a date, and I fixed 
 the earliest I could be absolutely sure of." 
 
 " Why don't they help you more ? " she burst out 
 indignantly. 
 
 " Oh, I don't want help." 
 
 " Yes, but I helped you ! " she exclaimed, leaning 
 forward, full again of animation. 
 
 " I can't deny it," he laughed. " You did in- 
 deed." 
 
 " Yes," she said, and became again silent.
 
 1YG THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 "Apropos" said he. " I want to bring someone to 
 see you this afternoon — Baron von Geltschmidt." 
 
 " Who ? " 
 
 " He was the German capitalist, you know." 
 
 " What ! Why, what's he doing here ? " 
 
 " He came to see me — so he says. May I bring 
 him ? " 
 
 " Why, yes. He's a great — a great man, isn't he ? " 
 
 " Well, he's a great financier." 
 
 " And he came to see you ? " 
 
 " So he says." 
 
 " And don't you believe him ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I want your opinion," answered 
 Huston, with a smile. 
 
 " Are you serious? " she asked quickly. " I mean, 
 do you really want my opinion, or are you being 
 polite ? " 
 
 " T don't think you a fool, you know," said Willie 
 Huston. 
 
 She flashed a glance of understanding, mingled 
 with reproach, at him, and, leaning forward again, 
 said, 
 
 " Has he come about Omofaga? " 
 
 " That you might tell me too — or will you want 
 all Omofaga if you do so much ? " 
 
 For a moment she smiled in recollection. Then 
 her face grew sad. 
 
 " Much of Omofaga I shall have ! " she said.
 
 THE THING OR THE MAN. 177 
 
 " Oh, I'll write," he promised carelessly. 
 
 " Write ! " she repeated in low, scornful tones. 
 " Would you like to be written to about it ? It'll 
 happen to you, and I'm to be written to ! " 
 
 " Well, then, I won't write." 
 
 " Yes, do write." 
 
 Willie Euston smiled tolerantly, but his smile was 
 suddenly cut short, for Mrs. Dennison, not looking at 
 him but out to sea, asked herself in a whisper, which 
 was plainly not meant for him though he heard it, 
 
 "How shall I bear it?" 
 
 He had been tilting his chair back ; he brought 
 the front legs suddenly on to the ground again and 
 asked, 
 
 "Bear what?" 
 
 She started to find he had heard, but attempted no 
 evasion. 
 
 " When you've gone," she answered in simple di- 
 rectness. 
 
 He looked at her with raised eyebrows. There 
 was no embarrassment in her face, and no tremble in 
 her voice ; and no passion could he detect in either. 
 
 " How flat it will all be," she added in a tone of 
 utter weariness. 
 
 He was half-pleased, half-piqued at the way she 
 seemed to look at him. It not only failed to satisfy 
 him, but stirred a new dissatisfaction. It hinted 
 much, but only, it seemed to him, to negative it. It
 
 178 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 left Omofaga still all in all, and him of interest only 
 because he would talk of and work for Omofaga, and 
 keep the Omofaga atmosphere about her. Now this 
 was wrong, for Omofaga existed for him, not he for 
 Omofaga ; that was the faith of true disciples. 
 
 "You don't care about me," he said. "It's all 
 the Company — and only the Company because it 
 gives you something to do. Well, the Company'll go 
 on (I hope), and you'll hear about our doings." 
 
 She turned to him with a puzzled look. 
 
 " I don't know what it is," she said with a shake 
 of her head. Then, with a sudden air of understand- 
 ing, as though she had caught the meaning that be- 
 fore eluded her, she cried, " I'm just like you, I be- 
 lieve. If I went to Omofaga, and you had to stay " 
 
 " Oh, it would be the deuce ! " he laughed. 
 
 " Yes, yes. Well, it is — the deuce," she answered, 
 laughing in return. But in a moment she was grave 
 again. 
 
 Her attraction for him — the old special attraction 
 of the unknown and unconquered — came strongly 
 upon him, and mingled more now with pleasure in 
 her. Her silence let him think ; and he began to 
 think how wasted she was on Harry Dcnnison. An- 
 other thought followed, and to that he gave utterance. 
 
 " But you've lots of things you could do at home ; 
 you could have plenty to work at, and plenty of — of 
 influence, and so on."
 
 THE THING OR THE MAN. 179 
 
 " Yes, but — oh, it would come to Mr. Bel ford ! 
 Who wants to influence Mr. Belford? Besides, I've 
 grown to love it now, haven't you ? " 
 
 "Omofaga?" 
 
 " Yes ! It's so far off — and most people don't be- 
 lieve in it." 
 
 " No, confound them ! I wish they did ! " 
 
 " Do you ? I'm not sure I do." 
 
 She was so absorbed that she had not heard an 
 approaching step, and was surprised to see Huston 
 jump up while her last sentence was but half said. 
 
 " My dear Miss Valentine," he cried, his face light- 
 ing up with a smile of pleasure, " how pleasant to 
 meet you again ! " 
 
 There was no mistaking the sincerity of his greet- 
 ing. Marjory blushed as she gave him her hand, and 
 he fixed his eyes on her in undisguised approval. 
 
 " You're looking splendid," he said. " Is it the 
 air or the bathing or what ? " 
 
 Perhaps it was both in part, but, more than either, 
 it was a change that worked outwards from within, 
 and was giving to her face the expression without 
 which mere beauty of form or colour is poor in allure- 
 ment. The last traces of what Lord Semingham 
 meant by " insipidity " had been chased away. Hus- 
 ton felt the change though he could not track it. 
 
 Marjory, a bad dissembler, greeted him nervously, 
 almost coldly ; she was afraid to let her gaze rest on
 
 180 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 him or on Mrs. Dennison for long, lest it should hint 
 her secret. Her manner betrayed such uneasiness 
 that Ruston noticed it. Mrs. Dennison did not, for 
 something in Ruston's face had caught her attention. 
 She had seen many expressions in his eyes as he 
 looked at her — of sympathy, amusement, pleasure, 
 even (what had pleased her most) puzzle, but never 
 what she saw now. The look now was a man's hom- 
 age to beauty — it differs from every other — a lover 
 hardly seems to have it unless his love be beautiful — 
 and she had never yet seen it when he looked at her. 
 She turned away towards the sea, grasping the arm of 
 her chair with a sudden grip that streaked her fingers 
 red and white. Marjory also saw, and a wild hope 
 leapt up in her that her task needed not the doing. 
 But a moment later Ruston was back in Omofaga — 
 young Sir Walter being his bridge for yet another 
 transit. 
 
 " How's Mr. Dennison ? " asked Marjory, when he 
 gave her an opportunity. 
 
 " Oh, he's all right. You'd have heard, I suppose, 
 if he hadn't been ? " 
 
 It was true. Marjory recognised the inappropri- 
 ateness of her question, but Mrs. Dennison came to 
 the rescue. 
 
 " Marjory wants a personal impression," she said. 
 " You know she and my husband are great allies!" 
 
 " Well," laughed Ruston, " he was a little cross
 
 THE THING OR THE MAN. 181 
 
 with me because I would come to Dieppe. I should 
 have felt the same in his place ; but he's well enough, 
 1 think." 
 
 "I was going down to find Lady Semingham," 
 said Marjory. " Are you coming down this morning, 
 Maggie ? " 
 
 " Maggie " was something new — adopted at Mrs. 
 Dennison's request. 
 
 " I think not, dear." 
 
 " I am," said Ruston, taking up his walking stick. 
 " I shall be up with the Baron this afternoon, Mrs. 
 Dennison. Come along, Miss Valentine. We've been 
 having no end of palaver about Omofaga," and as they 
 disappeared down the cliff Mrs. Dennison heard his 
 voice talking eagerly to Marjory. 
 
 She felt her heart beating quickly. She had to 
 conquer a strange impulse to rise and hurry after 
 them. She knew that she must be jealous — jealous, 
 she said to herself, trying to laugh, that he should talk 
 about Omofaga to other people. Nonsense ! Why, 
 he was always talking of it ! There was a stronger 
 feeling in her, less vague, of fuller force. It had come 
 on her when he spoke of his going to Africa, but then 
 it was hard to understand, for with all her heart she 
 thought she was still bent on his going. It spoke 
 more clearly now, stirred by the threat of opposition. 
 At first it had been the thing — the scheme — the idea 
 — that had caught her; she had taken the man for the
 
 182 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 thing's sake, because to do such a thing proved him a 
 man after her pattern. But now, as she sat in the 
 little garden, she dimly traced her change — she loved 
 the scheme because it was his. She did not shrink 
 from testing it. " Yes," she murmured, " if he gave 
 it up now, I should go on with him to something else." 
 Then came another step — why should he not give it 
 up? Why should he go into banishment — he who 
 might go near to rule England? AVhy should he 
 empty her life by going? But if he went — and she 
 could not persuade herself that she had power to stop 
 his going — he must go from her side, it must be she 
 who gave him the stirrup-cup, she towards whom he 
 would look across the sea, she for whom he would 
 store up his brief, grim tales of victory, in whose eyes 
 he would see the reflection of his triumphs. Could 
 she fill such a place in his life ? She knew that she 
 did not yet, but she believed in herself. " I feel large 
 enough," she said with a smile. 
 
 Yet there was something that she had not yet 
 touched in him — the thing which had put that look 
 in his eyes, a thing that for the moment at least Mar- 
 jory Valentine had touched. Why had she not ? She 
 answered, with a strong clinging to self -approbation, 
 that it was because she would not. She told herself 
 that she had asked nothing from her intercourse with 
 him save the play of mind on mind— it was her mind 
 ami nothing else that her own home failed to satisfy.
 
 THE THING OR THE MAN. 183 
 
 She recalled the scornful disgust with which she had 
 listened to Semingham when he hinted to her that 
 there was only one way to rule a man. It seemed less 
 disgusting to her now than when he spoke. For, in 
 the light of that look in his eyes, there stood revealed 
 a new possibility — always obvious, never hitherto 
 thought of — that another would take and wield the 
 lower mighty power that she had disdained to grasp, 
 and by the might of the lower wrest from her the higher. 
 Was not the lower solidly based in nature, the higher 
 a fanciful structure resting in no sound foundation ? 
 The moment this spectre took form before her — the 
 moment she grasped that the question might lie be- 
 tween her and another — that it might be not what she 
 would take but what she could keep — her heart cried 
 out, to ears that shrank from the tumultuous reckless 
 cry, that less than all was nothing, that, if need be, all 
 must be paid for all. And, swift on the horror of her 
 discovery, came the inevitable joy in it — joy that will 
 be silenced by no reproofs, not altogether abashed by 
 any shame, that no pangs can rob utterly of its exist- 
 ence — a thing to smother, to hide, to rejoice in. 
 
 Yet she would not face unflinchingly what her 
 changing mind must mean. She tried to put it aside 
 — to think of something, ah ! of anything else, of any- 
 thing that would give her foothold. 
 
 " I love my husband," she found herself saying. 
 " I love poor old Harry and the children." She re-
 
 181 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 peatcd it again and again, praying the shibboleth to 
 show its saving virtue. It was part of her creed, part 
 of her life, to be a good wife and mother — part of her 
 traditions that women who were not that were noth- 
 ing at all, and that there was nothing a woman might 
 take in exchange for this one splendid, all-compre- 
 hending virtue. To that she must stand — it was 
 strange to be driven to argue with herself on such a 
 point. She mused restlessly as she sat ; she listened 
 eagerly for her children's footsteps mounting the hill ; 
 she prayed an interruption to rescue her from her 
 thoughts. Just now she would think no more about 
 it; it was thinking about it that did all the harm. 
 Yet while she was alone she could not choose but sur- 
 render to the thought of it — to the thought of what a 
 price she must pay for her traditions and her creed. 
 The payment, she cried, would leave life an empty 
 thing. Yet it must be paid — if it must. Was it now 
 come to that? Was this the parting of the roads? 
 
 " I must, yet I cannot ! I must not, yet I must." 
 It was the old clash of powers, the old conflict of com- 
 mands, the old ruthless will of nature that makes right 
 too hard and yet fastens anguish upon sin — that makes 
 us yearn for and hate the higher while we love and 
 loathe the lower.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE WORK OF A WEEK. 
 
 Much went to spoil the stay at Dieppe, but the 
 only overt trouble was the feeble health of the Baron 
 von Geltschmidt. The old man had rapidly made his 
 way into the liking of his new acquaintances. Sem- 
 ingham found his dry, worldly-wise, perhaps world- 
 weary, humour an admirable sauce to conversation; 
 Adela Ferrars detected kindness in him ; his gallant 
 deference pleased Lady Semingham. They were all 
 grieved when the cold winds laid hold of him, forced 
 him to keep house often, and drove him to furs and 
 a bath-chair, even when the sun shone most brightly. 
 Although they liked him, they implored him to fly 
 south. He would not move, finding pleasure in them, 
 and held fast by an ever-increasing uneasy interest in 
 Willie Ruston. Adela quarrelled with him heartily 
 and energetically on this score. To risk health be- 
 cause anyone was interesting was absurd ; to risk it 
 on Ruston's account most preposterous. " I'd be ill to 
 get away from him," she declared. The Baron was 
 
 (185)
 
 18G THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 obstinate, fatalistic as to his health, infatuated in his 
 folly ; stay he would, while Huston stayed. Yet what 
 Huston did, pleased him not ; for the better part of 
 the man — what led him to respond to kindness or 
 aifection, and abate something of his hardness where 
 he met no resistance — seemed to be conspiring with 
 his old domineering mood to lead him beyond all 
 power of warning or recall. 
 
 A week had passed since Ruston paid his first visit 
 to Mrs. Dennison in the cottage on the cliff. It was a 
 bright morning. The Baron was feeling stronger ; he 
 had left his chair and walked with Adela to a seat. 
 There they sat side by side, in the occasional talk and 
 easy silences of established friendship. The Baron 
 smoked his cigar; Adela looked idly at the sea; but 
 suddenly the Baron began to speak. 
 
 " I had a talk with our friend, Lord Semingham, 
 this morning," said he. 
 
 "About anything in particular?" 
 
 " I meant it to be, but he doesn't like talk that 
 leads anywhere in particular." 
 
 " No, he doesn't," said Adela, with a slight smile. 
 
 The Baron sat silent for a moment, then he 
 said, 
 
 " May I talk to you, Miss Ferrars? " and he looked 
 at her inquiringly. 
 
 " Why, of course," she answered. " Is it about 
 yourself, Baron? You're not worse, are you?"
 
 THE WORK OP A WEEK. 187 
 
 He took no notice of her question, but pointed 
 towards the cliff. 
 
 " What is happening up there? " he asked. 
 
 Adela started. She had not realised that he meant 
 to talk on that subject. 
 
 He detected her shrinking and hastened to defend 
 himself. 
 
 "Or are we to say nothing?" he asked. "Noth- 
 ing? AVhen we all see! Don't you see? Doesn't 
 Miss Valentine see ? Is she so sad for nothing ? Oh, 
 don't shake your head. And the other— this Mrs. 
 Dennison ? Am I to go on ? " 
 
 " No," said Adela sharply ; and added, a moment 
 later, " I know." 
 
 " And what does he mean ? " 
 
 " He ? " cried Adela. " Oh, he's not human." 
 
 " Nay, but he's terribly human," said the old 
 Baron. 
 
 Adela looked round at him, but then turned 
 away. 
 
 " I know what I would say, but I may not say it," 
 pursued the Baron. " To you I may not say it. I 
 know him. He will take, if he is offered." 
 
 His voice sank to a whisper. 
 
 " Then God help her," murmured Adela under her 
 breath, while her cheeks flamed red. 
 
 " Yes, he will take, and he will go. Ah, he is a 
 man to follow and to believe in — to trust your money,
 
 188 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 your fortune, your plans, even your secrets to; 
 but " 
 
 He paused, flinging away his extinct cigar. 
 
 " Well?" asked Adela in a low tone, eager in spite 
 of her hatred of the topic. 
 
 " Never your love," said he ; and added, " yet I 
 believe I, who am old enough to know better, and too 
 old to learn better, have almost given him mine. 
 Well, I am not a woman." 
 
 " He can't hurt you," said Adela. 
 
 " Yes, he can," said the Baron with a dreary smile. 
 
 Adela was not thinking of her companion. 
 
 " Why do you talk of it?" she asked impatiently. 
 
 " I know I was wrong." 
 
 " No, no. I mean, why do you talk of it now ? " 
 
 " Because," said the Baron, " he will not. Have 
 you seen no change in him this week ? A week ago, 
 he laughed when I talked to him. He did not mind 
 me speaking — it was still a trifle — nonsense — a week 
 ago ; if you like, an amusement, a pastime ! " 
 
 " Well, and now ? " 
 
 " Now he tells me to hold my tongue. And yet I 
 am glad for one thing. That girl will not have him 
 for a husband." 
 
 " Glad ! Why, Baron, don't you see " 
 
 "Yes, 1 see. Still I am glad." 
 
 " I can't go on talking about it; but is there no 
 hope ? "
 
 THE WORK OP A WEEK. 189 
 
 "Where is it? For the time — mind you for the 
 time — he is under that other woman's power." 
 
 " She's under his, you mean." 
 
 " 1 mean both. She was a friend of yours. Yes. 
 She is not altogether a bad woman ; but she has had a 
 bad fortune. Ah, there she is, and he with her." 
 
 As he spoke, Mrs. Dennison and Euston came by. 
 Mrs. Dennison flung them a glance of recognition ; it 
 was hardly more, and even for so much she seemed to 
 grudge the interruption. Kuston's greeting was more 
 ceremonious; he smiled, but his brows contracted a 
 little, and he said to his companion, 
 
 " Miss Ferrars isn't pleased with me." 
 
 " That hurts ? " she asked lightly. 
 
 " No," he answered, after a short jmuse, " I don't 
 know that it does." 
 
 But the frown dwelt a little longer on his face. 
 
 " Sit down here," she said, and they sat down in 
 full view of Adela and the Baron, about twenty yards 
 off. 
 
 " She's mad," murmured Adela, and the Baron 
 muttered assent. 
 
 It was the time of the morning when everybody 
 
 was out. Presently Lord and Lady Semingham 
 
 strolled by — Lady Semingham did not see Maggie 
 
 Dennison, her husband did, and Adela caught the 
 
 look in his eye. Then down from the hill and on to 
 
 the grass came Marjory Valentine. She saw both 
 13
 
 190 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 couples, and, for a perceptible moment, stood waver- 
 ing between them. She looked pale and weary. Mrs. 
 Dennison indicated her with the slightest gesture. 
 
 " You were asking for her. There she is," she 
 said to Willie Ruston. 
 
 " Well, I think I'll go and ask her." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " To come for a walk." 
 
 " Now ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " he asked with a surprised smile. 
 
 As he spoke, Marjory's hesitation ended ; she joined 
 Adela and the Baron. 
 
 " How rude you are ! " exclaimed Mrs. Dennison 
 angrily, "you asked me to come out with you." 
 
 " So I did. By Jove, so I did ! But you don't 
 walk, do you? And I feel rather like a walk now." 
 
 " Oh, if you prefer her society " 
 
 " Her prattle," he said, smiling, " amuses me. 
 You and I always discuss high matters, you see." 
 
 " She doesn't prattle, and you know it." 
 
 He looked at her for a moment. He had gone so 
 far as to rise, but he resumed his seat. 
 
 " What's the matter?" he asked tolerantly. 
 
 Maggie Dennison's lip quivered. The week that 
 had passed had been a stormy one to her. There had 
 been a breaking-down of barriers — barriers of honour, 
 conscience, and pride. All she could do to gain or 
 keep her mastery she had done. She had all but
 
 THE WORK OF A WEEK. 191 
 
 thrown herself at his feet. She hated to think of the 
 tilings she had said or half -said ; and she had seen 
 Marjory's eyes look wondering horror and pitying con- 
 tempt at her. Of her husband she would not think. 
 And she had won in return — she knew not what. It 
 hung still in the balance. Sometimes he would seem 
 engrossed in her ; but again he would turn to Marjory 
 or another with a kind of relief, as though she wearied 
 him. And of her struggles, of the great humiliations 
 she suffered, of all she sacrificed to him, he seemed 
 unconscious. Yet, cost what it might, she could not 
 let him go now. The screen of Omofaga was dropped ; 
 she knew that it was the man whose life she was reso- 
 lute to fill ; whether she called it love for him or what 
 else mattered little ; it seemed rather a mere condition 
 of existence, necessary yet not sweet, even revolting ; 
 but its alternative was death. 
 
 She had closed her eyes for a moment under the 
 stress of her pain. When she opened them, he was 
 looking at her. And the look she knew was at last in 
 his eyes. She put up her hand to ward it off ; it woke 
 her horror, but it woke her delight also. She could 
 not choose whether to banish it, or to live in it all 
 her life. She tried to speak, but her utterance was 
 choked. 
 
 " Why, I believe you're — jealous," said Willie Rus- 
 ton. " But then they always say I'm a conceited 
 chap."
 
 192 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 He spoke with a laugh, but he looked at her in- 
 tently. The little scene was the climax of a week's 
 gradual betrayal. Often in all the hours they had 
 spent together, in all the engrossing talks they had 
 had, something of the kind had appeared and disap- 
 peared ; he had wondered at her changefulness, her 
 moods of expansion and of coldness — a rapturous 
 greeting of him to be followed by a cold dismissal — an 
 eager sympathy alternating with wilful indifference. 
 She had, too, fits of prudence, when she would not go 
 with him — and then spasms of recklessness when her 
 manner seemed to defy all restraint and mock at the 
 disapproval of her friends. On these puzzles — to him, 
 preoccupied as he was and little versed in such mat- 
 ters, they had seemed such — the present moment shed 
 its light. He recalled, with understanding, tilings 
 that had passed meaninglessly before his eyes, that he 
 seemed to have forgotten altogether; the ambiguous 
 things became plain ; what had been, though plain, 
 yet strange, fell into its ordered place and became 
 natural. Tlie new relation between them proclaimed 
 itself the interpretation and the work of the bygone 
 week. 
 
 |[<t glove lay in her lap, and he touched it light- 
 ly ; the gesture speaking of their sudden new famil- 
 iarity. 
 
 Her reproach was no less eloquent; she rebuked 
 not the thing, but the rashness of it.
 
 THE WORK OF A WEEK. 1<J3 
 
 " Don't do that. They're looking," she found voice 
 to whisper. 
 
 He withdrew his hand, and, taking off his hat, 
 pushed the hair back from his forehead. Presently 
 he looked at her with an almost comical air of per- 
 plexity ; she was conscious of the glance, but she would 
 not meet it. He pursed his lips to whistle. 
 
 " Don't," she whispered sharply. " Don't whistle." 
 A whistle brought her husband to her mind. 
 
 The checked whistle rudely reflected his mingled 
 feelings. He wished that he had been more on his 
 guard — against her and against himself. There had 
 been enough to put him on his guard ; if he had been 
 put on his guard, this thing need not have happened. 
 He called the thing in his thoughts " inconvenient." 
 He was marvellously awake to the inconvenience of it ; 
 it was that which came uppermost in his mind as he 
 sat by Maggie Dennison. Yet, in spite of a phrase 
 that sounded so cold and brutal, his reflections paid 
 her no little compliment ; for he called the revelation 
 inconvenient all the more, and most of all, because he 
 found it of immense interest, because it satisfied sud- 
 denly and to the full a sense of interest and expecta- 
 tion that had been upon him, because it seemed to 
 make an immense change in his mind and to alter the 
 conditions of his life. Had it not done all this, its 
 inconvenience would have been much less — to him 
 and save in so far as he grieved for her — nay, it would
 
 194 THE GOD IN TIIE CAR. 
 
 have been, in reality, nothing. It was inconvenient 
 because it twisted his purposes, set him at jar with 
 himself, and cut across the orderly lines he had laid 
 down — and because, though it did all this, he was 
 not grieved nor angry at it. 
 
 He rose to his feet. Mrs. Dennison looked up 
 quickly. 
 
 " I shall go for my walk now," he said, and he 
 added in answer to her silent question, " Oh, yes, 
 alone. I've got a thing or two I want to think about." 
 
 Her eyes dropped as he spoke. He had smiled, 
 and she, in spite of herself, had smiled in answer ; but 
 she could not look at him while she smiled. He 
 stood there for an instant, smiling still ; then he grew 
 grave, and turned to walk away. Her sigh witnessed 
 the relaxation of the strain. But, after one step, he 
 faced her again, and said, as though the idea had just 
 struck him, 
 
 "I say, when does Dennison come?" 
 
 " In a week," she answered. 
 
 For just a moment again, he stood still, thought- 
 fully looking at her. Then he lifted his hat, wheeled 
 round, and walked briskly off towards the jetty at the 
 far end of the expanse of grass. Adela Ferrars, twen- 
 ty yards off, marked his going with a sigh of relief. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison sat where she was a little while 
 longer. Her agitation was quickly passing, and there 
 followed on it a feeling of calm. She seemed to have
 
 THE WORK OP A WEEK. 195 
 
 resigned charge of herself, to have given her conduct 
 into another's keeping. She did not know what he 
 would do ; he had uttered no word of pleasure or 
 pain, praise or blame ; and that question at the last — 
 about her husband — was ambiguous. Did he ask it, 
 fearing Harry's arrival, or did he think the arrival of 
 her husband would end an awkward position and set 
 him free? Really, she did not know. She had done 
 what she could — and what she could not help. He 
 must do what he liked — only, knowing him, she did 
 not think that she had set an end to their acquaint- 
 ance. And that for the moment was enough. 
 
 " A woman, Bessie," she heard a voice behind her 
 saying, " may be anything from a cosmic force to a 
 clothes-peg." 
 
 " I don't know what a cosmic force is," said Lady 
 Semingham. 
 
 " A cosmic force ? Why " 
 
 " But I don't want to know, Alfred. Why, Mag- 
 gie, that's a new shade of brown on your shoes. 
 Where do you get them ? " 
 
 Mrs. Dennison gave her bootmaker's address, and 
 Lady Semingham told her husband to remember it. 
 She never remembered that he always forgot such 
 things. 
 
 The arrival of the Seminghams seemed to break 
 the spell which had held Mrs. Dennison apart from 
 the group over against her. Adela strolled across,
 
 196 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 followed by Marjory, and the Baron on Marjory's 
 arm. The whole party gathered in a cluster ; but 
 Marjory hung loosely on the outskirts of the circle, 
 and seemed scarcely to belong to it. 
 
 The Baron seated himself in the place Willie 
 Ruston had left empty. The rest stood talking for a 
 minute or two, then Semingham put his hand in his 
 pocket and drew out a folded sheet of tracing-paper. 
 
 " We're all Omofagites here, aren't we? " he said ; 
 "even you, Baron, now. Here's a plan Carlin has 
 just sent me. It shows our territory." 
 
 Everybody crowded round to look as he unfolded 
 it. Mrs. Dennison was first in undisguised eagerness ; 
 and Marjory came closer, slipping her arm through 
 Adela Ferrars'. 
 
 " What does the blue mean ? " asked Adela. 
 
 " Native settlements." 
 
 " Oh ! And all that brown ? — it's mostly brown." 
 
 "Brown," answered Semingham, with a slight 
 smile, " means unexplored country." 
 
 " I should have made it all brown," said Adela, 
 and the Baron gave an appreciative chuckle. 
 
 " And what are these little red crosses ? " asked 
 Mrs. Dennison, laying the tip of her finger on one. 
 
 "Eh? What, those? Oh, let me sec. Here, 
 just hold it while I look at Carlin's letter. He ex- 
 plains it all," and Lord Semingham began to fumble 
 in his breast-pocket.
 
 THE WORK OP A WEEK. 197 
 
 " Dear me," said Bessie Semingham, in a tone of 
 delicate pleasure, " they look like tombstones." 
 
 " Hush, hush, my dear lady," cried the old Baron ; 
 " what a bad omen ! " 
 
 " Tombstones," echoed Maggie Dennison thought- 
 fully. " 80 they do — just like tombstones." 
 
 A pause fell on the group. Adela broke it. 
 
 " Well, Director, have you found your directions? " 
 she asked briskly. 
 
 " It was a momentary lapse of memory," said Sem- 
 ingham with dignity. " Those — er — little " 
 
 " No, not tombstones," interrupted the Baron ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 " Little — er — signposts are, of course, the forts 
 belonging to the Company. What else should they 
 be?" 
 
 " Oh, forts" murmured everybody. 
 
 " They are," continued Lord Semingham apolo- 
 getically, " in the nature of a prophecy at present, as 
 I understand." 
 
 " A very bad prophecy, according to Bessie," said 
 Mrs. Dennison. 
 
 " I hope," said the Baron, shaking his head, " that 
 the official name is more correct than Lady Seming- 
 ham's." 
 
 " So do I," said Marjory ; and added, before she 
 could think not to add, and with unlucky haste, " my 
 brother's going out, you know."
 
 198 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison looked at her. Then she crossed 
 over to her, saying to Adela, 
 
 " You never let me have a word with my own 
 guest, except at breakfast and bedtime. Come and 
 walk up and down with me, Marjory." 
 
 Marjory obeyed ; the group began to scatter. 
 
 " But didn't they look like tombstones, Baron ? " 
 said Bessie Semingham again, as she sat down and 
 made room for the old man beside her. When she 
 had an idea she liked it very much. lie began to be 
 voluble in his reproof of her gloomy fancies ; but she 
 merely laughed in glee at her ingenuity. 
 
 Adela, by a gesture, brought Semingham to her 
 side and walked a few paces off with him. 
 
 " Will you go with me to the post-office ? " she said 
 abruptly. 
 
 " By all means," he answered, feeling for his glass. 
 
 " Oh, you needn't get your glass to spy at me 
 with." 
 
 " Dear, dear, you use one yourself ! " 
 
 " I'll tell you myself why I'm going. You're go- 
 ing to send a telegram." 
 
 "Am I?" 
 
 " Yes; to invite someone to stay with you. Lord 
 Semingham, when you find a woman relies on a man 
 — on one man only — in trouble, what do you think ? " 
 
 She asked the question in a level voice, looking 
 straight before her.
 
 THE WORK OP A WEEK. 199 
 
 " That she's fond of him." 
 
 " And does he — the man — think the same ? " 
 
 " Generally. I think most men would. They're 
 seldom backward to think it, you know." 
 
 " Then," she said steadily, " you must think, and 
 he must think, what you like. I can't help it. I 
 want you to wire and ask a man to come and stay 
 with you." 
 
 He turned to her in surprise. 
 
 "Tom Loring," she said, and the moment the 
 name left her lips Semingham hastily turned his 
 glance away. 
 
 " Awkward — with the other fellow here," he ven- 
 tured to suggest. 
 
 " Mr. Huston doesn't choose your guests." 
 
 « But Mrs. " 
 
 " Oh, fancy talking of awkwardness now ! He 
 used to influence her once, you know. Perhaps he 
 might still. Do let us try," and her voice trembled 
 in earnestness. 
 
 " We'll try. Will he come ? He's very angry 
 with her." 
 
 And Adela answered, still looking straight in front 
 of her, 
 
 " I'm going to send him a wire, too." 
 
 " I'm very glad to hear it," said Lord Semingham.
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 THE LAST BARRIERS. 
 
 Willie Huston rested his elbows on the jetty- 
 wall and gazed across the harbour entrance. He had 
 come there to think ; and deliberate thinking was a 
 rare thing for him to set his head to. His brain dealt 
 generally — even with great matters, as all brains deal 
 with small — in rapid half-unconscious beats ; the pro- 
 cess coalescing so closely with the decision as to be 
 merged before it could be recognised. But about 
 this matter he meant to think ; and the first result of 
 his determination was (as it often is in such a case) 
 that nothing at all relevant would stay by him. 
 There was a man fishing near, and he watched the 
 float; he looked long at the big hotel at Puys, which 
 faced him a mile away, and idly wondered whether it 
 were full ; he followed the egress of a fishing boat 
 with strict attention. Then, in impatience, he turned 
 round and sat down on the stone bench and let his 
 eyes see nothing but the flags of the pavement. Even 
 then he hardly thought ; but after a time he became 
 
 (200)
 
 THE LAST BARRIERS. 20 1 
 
 vaguely occupied with Maggie Dennison, his mind 
 playing to and fro over her voice, her tricks of man- 
 ner, her very gait, and at last settling more or less 
 resolutely on the strange revelation of herself which 
 she had gradually made and had consummated that 
 day. It changed his feelings towards her; but 
 it did not change them to contempt. He had his 
 ideas, but he did not make ideal figures out of human- 
 ity ; and humanity could go very far wrong and sink 
 very deep in its lower possibilities without shocking 
 him. Nor did he understand her, nor realise how 
 great a struggle had brought what he saw to birth. 
 It seemed to him a thing not unnatural, even in her, 
 who was in much unlike most other women. There 
 are dominions that are not to be resisted, and we do 
 not think people weak simply because they are under 
 our own influence. His surprise was reserved for the 
 counter-influence which he felt, and strove not to ac- 
 knowledge; his contempt for the disturbance into 
 which he himself was thrown. At that he was half- 
 displeased, puzzled, and alarmed ; yet that, too, had 
 its delight. 
 
 " What rot it is !" he muttered, in the rude dialect 
 of self-communion, which sums up a bewildering con- 
 flict in a word of slang. 
 
 He was afraid of himself — and his exclamation be- 
 trayed the fear. Men of strong will are not all will ; 
 the strong will has other strong things to fight, and
 
 202 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 the strong head has mighty rebels to hold down- 
 That he felt ; but his fear of himself had its limits. 
 He was not the man — as he saw very well at this mo- 
 ment, and recognised with an odd mixture of pride 
 and humiliation — to give up his life to a passion. 
 Had that been the issue clearly and definitely set be- 
 fore him he would not have sat doubtful on the jetty. 
 He understood what of nobility lay in such a tempera- 
 ment, and his humiliation was because it made no 
 part of him ; but the pride overmastered, and at last 
 he was glad to say to himself that there was no danger 
 of his losing all for love. Indeed, was he in love ? In 
 love in the grand sense people talked and wrote about 
 so much? Well, there were other senses, and there 
 were many degrees. The question he weighed, or 
 rather the struggle which he was undergoing, was be- 
 tween resisting or yielding before a temptation to take 
 into his life something which should not absorb it, but 
 yet in a measure alter it, which allured him all the 
 more enticingly because, judging as he best could, he 
 could see no price which must be paid for it — well, 
 except one. And, as the one came into his mind, it 
 made him pause, and he mused on it, looking at it in 
 all lights. Sometimes he put the price as an act of 
 wrong which would stain him — for, apart from other, 
 maybe greater, maybe more fanciful obstacles, Harry 
 Dennison held him for a friend — sometimes as an act 
 of weakness which would leave him vulnerable. And,
 
 THE LAST BARRIERS. 203 
 
 after these attempted reasonings, he would fall again 
 to thinking of Maggie Dennison, her voice, her man- 
 ner, and the revelation of herself ; and in these pic- 
 turings the reasoning died away. 
 
 There are a few deliberate sinners, a few by whom 
 " Evil, be thou my Good " is calmly uttered as a dedi- 
 cation and a sacrament, but most men do not make 
 up their minds to be sinners or determine in cool re- 
 solve to do acts of the sort that lurked behind Willie 
 Huston's picturings. They only fail to make up their 
 minds not to do them. Euston, in a fury of impa- 
 tience, swept all his musings from him — it led to 
 nothing. It left him where he was. He was vexing 
 himself needlessly; he told himself that he could not 
 decide what he ought to do. In truth, he did not 
 choose to decide what it was that he chose to do. 
 And with the thoughts that he drove away went the 
 depression they had carried with them. He was con- 
 fident again in himself, his destiny, his career ; and in 
 its fancied greatness, the turmoil he had suffered sank 
 to its small proportions. He returned to his old stand- 
 point, and to the old medley of pride and shame it 
 gave him ; he might be of supreme importance to 
 Maggie Dennison, but she was only of some impor- 
 tance to him. He could live without her. But, at 
 present, he regarded her loss as a thing not necessary 
 to undergo. 
 
 It was late in the day that he met young Sir Wal-
 
 201 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 ter, who ran to him, open-mouthed with news. Walter 
 was afraid that the news would be unpalatable, and 
 could not understand such want of tact in Seming- 
 ham. To ask Tom Loring while Huston was there 
 argued a bluntness of perception strange to young 
 Sir Walter. But, be the news good or bad, he had 
 only to report ; and report it he did straightway to 
 his chief. Willie Huston smiled, and said that, if 
 Loring did not mind meeting him, he did not mind 
 meeting Loring ; indeed, he would welcome the op- 
 portunity of proving to that unbeliever that there 
 was water somewhere within a hundred miles of 
 Fort Imperial (which Tom in one of those arti- 
 cles had sturdily denied). Then he flirted away a 
 stone with his stick and asked if anyone had yet 
 told Mrs. Dennison. And, Sir Walter thinking not, 
 he said, 
 
 " Oh, well, I'm going there. I'll tell her." 
 
 " She'll know why he's coming," said Walter, nod- 
 ding his head wisely. 
 
 "Will she? Do you know?" asked Huston with 
 a smile — young Sir Walter's wisdom was always sure 
 of that tribute from him. 
 
 " If you'd seen Adela Ferrars, you'd know too. 
 She tries to make believe it's nothing, but she's — oh, 
 s h c ' s " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " She's all of a flutter," laughed Walter.
 
 THE LAST BARRIERS. 2<>5 
 
 " You've got to the bottom of that," said Huston 
 in a tone of conviction. 
 
 " Still, I think it's inconsiderate of Loring ; he 
 must know that Mrs. Dennison will find it rather 
 awkward. But, of course, if a fellow's in love, he 
 won't think of that." 
 
 " I suppose not," said Willie Huston, smiling again 
 at this fine scorn. 
 
 Then, with a sudden impulse, struck perhaps with 
 an envy of what he laughed at, he put his arm 
 through his young friend's, and exclaimed, with a 
 friendly confidential pressure of the hand, 
 
 " I say, Val, I wish the devil we were in Omofaga, 
 don't you ? " 
 
 " Eather ! " came full and rich from his compan- 
 ion's lips. 
 
 " With a few thousand miles between us and every- 
 thing — and everybody ! " 
 
 Young Sir Walter's eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Off in three months now," he reminded his 
 leader exultingly. 
 
 It could not be. The Fates will not help in such 
 a fashion, it is not their business to cut the noose a 
 man ties round his neck — happy is he if they do not 
 draw it tight. With a sigh, Willie Ruston dropped 
 his companion's arm, and left him with no other fare- 
 well than a careless nod. Of Tom Loring's coming 
 
 he thought little. It might be that Sir Walter had 
 14
 
 206 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 seen most of its meaning, and that Semingham was 
 acting as a benevolent match-maker — a character 
 strange for him, and amusing to see played — but, no 
 doubt, there was a little more. Probably Tom had 
 some idea of turning him from his path, of combating 
 his influence, of disputing his power. Well, Tom had 
 tried that once, and had failed ; he would fail again. 
 Maggie Dennison had not hesitated to resent such 
 interference ; she had at once (Ruston expressed it to 
 himself) put Tom in his right place. Tom would be 
 no more to her at Dieppe than in London — nay, he 
 would be less, for any power unbroken friendship and 
 habit might have had then would be gone by now. 
 Thus, though he saw the other meaning, he made light 
 of it, and it was as a bit of gossip concerning Adela 
 Ferrars, not as tidings which might affect herself, that 
 he told Mrs. Dennison of Tom's impending arrival. 
 
 On her the announcement had a very different 
 effect. For her the whole significance lay in what 
 Ruston ignored, and none in what had caught his 
 fancy. He was amazed to see the rush of colour to 
 her cheeks. 
 
 " Tom Loring coming here ! " she cried in some- 
 thing like horror. 
 
 Again, and with a laugh, Ruston pointed out the 
 motive of his coming, as young Sir Walter had inter- 
 preted it; but he added, as though in concession, and 
 with another laugh,
 
 THE LAST BARRIERS. 207 
 
 " Perhaps he wants to keep his eye on me, too. 
 He doesn't trust me further than lie can see me, you 
 know." 
 
 Without looking at him or seeming to listen to his 
 words, she asked, in low, indignant tones, 
 
 " How dare he come ? " 
 
 Willie Huston opened his eyes. He did not under- 
 stand so much emotion spent on such a trifle. Say it 
 was bad taste in Loring to come, or an impertinence ! 
 Well, it was not a tragedy at all events. He was 
 almost angry with her for giving importance to it; 
 and the importance she gave set him wondering. 
 But before he could translate his feeling into words, 
 she turned to him, leaning across the table that stood 
 between them, and clasping her hands. 
 
 " I can't bear to have him here now," she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "What harm will he do? You needn't see any- 
 thing of him," rejoined Ruston, more astonished at 
 each new proof of disquietude in her. 
 
 But Tom Loring was not to be so lightly dis- 
 missed from her mind ; and she did not seem to heed 
 when Ruston added, with a laugh, 
 
 " You got rid of him once, didn't you ? I should 
 think you could again." 
 
 " Ah, then ! That was different." 
 
 He looked at her curiously. She was agitated, 
 but there seemed to be more than agitation. As he
 
 208 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 read it, it was fear ; and discerning it, he spoke in 
 growing surprise and rising irritation. 
 
 " You look as if you were afraid of him." 
 
 " Afraid of him ? " she broke out. " Yes, I am 
 afraid of him." 
 
 "Of Loring?" he exclaimed in sheer wonder. 
 " Why, in heaven's name ? Loring's not " 
 
 He was going to say " your husband," but stopped 
 himself. 
 
 " I can't face him," she whispered. " Oh, you 
 know ! Why do you torment me ? Or don't you 
 know ? Oh, how strange you are ! " 
 
 And now tnere was fear in her eyes when she 
 looked at Huston. 
 
 He sat still a moment, and then in slow tones he said, 
 
 " I don't see what concern your affairs are of Lor- 
 ing's, or mine either, by God ! " 
 
 At the last word his voice rose a little, and his lips 
 shut tight as it left them. 
 
 " Oh, it's easy for you," she said, half in anger at 
 him, half in scorn of herself. " You don't know what 
 he is — what he was — to me." . 
 
 " What was Loring to you ? " he asked in sharp, 
 imperious tones — tones that made her hurriedly cry, 
 
 " No, no ; not that, not that. How could you 
 think that of me V " 
 
 tw What then ? " came curt and crisp from him, her 
 reproach falling unheeded.
 
 THE LAST BARRIERS. 209 
 
 " Oh, I wish — I wish you could understand just a 
 little ! Do you think it's all nothing to me ? Do you 
 think I don't mind ? " 
 
 " I don't know what it is to you," fie said dog- 
 gedly. " 1 know it's nothing to Loring." 
 
 " I don't believe," she went on, " that he's coming 
 because of Adela at all." 
 
 And as she spoke, she met his eyes for a moment, 
 and then shrank from them. 
 
 " Come, shall we speak plainly ? " he asked with 
 evident impatience. 
 
 " Ah, you will, I know," she wailed, with a smile 
 and a despairing gesture. She loved and dreaded 
 him for it. " Not too plainly, Willie ! " 
 
 His mouth relaxed. 
 
 " Why do you worry about the fellow ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Well, I'll speak plainly, too," she cried. " He's 
 
 not a fool ; and he's an honest man. That's why I 
 
 don't want him here ; " and enduring only till she 
 
 had flung out the truth, she buried her face in her 
 
 hands. 
 
 " I've had enough of him," said Willie Euston, 
 
 frowning. " He's always got in my way ; first about 
 
 the Company — and now " 
 
 He broke off, pushing his chair back, and rising to 
 his feet. He walked to the window of the little sit- 
 ting-room where they were ; the sun was setting over
 
 210 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 the sea, and early dusk gathering. It was still, save 
 for the sound of the waves. 
 
 "Is there nobody at home?" he asked, with his 
 back towards her. 
 
 " No. Marjory and the children have gone down 
 to the Rome to have tea with Bessie Semingham." 
 
 He waited a moment longer, looking out, then he 
 came back and stood facing her. She was leaning 
 her head on her hand. At last she spoke in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " lie's Harry's friend," she said, " and he used to 
 be mine ; and he trusted me." 
 
 Willie Huston threw his head back with a little 
 sharp jerk. 
 
 " Oh, well, I didn't come to talk about Tom Lor- 
 ing," be said. "If you value his opinion so very 
 much, why, you must keep it ; that's all," and he 
 moved towards where his hat was lying. " But I'm 
 afraid I can't share my friends with him." 
 
 " Oh, I know you won't share anything with any- 
 body," said Maggie Dennison, iier voice trembling 
 between a sob and a laugh. 
 
 He turned instantly. His face lighted up, and the 
 sun, casting its last rays on her eyes, made tbem 
 answer with borrowed brilliance. 
 
 " I won't share you with Loring, anyhow," he 
 cried, walking close up to her, and resting his hand 
 on the table.
 
 THE LAST BARRIERa 211 
 
 She laid hers gently on it. 
 
 " Don't go to Omofaga, Willie," she said. 
 
 For a moment he sheerly stared at her ; then he 
 hurst into a merry unrestrained peal of laughter. 
 Next he lifted her hand and kissed it. 
 
 " You are the most wonderful woman in the 
 world," said he, his mouth quivering with amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 "Oh!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms wide 
 for a moment. 
 
 " Well, what's the matter ? What have I done 
 wrong now ? " 
 
 She rose and walked up and down the room. 
 
 " I wish I'd never seen you," she said from the 
 far end of it. 
 
 " I wish I'd never seen — Tom Loring." 
 
 " Ah, that's the only thing ! " she cried. " I may 
 live or I may die, or I may — do anything you like ; 
 hut I mustn't have another friend ! I mustn't give a 
 thought to what anybody else thinks of me ! " 
 
 " You mustn't balance me against Tom Loring," 
 he answered between his teeth, all signs of his merri- 
 ment gone now. 
 
 For a moment — not long, but seeming very long — 
 there was silence in the room ; and, while the brief 
 stillness reigned, she fought a last battle against him, 
 calling loyalty and friendship to her aid, praying their 
 alliance against the overbearing demand he made on
 
 212 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 her — against his roughness, his blindness to all she 
 suffered for him. But the strife was short. Lifting 
 her hands above her head, and bringing them down 
 through the air as with a blow, she cried, 
 
 " My God, I balance nothing against you ! " 
 
 Her reward — her onlv reward — seemed on the 
 
 at 
 
 instant to be hers. Willie Ruston was transformed ; 
 his sullenness was gone ; his eyes were alight with 
 triumph ; the smile she loved was on his lips, and 
 he had forgotten those troubled, useless, mazy mus- 
 ings on the jetty. He took a quick step towards 
 her, holding out both his hands. She clasped 
 them. 
 
 " Nothing ? " he asked in a low tone. " Nothing, 
 Maggie ? " 
 
 She bowed her head for answer ; it was the attitude 
 of surrender, of helplessness, and of trust, and it ap- 
 pealed to the softer feeling in him which her resistance 
 had smothered. He was strongly moved, and his face 
 was pale as he drew her to him and kissed her lips; 
 but all he said was, 
 
 " Then the deuce take Tom Loring ! " 
 
 It seemed to her enough. The light devil-may- 
 care words surely covered a pledge from him to her — 
 something in return from him to her. At last, surely 
 he was hers, and her wishes his law. It was her mo- 
 ment; she would ask of him now the uttermost wish 
 of her heart — the wish that had displaced all else —
 
 THE LAST BARRIERS. 213 
 
 the passionate wish not to lose him — not, as it were, 
 to be emptied of him. 
 
 "And Omofaga?" she whispered. 
 
 His eyes looked past her, out into the dim twilight, 
 into the broad world — the world that she seemed to 
 ask him to give for her, as she was giving her world 
 for him. He laughed again, but not as he had laughed 
 before. There was a note of wonder in his laugh now 
 — of wonder that the prayer seemed now not so utterly 
 absurd — that he could imagine himself doing even 
 that — spoiling his heart of its darling ambition — for 
 her. Yet, even in that moment of her strongest sway, 
 as her arms were about him, he was swearing to him- 
 self that he would not. 
 
 She did not press for an answer. A glance into 
 his distant eyes gave her one, perhaps, for she sighed 
 as though in pain. Hearing her, he bent his look 
 on her again. Though he might deny that last 
 boon, he had given her much. So she read ; and, 
 drawing herself to her full height, she released one 
 of her hands from his, and held it out to him. For 
 a moment he hesitated; then a slow smile breaking 
 on his face, he bent and kissed it, and she whispered 
 over his bent head, half in triumph, half in apology 
 for bidding him bend his head even in love, 
 
 " I like pretending to be queen — even with you, 
 Willie." 
 
 Her flattery, so sweet to him, because it was wrung
 
 21J. THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 from her all against her will, and was for him alone 
 of men, thrilled through him and he was drawing her 
 to him again when the merry chatter of a child struck 
 on their ears from the garden. 
 
 She shrank back. 
 
 " Hark ! " she murmured. " They're coming." 
 
 " Yes," he said, with a frown. " I shall come to- 
 morrow, Maggie." 
 
 " To-morrow ? Every day ? " said she. 
 
 " Well, then, every day. But to-morrow all day." 
 
 " Ah, yes, all day to-morrow." 
 
 " But I must go now." 
 
 " No, no, don't go," she said quickly. " Sit down ; 
 see, sit there. Don't look as if you'd thought of go- 
 mg." 
 
 He did as she bade him, trying to assume an in- 
 different air. 
 
 She, too, sat down, her eyes fixed on the door. A 
 strange look of pain and shame spread over her face. 
 She must bend to deceive her children, to dread de- 
 tection, to play little tricks and weave little devices 
 against the eyes of those for whom she had been an 
 earthly providence— the highest, most powerful, and 
 best they knew. Willie Huston did not follow the 
 thought that stamped its mark on her face then, nor 
 understand why, with a sudden gasp, she dashed her 
 hand across her eyes and turned to him with trem- 
 bling lips, crying, in low tones,
 
 THE LAST BARRIERS. 215 
 
 " Ah, but I have yon, Willie!" 
 
 Before he could answer her appeal, the voices were 
 in the passage. Her face grew calm, save for a slight 
 frown on her brow. She shaped her lips into a smile 
 to meet the incomers. She shot a rapid glance of 
 caution and warning at him. The door was flung 
 open, and the three children rushed in, Madge at 
 their head. Madge, seeing Willie Huston, stopped 
 short, and her laughter died away. She turned and 
 said, 
 
 " Marjory, here's Mr. Ruston." 
 
 None could mistake her tone for one of welcome. 
 
 Marjory Valentine came forward. She looked at 
 neither of them, but sat down near the table. 
 
 " Well, Madge," said Mrs. Dennison, " there's good 
 news for you, isn't there ? Your friend's coming." 
 
 Madge, finding (as she thought) sympathy, came 
 to her mother's knee. 
 
 " Yes, I'm glad," she said. " Are you glad, mother?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind," answered Mrs. Dennison, 
 kissing her; but she could not help one glance at 
 Willie Ruston. Bitterly she repented it, for she 
 found Marjory Valentine following it with her open 
 sorrowful eyes. She rose abruptly, and Ruston rose 
 also, and witb brief good-nights — Madge being kissed 
 only on strong persuasion — took his leave. The chil- 
 dren flocked away to take off their hats, and Marjory 
 w r as left alone with her hostess.
 
 21G THE GOD IN TBE CAR. 
 
 The girl looked pale, weary, and sad. Mrs. Den- 
 nison was stirred to an impulse of compassion. Walk- 
 ing up to where she sat, she bent down as though to 
 kiss her. Marjory looked up. There was a question 
 — it seemed to be a question — in her face. Mrs. Den- 
 nison flushed red from neck to forehead, and then 
 grew paler than the pallor she had pitied. The girl's 
 uuspoken question seemed to echo hauntingly from 
 every corner of the little room, Are your lips — clean?
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A SOUND IN THE NIGHT. 
 
 Slow in forming, swift iu acting; slow in the 
 making, swift in the working; slow to the summit, 
 swift down the other slope ; it is the way of nature, 
 and the way of the human mind. What seemed yes- 
 terday unborn and impossible, is to-day incipient and 
 a great way off, to-morrow complete, present, and ac- 
 complished. After long labour a thing springs forth 
 full grown ; to deny it, or refuse it, or fight against it, 
 seems now as vain as a few hours ago it was to hope 
 for it, or to fear, or to imagine, or conceive it. In 
 like manner, the slow, crawling, upward journey can 
 be followed by every eye ; its turns, its twists, its 
 checks, its zigzags may be recorded on a chart. Then 
 is the brief pause — on the summit — and the tottering 
 incline towards the declivity. But how describe what 
 comes after? The dazzling rush that beats the eye, 
 that in its fury of advance, its paroxysm of speed, is 
 void of halts or turns, and, darting from point to 
 point, covers and blurs the landscape till there seems 
 
 (217)
 
 218 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 nothing but the moving thing; and that again, while 
 the watcher still tries vainly to catch its whirl, has 
 sprung, and reached, and ceased ; and, save that there 
 it was and here it is, he would not know that its fierce 
 stir had been. 
 
 Such a race runs passion to its goal, when the reins 
 hang loose. Hours may do what years have not done, 
 and minutes sum more changes than long days could 
 stretch to hold. The world narrows till there would 
 seem to be nothing else existent in it — nothing of all 
 that once held out the promise (sure as it then claimed 
 to be) of escape, of help, or warning. The very prom- 
 ise is forgotten, the craving for its fulfilment dies 
 away. " Let me alone," is the only cry ; and the ap- 
 peal makes its own answer, the entreaty its own con- 
 cession. 
 
 Some thirty hours had passed since the last 
 recorded scene, and Marjory Valentine was still under 
 Mrs. Dennison's roof. It had been hard to stay, but 
 the girl would not give up her self-imposed hopeless 
 task. Helpless she had proved, and hopeless she had 
 become. The day had passed with hardly a word 
 spoken between her and her hostess. Mrs. Dennison 
 had been out the greater part of the time, and, when 
 out, she had been with Ruston. She had come in to 
 dinner at half-past seven, and at nine had gone to her 
 room, pleading fatigue and a headache. Marjory had 
 sat up a little longer, with an unopened book on her
 
 A SOUND IN THE NIGHT. 210 
 
 knee. Then she also went to bed, and tried vainly to 
 sleep. She had left her bed now, and, wrapped in a 
 dressing-gown, sat in a low arm-chair near the win- 
 dow. It was a dark and still night; a thick fog hung 
 over the little garden ; nothing was to be heard save 
 the gentle roll of a quiet sea, and the occasional blast 
 of a steam whistle. Marjory's watch had stopped, but 
 she guessed it to be somewhere in the small hours of 
 the morning — one o'clock, perhaps, or nearing two. 
 There was an infinite Aveary time, then, before the sun 
 would shine again, and the oppression of the misty 
 darkness be lifted off. She hated the night— this 
 night — it savoured not of rest to her, but of death ; 
 for sbe was wrought to a nervous strain, and felt her 
 imaginings taking half-bodily shapes about her, so 
 that she was fearful of looking to the right hand or 
 the left. Sleep was impossible ; to try to sleep like a 
 surrender to the mysterious enemies round her. Time 
 seemed to stand still ; she counted sixty once, to mark 
 a minute's flight, and the counting took an eternity. 
 The house was utterly noiseless, and she shivered at 
 the silence. She would have given half her life, she 
 felt, for a ray of the sun ; but half a life stretched be- 
 tween her and the first break of morning. Sitting 
 there, she heaped terrors round her; the superstitions 
 that hide their heads before daytime mockery reared 
 them now in victory and made a prey of her. The 
 struggle she had in her weakness entered on seemed
 
 220 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 less now with human frailty than against the strong 
 and evil purpose of some devil ; in face of which she 
 was naught. How should she be? She had not, she 
 told herself in morbid upbraiding, even a pure motive 
 in the fight; her hatred of the sin had been less keen 
 had she not once desired the love of him that caused 
 it, and when she arrested Maggie Dennison's kiss, she 
 shamed a rival in rebuking an unfaithful wife. Then 
 she cried rebelliously against her anguish. Why had 
 this come on her, darkening bright youth? Why was 
 she compassed about wfth trouble? And why — why 
 — why did not the morning come? 
 
 The mist was thick and grey against the window. 
 A fog-horn roared, and the sea, regardless, repeated 
 its even beat; behind the feeble interruptions there 
 sounded infinite silence. She hid her face in her 
 hands. Then she leapt up and flung the window open 
 wide. The damp fog-folds settled on her face, but 
 she heard the sea more plainly, and there were sounds 
 in the air about her. It was not so terribly quiet. 
 She peered eagerly through the mist, but saw nothing 
 save vague tremulous shapes, vacant of identity. Still 
 the world, the actual, earthly, healthy world, was 
 there — a refuge from imagination. 
 
 She stood looking ; and, as she looked, one shape 
 seemed to grow into a nearer likeness of something 
 definite. It was motionless; it differed from the rest 
 only in being darker and of rather sharper outline.
 
 A SOUND IN THE NIGHT. 221 
 
 It must bo a tree, she thought, but remembered no 
 tree there ; the garden held only low-growing shrubs. 
 A post? But the gate lay to the right, and this stood 
 on her left hand, hard by the door of the house. 
 What then? The terror came on her again, but she 
 stood and looked, longing to find some explanation 
 for it — some meaning on which her mind could rest, 
 and, reassured, drive away its terrifying fancies. For 
 the shape was large in the mist, and she could not tell 
 what it might mean. Was it human ? On her super- 
 stitious mood the thought flashed bright with sudden 
 relief, and she cried beseechingly, 
 
 « Who is it ? Who is there ? " 
 
 A human voice in answer would have been heaven 
 to her, but no answer came. With a stifled cry, she 
 shut the window down, and stood a moment, listening 
 — eager, yet fearful, to hear. Hark ! Yes, there was 
 a sound! What was it? It was a footstep on the 
 gravel — a slow, uncertain, wavering, intermittent step, 
 as though of someone groping with hesitating feet 
 and doubtful resolution through the mist. She must 
 know what it was — who it was — what it meant. She 
 started up again, laying both hands on the window- 
 sash. But then terror conquered curiosity; gasping 
 as if breath failed her and something still pursued, she 
 ran across the room and flung open the door. She 
 must find someone — Maggie or someone. 
 
 On the threshold she paused in amazement. The 
 15
 
 222 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 door of Mrs. Dennison's room was open, and Maggie 
 stood in the doorway, holding a candle, behind which 
 her face gleamed pale and her eyes shone. She was 
 muffled in a long white wrapper, and her dark hair 
 fell over her shoulders. The candle shook in her 
 hand, but, on sight of Marjory, her lips smiled beneath 
 her deep shining eyes. Marjory ran to her crying, 
 
 " Is it you, Maggie ? " 
 
 " Who should it be ? " asked Mrs. Dennison, still 
 smiling, so well as her fast-beating breath allowed her. 
 " Why aren't you in bed ? " 
 
 The girl grasped her hand, and pushed her back 
 into the room. 
 
 "Maggie, I Hark ! there it is again ! There's 
 
 something outside — there, in the garden ! If you open 
 the window " 
 
 As she spoke, Mrs. Dennison darted quick on silent 
 naked feet to the window, and stood by it; but she 
 seemed rather to intercept approach to it than to 
 think of opening it. Indeed there was no need. The 
 slow uncertain step sounded again ; there were five or 
 six seeming footfalls, and the women stood motionless, 
 listening to them. Then there was stillness outside, 
 matching the hush within ; till Maggie Dennison, 
 tearing the wrapper loose from her throat, said in low 
 tones, 
 
 " I hear nothing outside ;" and she put the candle 
 on the table by her. " You can see nothing for the
 
 A SOUND IN THE NIGHT. 223 
 
 fog," she added as she gazed through tho glass. Her 
 tone was strangely full of relief. 
 
 " I opened the window," whispered Marjory, " and 
 I Silw — I thought I saw — something. And then I heard 
 — that. You heard it, Maggie?" 
 
 The girl was standing in the middle of the room, 
 her eyes fixed on Mrs. Dennison, who leant against the 
 window-sash with a strained, alert, watchful look on 
 her face. 
 
 " I heard you open the window and call out some- 
 thing," she said. " That's all I heard." 
 
 " But just now — just now as we stood here?" 
 
 Mrs. Dennison did not answer for a moment ; her 
 ear was almost against the panes, and her face was 
 like a runner's as he waits for the starter's word. 
 There was nothing but the gentle beat of the sea. 
 Mrs. Dennison pushed her hair back over her shoul- 
 ders and sighed ; her tense frame relaxed, and the 
 fixed smile on her lips seemed, in broadening, to lose 
 something of its rigidity. 
 
 " No, I didn't, you silly child," she said. " You're 
 full of fancies, Marjory." 
 
 The curl of her lip and the shrug of her shoulders 
 won no attention. 
 
 " It went across the garden from the door — across 
 towards the gate," said Marjory, " towards the path 
 down. I heard it. It came from near the door. I 
 heard it."
 
 224: THE GOD IN TIIE CAR. 
 
 Mrs. Dermison shook her head. The girl sprung 
 forward and again caught her by the arm. 
 
 " You heard too ? " she cried. " I know you heard ! " 
 and a challenge rang in her voice. 
 
 " I didn't hear," she repeated impatiently, " hut I 
 daresay you did. Perhaps it was a man — a thief, or 
 somebody lost in the fog. Would you like me to wake 
 the footman? I can tell him to take a lantern and 
 look if anyone's in the garden." 
 
 Marjory took no notice of the offer. 
 
 " But if it was anyone, he'll have gone now," con- 
 tinued Maggie Dennison, "your opening the window 
 will have frightened him. You made such a noise — 
 you woke me up." 
 
 " Were you asleep ? " came in quick question. 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Dennison steadily, " I was 
 asleep. Couldn't you sleep ? " 
 
 " Sleep ? No, I couldn't sleep. I was afraid." 
 
 " You're as bad as the children," said Mrs. Denni- 
 son, laughing gently. " Come, go back to bed. Shall 
 I come and sit by you till it's light? " 
 
 The girl seemed not to hear; she drew nearer, 
 searching Mrs. Dennison's face with suspicious eyes. 
 Maggie could not face her ; she dropped her glance to 
 the floor and laughed nervously and fretfully. Sud- 
 denly Marjory threw herself on the floor at her friend's 
 feet. 
 
 " Maggie, come away from here," she beseeched.
 
 A SOUND IN THE NIGHT. 225 
 
 " Do come ; do come away directly. Maggie, dear, I 
 love you so, and — and I was unkind last night. Do 
 come, darling ! We'll go back together — back home," 
 and she burst into sobbing. 
 
 Maggie Dennison stood passive and motionless, her 
 hands by her side. Her lips quivered and she looked 
 down at the girl kneeling at her feet. 
 
 " Won't you come ? " moaned Marjory. " Oh, Mag- 
 gie, there's still time ! " 
 
 Mrs. Dennison knew what she meant. A strange 
 smile came over her face. Yes, there was time ; in a 
 sense there was time, for the uncertain footfalls had 
 not reached their goal — arrested by that cry from the 
 window, they had stopped — wavered — retreated — and 
 were gone. Because a girl had not slept, there was 
 time. Yet what difference did it make that there was 
 still time — to-night? Since to-morrow was coming 
 and must come. 
 
 " Time ! " she echoed in a whisper. 
 
 " For God's sake, come, Maggie ! Come to-mor- 
 row — you and the children. Come back with them to 
 England ! Maggie, I can't stay here ! " 
 
 Mrs. Dennison put out her hands and took Mar- 
 jory's. 
 
 " Get up," she said, almost roughly, and dragged 
 the girl to her feet. "You can go, Marjory; I— I 
 suppose you're not happy here. You can go." 
 
 " And you ? "
 
 226 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " I shan't go," said Maggie Dennison. 
 
 Marjory, standing now, shrank back from her. 
 
 " You won't go ? " she whispered. " Why, what 
 are you staying for ? " 
 
 " You forget," said Mrs. Dennison coldly. " I'm 
 waiting for my husband." 
 
 " Oh ! " moaned Marjory, a world of misery and 
 contempt in her voice. 
 
 At the tone Mrs. Dennison's face grew rigid, and, 
 if it could be, paler than before ; she had been called 
 " liar " to her face, and truly. It was lost to-night 
 her madness mourned — hoped for to-morrow that held 
 her in her place. 
 
 The fog was lifting outside ; the darkness grew 
 less dense-; a distant, dim, cold light began to reveal 
 the day. 
 
 " See, it's morning," said Mrs. Dennison. " You 
 needn't be afraid any longer. Won't you go back to 
 your own room, Marjory ? " 
 
 Marjory nodded. She wore a helpless bewildered 
 look, and she did not speak. She started to cross the 
 room, when Mrs. Dennison asked her, 
 
 "Do you mean to go this morning? I suppose 
 the Semingbams will take you, if you like. We can 
 make some excuse if you like." 
 
 Marjory stood still, then she sank on a chair 
 near her, and began to sob quietly. Mrs. Denni- 
 son slowly walked to her, and stood by her. Then,
 
 A SOUND IN THE NIGHT. 227 
 
 gently and timidly, she laid her hand on the girl's 
 head. 
 
 " Don't cry," she said. " Why should you cry?" 
 
 Marjory clutched her hand, crying, 
 
 " Maggie, Maggie, don't, don't ! " 
 
 Mrs. Dennison's eyes filled with tears. She let her 
 hand lie passive till the girl released it, and, looking 
 up, said, 
 
 " I'm not going, Maggie. I shall stay. Don't 
 send me away ! Let me stay till Mr. Dennison 
 comes." 
 
 " What's the use? You're unhappy here." 
 
 " Can't I help you ? " asked the girl, so low that it 
 seemed as though she were afraid to hear her own 
 voice. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison's self-control suddenly gave way. 
 
 " Help ! " she cried recklessly. " No, you can't 
 help. Nobody can help. It's too late for anyone to 
 help now." 
 
 The girl raised her head with a start. 
 
 " Too late ! Maggie, you mean ? " 
 
 " No, no, no," cried Mrs. Dennison, and then her 
 eager cry died swiftly away. 
 
 Wliy protest in horror ? By no grace of hers was 
 it that it was not too late. The girl's eyes were on 
 her, and she stammered, 
 
 " I mean nothing — nothing. Yes, you must go. 
 I hate — no, no ! Marjory, don't push me away ! Let
 
 228 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 me touch you ! There's no reason 1 shouldn't touch 
 you. I mean, I love you, but — I can't have you here." 
 
 "Why not?" came from the girl in slow, strong 
 tones. 
 
 A moment later, she sprang to her feet, her eyes 
 full of new horror, as the vague suspicion grew to a 
 strange undoubting certainty. 
 
 " Who was it in the garden? Who was out there? 
 Maggie, if I hadn't ?" 
 
 She could not end. On the last words her voice 
 sank to a fearful whisper ; when she had uttered them 
 — with their unfinished, yet plain and naked, question 
 — she hid her face in her hands, listening for the an- 
 swer. 
 
 A minute — two minutes — passed. There was no 
 sound but Maggie Dennison's quick breathings ; once 
 she started forward with her lips parted as if to speak, 
 and a look of defiance on her face ; once too, entreaty, 
 hope, tenderness dawned for a moment. In anger or 
 in sorrow, the truth was hard on being uttered ; but 
 the impulse failed. She arrested the words on her lips, 
 and with an angry jerk of her head, said petulantly, 
 
 " Oh, you're a silly girl, and you make me silly too. 
 There's nothing the matter. I don't know who it was 
 or what it was. Very likely it was nothing. I heard 
 nothing. It was all your imagination." Her voice 
 grew harder, colder, more restrained as she went on. 
 " Don't think about what I've said to-night — and don't
 
 A SOUND IN THE NIGHT. 329 
 
 chatter about it. You upset me with your fancies. 
 Marjory, it means nothing." 
 
 The last words were imperative in their insistence, 
 but all the answer Marjory made was to raise her head 
 and ask, 
 
 " Am I to go?" while her eyes added, too plainly 
 for Maggie Dennison not to read them, " You know 
 the meaning of that." 
 
 Under the entreaty and the challenge of her eyes, 
 Mrs. Dennison could not give the answer which it was 
 her purpose to give — the answer which would deny 
 the mad hope that still filled her, the hope which still 
 cried that, though to-night was gone, there was to- 
 morrow. It was the answer she must make to all the 
 wor ld — which she must declare and study to confirm 
 in all her acts and bearing. But there — alone with 
 the girl — under the compelling influence of the reluc- 
 tant confidence — that impossibility of open falsehood 
 — which the time and occasion seemed strangely to 
 build up between them — she could not give it plainly. 
 She dared not bid the girl stay, with that hope at her 
 heart ; she dared not cast away the cloak by bidding 
 her go. 
 
 " You must do as you like," she said at last. " I 
 can't help you about it," 
 
 Marjory caught at the narrow chance the answer 
 left her ; with returning tenderness she stretched out 
 her hands towards her friend, saying,
 
 230 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Maggie, do tell me ! I shall believe what you 
 tell me." 
 
 Mrs. Dennison drew back from the contact of the 
 outstretched hands. Marjory rose, and for an instant 
 they stood looking at one another. Then Marjory 
 turned, and walked slowly to the door. To her own 
 room she went, to fear and to hope, if hope she could. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison was left alone. The night was far 
 gone, the morning coming apace. Her lips moved, as 
 she gazed from the window. Was it in thanksgiving 
 for the escape of the night, or in joy that the morrow 
 was already to-day ? She could not tell ; yes, she was 
 glad — surely she was glad ? Yet, as at last she flung 
 herself upon her bed, she murmured, " He'll come 
 early to-day," and then she sobbed in shame.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY. 
 
 "Willie Ruston was half-dressed when the cham- 
 ber-maid knocked at his door. He opened it and 
 took from her three or four letters. Laying them on 
 the table he finished his dressing — with him a quick 
 process, devoid of the pleasant lounging by which 
 many men cheat its daily tiresomeness. At last, when 
 his coat was on, he walked two or three times up and 
 down the room, frowning, smiling for an instant, 
 frowning long again. Then he jerked his head im- 
 patiently as though he had had too much of his 
 thoughts, and, going to the table, looked at the ad- 
 dresses on his letters. With a sudden access of eager- 
 ness he seized on one and tore it open. It bore Car- 
 lin's handwriting, and he groaned to see that the four 
 sides were close-filled. Old Carlin was terribly ver- 
 bose and roundabout in his communications, and a 
 bored look settled on Willie Ruston's face as he read 
 a wilderness of small details, skirmishes with unruly 
 clerks, iniquities of office-boys, lamentations on the 
 
 (231)
 
 232 THE G0D IN THE CAR - 
 
 apathy of the public, and lastly, a conscientious ac- 
 count of the health of the writer's household. With 
 a sigh he turned the second page. 
 
 " By the way," wrote Carlin, " I have had a letter 
 from Dctchmore. lie draws back about the railway, 
 and says the Government won't sanction it." 
 
 Willie Huston raced through the rest, muttering 
 to himself as he read, " Why the deuce didn't he wire ? 
 What an old fool it is ! " and so forth. Then he flung 
 down the letter, put his hands deep in his pockets and 
 stood motionless for a few moments. 
 
 " I must go at once," he said aloud. 
 
 lie stood thinking, and a rare expression stole over 
 his face. It showed a doubt, a hesitation, a faltering 
 — the work and the mark of the day and the night 
 that were gone. He walked about again ; he went to 
 the window and stared out, jangling the money in his 
 pockets. For nearly five minutes that expression was 
 on his face. For nearly five minutes — and it seemed 
 no short time — he was torn by conflicting forces. For 
 nearly five minutes he wavered in his allegiance, and 
 Omofaga had a rival that could dispute its throne. 
 Then his brow cleared and his lips shut tight again. 
 He had made up his mind; great as the thing was 
 that held him where he was, yet he must go, and the 
 tiling must wait. Wheeling round, he took up the 
 letter and, passing quickly through the door, went to 
 young Sir Walter's room, with the face of a man who
 
 ON THE MATTER OP A RAILWAY. 233 
 
 knows grief and vexation but has set wavering be- 
 hind him. 
 
 It was an hour later when Adela Ferrars and the 
 Seminghams sat down to their coffee. A fourth plate 
 was laid at the table, and Adela was in very good 
 spirits. Tom Loring had arrived ; they had greeted 
 him, and he was upstairs making himself fit to be 
 seen after a night-voyage ; his boat had lain three 
 hours outside the harbour waiting for the fog to lift. 
 " I daresay," said Tom, " you heard our horn bellow- 
 ing." But he was here at last, and Adela was merrier 
 than she had been in all her stay at Dieppe. Seming- 
 ham also was happy ; it was a great relief to feel that 
 there was someone to whom responsibility properly, or 
 at least more properly, belonged, and an end, there- 
 fore, to all unjustifiable attempts to saddle mere on- 
 lookers with it. And Lady Semingham perceived 
 that her companions were in more genial mood than 
 lately had been their wont, and expanded in the 
 warmer air. When Tom came down nothing could 
 exceed the empressement of his welcome. 
 
 The sun had scattered the last remnants of fog, 
 and, on Semingham's proposal, the party passed from 
 the table to a seat in the hotel garden, whence they 
 could look at the sea. Here they became rather more 
 silent ; for Adela began to feel that the hour of ex- 
 planation was approaching, and grew surer and surer 
 that to her would be left the task. She believed that
 
 234 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 Tom was tactful enough to spare her most of it, but 
 something she must say — and to say anything was 
 terribly difficult. Lord Semingham was treating the 
 visit as though there were nothing behind; and his 
 wife had no inkling that there was anything behind. 
 The wife's genius for not observing was matched by 
 the husband's wonderful power of ignoring; and if 
 Adela had allowed herself to translate into words the 
 exasperated promptings of her quick temper, she 
 would have declared a desire to box the ears of both 
 of them. It would have been vulgar, but entirely 
 satisfactory. 
 
 At last Tom, with carefully-prepared nonchalance, 
 asked, 
 
 "Oh, and how is Mrs. Dennison?" 
 
 Bessie Semingham assumed the question to her- 
 self. 
 
 " She's very well, thank you, Mr. Loring. Dieppe 
 has done her a world of good." 
 
 Adela pursed her lips together. Semingham, 
 catching her eye, smothered a nascent smile. Tom 
 frowned slightly, and, leaning forward, clasped his 
 hands between his knees. lie was guilty of wishing 
 that Bessie Semingham had more pressing avocations 
 that morning. 
 
 " You see," she chirruped, " Marjory's with her, 
 and the children dote on Marjory, and she's got Mr. 
 Huston and Walter to wait on her — you know Maggie
 
 ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY. 235 
 
 always likes somebody in her train. Well, Alfred, 
 why shouldn't I say that? I like to have someone 
 myself." 
 
 " I didn't speak," protested Semingbam. 
 
 "No, but you looked funny. I always say about 
 Maggie, Mr. Loring, that " 
 
 All three were listening in some embarrassment ; 
 out of the mouths of babes come sometimes alarming 
 things. 
 
 " That without any apparent trouble she can make 
 her clothes look better than anybody I know." 
 
 Lord Semingbam laughed ; even Adela and Tom 
 smiled. 
 
 " What a blessed irrelevance you have, my dear," 
 said Semingbam, stroking his wife's small hand. 
 
 Lady Semingbam smiled delightedly and blushed 
 prettily. She enjoyed Alfred's praise. He was so 
 difficile as a rule. The exact point of the word " ir- 
 relevance " she did not stay to consider ; she had 
 evidently said something that pleased him. A mo- 
 ment later she rose with a smile, crying, 
 
 "Why, Mr. Ruston, how good of you to come 
 round so early ! " 
 
 Willie Ruston shook hands with her in hasty po- 
 liteness. A nod to Semingbam, a lift of the hat to 
 Adela, left him face to face with Tom Loring, who 
 got up slowly. 
 
 "Ah, Loring, how are you?" said Willie holding
 
 236 T JIE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 out his hand. " Young Val told me you were to arrive 
 to-day. How did you get across ? Uncommon foggy, 
 wasn't it?" 
 
 By this time he had taken Tom's hand and shaken 
 it, Tom being purely passive. 
 
 " By the way, you're all wrong about the water, 
 you know," he continued, in sudden remembrance. 
 "There's enough water to supply Manchester within 
 ten miles of Fort Imperial. What? Why, man, I'll 
 show you the report when we get back to town ; good 
 water, too. I had it analysed, and — well, it's all 
 right ; but I haven't time to talk about it now. The 
 fact is, Semingham, I came round to tell you that 
 I'm off." 
 
 "Off?" exclaimed Semingham, desperately fum- 
 bling for his eyeglass. 
 
 Adela clasped her hands, and her eyes sparkled. 
 Tom scrutinised Willie Ruston with attentive eyes. 
 
 "Yes; to-day — in an hour; boat goes at 11*30. 
 I've had a letter from old Carlin. Things aren't going 
 well. That ass Deteh By Jove, though, 1 for- 
 got you, Loring ! I don't want to give you materials 
 for another of those articles." 
 
 His rapidity, his bustle, his good humour were all 
 amazing. 
 
 Tom glanced in bewilderment at Adela. Adela 
 coloured deeply. She felt that she had no adequate 
 reason to give for having summoned Tom Loring to
 
 ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY. 237 
 
 Dieppe, unless (she brightened as the thought struck 
 her) Tom had frightened Ruston away. 
 
 Willie seized Semingham 's arm, and began to walk 
 him (the activity seemed all on Willie's part) quickly 
 up and down the garden. He held Carlin's letter in 
 his hand, and he talked eagerly and fast, beating the 
 letter with his fist now and again. Bessie Semingham 
 sat down with an amiable smile. Adela and Tom 
 were close together. Adela lifted her eyes to Tom's 
 in question. 
 
 " What ? " he asked. 
 
 "Do you think it's true?" she whispered. 
 
 " He's the finest actor alive if it isn't," said Tom, 
 watching the beats of Ruston's fist. 
 
 " Then thank heaven ! But I feel so foolish." 
 
 " Hush ! here they come," said Tom. 
 
 There was no time for more. 
 
 " Tom, there's riches in it for you if we told you," 
 laughed Semingham ; " but Ruston's going to put it 
 all right." 
 
 Tom gave a not very easy laugh. 
 
 " Fancy old Carlin not wiring ! " exclaimed Willie 
 Ruston. 
 
 " Shall I sell ? " asked Adela, trying to be frivo- 
 lous. 
 
 " Hold for your life, Miss Ferrars," said Willie ; 
 
 and going up to Bessie Semingham he held out his 
 
 hand. 
 
 16
 
 238 THE GOD IN TDIE CAR. 
 
 " What, are you really off? It's too bad of you, 
 Mr. Ruston ! Not that I've seen much of you. Mag- 
 gie has quite monopolised you." 
 
 Adela and Tom looked at the ground. Seming- 
 ham turned his back ; his smile would not be smoth- 
 ered. 
 
 " Of course you're going to say good-bye to her?" 
 pursued Lady Semingham. 
 
 Tom looked up, and Adela followed his example. 
 They were rewarded — if it were a reward — by seeing a 
 slight frown — the first shadow since he had been with 
 them — on Ruston's brow. But he answered briskly, 
 with a glance at his wathc, 
 
 " I can't manage it. I should miss the boat. I 
 must write her a line." 
 
 " Oh, she'll never forgive you," cried Lady Sem- 
 ingham. 
 
 " Oh, yes, she will," he laughed. " It's for Omo- 
 faga, you know. Good-bye. Good-bye. I'm awfully 
 sorry to go. Good-bye." 
 
 He was gone. It was difficult to realise at first. 
 His presence, the fact of him, had filled so large a 
 spuce; it had been the feature of the place from the 
 day he had joined them. It had been their interest 
 and their incubus. 
 
 For a moment the three stood staring at one 
 another ; then Semingham, with a curious laugh, 
 turned on his heel and went into the house. His
 
 ON THE MATTER OP A RAILWAY. 9.39 
 
 wife unfolded yesterday's Morning Post and began 
 to read. 
 
 " Come for a stroll," said Tom Loring to Adela. 
 
 She accompanied him in silence, and they walked 
 a hundred yards or more before she spoke. 
 
 " What a blessing ! " she said then. " I wonder if 
 your coming sent him away ? " 
 
 " No, it was genuine," declared Tom, with con- 
 viction. 
 
 " Then I was very wrong, or he's a most extraor- 
 dinary man. I can't talk to you about it, Mr. Loring, 
 but you told me I might send. And I did think it 
 — desirable — when I wrote. I did, indeed. I hope 
 you're not very much annoyed?" 
 
 " Annoyed ! No ; I was delighted to come. And 
 I am still more delighted that it looks as if I wasn't 
 wanted." 
 
 " Oh, you're wanted, anyhow," said Adela. 
 
 She was very happy in his coming, and could not 
 help showing it a little. Fortunately, it was tolerably 
 certain (as she felt sometimes, intolerably certain) that 
 Tom Loring would not notice anything. He never 
 seemed to consider it possible that people might be 
 particularly glad to see him. 
 
 " And you can stay, can't you ? " she added. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; I can stay a bit. I should like to. 
 What made you send ? " 
 
 " You know. I can't possibly describe it."
 
 240 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Did Semingham notice it too ? " 
 
 " Yes, he did, Mr. Loring. I distrust that man — 
 Mr. Ruston I mean — utterly. And Maggie " 
 
 " She's wrapped up in him ? " 
 
 " Terribly. I tried to think it was his wretched 
 Omofaga ; but it's not ; it's him." 
 
 " Well, he's disposed of." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," she sighed, in complacent igno- 
 rance. 
 
 " I must go and see her, you know," said Tom, 
 wrinkling his brow. 
 
 Adela laughed. 
 
 " What'll she say to me? " asked Tom anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, she'll be very pleasant." 
 
 " I shan't," said Tom with sudden decision. 
 
 Adela looked at him curiously. 
 
 " You mean to — to give her ' a bit of your mind ? ' " 
 
 " Well, yes," he answered, smiling. " I think so ; 
 don't you ? " 
 
 " I should like to, if I dared." 
 
 " Why, you dare anything ! " exclaimed Tom. 
 
 " Oh, no, I don't. I splash about a good deal, but 
 I am a coward, really." 
 
 They relapsed into silence. Presently Tom began, 
 
 " It's been awfully dull in town ; nobody to speak 
 to, except Mrs. Cormack." 
 
 " Mrs. Cormack ! " cried Adela. " I thought you 
 hated her?"
 
 ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY. 241 
 
 " Well, I've thought a little better of her lately." 
 
 " To think of your making friends with Mrs. Cor- 
 mack ! " 
 
 " I haven't made friends with her. She's not such 
 a bad woman as you'd think, though." 
 
 " I think she's horrible," said Adela. 
 
 Tom gave it up. 
 
 " There was no one else," he pleaded. 
 
 "Well," retorted Adela, "when there is anyone 
 else, you never come near them." 
 
 The grammar was confused, but Adela could not 
 improve it, without being landed in unbearable plain- 
 ness of speech. 
 
 " Don't I ? " he asked. " Why, I come and see 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, for twenty minutes once a month ; just to 
 keep the acquaintance open, I suppose. It's like shut- 
 ting all the gates on Ascension Day (isn't it Ascension 
 Day ?), only the other way round, you know." 
 
 " You so often quarrel with me," said Tom. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " said Adela. " Anyhow, I 
 won't quarrel here." 
 
 Tom glanced at her. She was looking bright and 
 happy and young. He liked her even better here in 
 Dieppe than in a London drawing-room. Her con- 
 versation was not so elaborate, but it was more spon- 
 taneous and, to his mind, pleasanter. Moreover, the 
 sea air had put colour in her cheeks and painted her
 
 242 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 complexion afresh. The thought strayed through 
 Tom's mind that she was looking quite handsome. It 
 was the one good thing that he did not always think 
 about her. He went on studying her till she sudden- 
 ly turned and caught him. 
 
 " Well," she asked, with a laugh and a blush, " do 
 I wear well ? " 
 
 " You always talk as if you were seventy," said 
 Tom reprovingly. 
 
 Adela laughed merrily. The going of Buston and 
 the coming of Tom were almost too much good-for- 
 tune for one day. And Tom had come in a pleasant 
 mood. 
 
 "You don't really like Mrs. Cormack, do you?" 
 she asked. " She hates me, you know." 
 
 " Oh, if I have to choose between you " said 
 
 Tom, and stopped. 
 
 " You stop at the critical moment." 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Cormack isn't here," said Tom. 
 
 " So I shall do to pass the time ? " 
 
 " Yes," he laughed ; and then they both laughed. 
 
 But suddenly Adela's laugh ceased, and she 
 jumped up. 
 
 " There's Marjory Valentine ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " What ! Where ? " asked Tom, rising. 
 
 " No, stay where you are, I want to speak to her. 
 I'll come back," and, leaving Tom, she sped after 
 Marjory, calling her name.
 
 ON THE MATTER OP A RAILWAY. 243 
 
 Marjory looked round and hastened to meet her. 
 She was pale and her eyes heavy for trouble and want 
 of sleep. 
 
 " Oh, Adela, I'm so glad to find you ! I was going 
 to look for you at the hotel. I must talk to you." 
 
 "You shall," said Adela, taking her arm and 
 smiling again. 
 
 She did not notice Marjory's looks ; she was full 
 of her own tidings. 
 
 " I want to ask you whether you think Lady Sem- 
 
 ingham " began Marjory, growing red, and in 
 
 great embarrassment. 
 
 " Oh, but hear my news first," cried Adela ; " Mar- 
 jory, he's gone ! " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Why, that man Mr. Huston." 
 
 " Gone ? " echoed Marjory in amazement. 
 
 To her it seemed incredible that he should be 
 gone — strange perhaps to Adela, but to her in- 
 credible. 
 
 " Yes, this morning. He got a letter — something 
 about his Company — and he was off on the spot. 
 And Tom — Mr. Loring (he's come, you know), thinks 
 — that that really was his reason, you know." 
 
 Marjory listened with wide-open eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Adela ! " she said at last with a sort of 
 shudder. 
 
 She could have believed it of no other man; she
 
 241 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 could hardly believe it of one who now seemed to her 
 hardly a man. 
 
 " Isn't it splendid? And he went off without see- 
 ing — without going up to the cliff at all. I never 
 was so delighted in my life." 
 
 Marjory was silent. No delight showed on her 
 face ; the time for that was gone. She did not 
 understand, and she was thinking of the night's 
 experience and wondering if Maggie Dennison had 
 known that he was going. No, she could not have 
 known. 
 
 " But what did you want with me, or with 
 Bessie ? " asked Adela. 
 
 Marjory hesitated. The departure of Willie Hus- 
 ton made a difference. She prayed that it meant an 
 utter difference. There was a chance ; and while 
 there was a chance her place was in the villa on the 
 cliff. His going rekindled the spark of hope that 
 almost had died in the last terrible night. 
 
 " I think," she said slowly, " that I'll go straight 
 back." 
 
 "And tell Maggie?" asked Adela with excited 
 eyes. 
 
 "If she doesn't know.' 
 
 Adela said nothing ; the subject was too perilous. 
 She even regretted having said so much ; but she 
 pressed her friend's arm approvingly. 
 
 " It doesn't matter about Lady Semingham just
 
 ON THE MATTER OP A RAILWAY. 2-45 
 
 now," said Marjory in an absent sort of tone. "It 
 will do later." 
 
 " You're not looking well," remarked Adela, who 
 had at last looked at her. 
 
 " I had a bad night." 
 
 " And how's Maggie ? " 
 
 The girl paused a moment. 
 
 " I haven't seen her this morning. She sent word 
 that she would breakfast in bed. I'll just run up 
 now, Adela." 
 
 She walked off rapidly. Adela watched her, feel- 
 ing uneasy about her. There was a strange constraint 
 about her manner — a hint of something suppressed — 
 and it was easy to see that she was nervous and un- 
 happy. But Adela, making lighter of her old fears 
 in her new-won comfort, saw only in Marjory a grief 
 that is very sad to bear, a sorrow that comes where 
 love — or what is nearly love — meets with indifference. 
 
 " She's still thinking about that creature ! " said 
 Adela to herself in scorn and in pity. She had quite 
 made up her mind about Willie Ruston now. " I'm 
 awfully sorry for her." Adela, in fact, felt very sym- 
 pathetic. For the same thing might well happen 
 with love that rested on a worthier object than " that 
 creature, Willie Ruston ! " 
 
 Meanwhile the creature — could he himself at the 
 moment have quarrelled with the word ? — was carried 
 over the waves, till the cliff and the house on it
 
 24G THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 clipped and died away. The excitement of the mes- 
 sage and the start was over ; the duty that had been 
 strong enough to take him away could not yet be 
 done. A space lay bare — exposed to the thoughts 
 that fastened on it. Who could have escaped their 
 assault? Not even Willie Euston was proof ; and his 
 fellow-voyagers wondered at the man with the frown- 
 ing brows and fretful restless eyes. It had not been 
 easy to do, or pleasant to see done, this last sacrifice 
 to the god of his life. Yet it had been done, with 
 hardly a hesitation. He paced the deck, saying to 
 himself, " She'll understand." Would any woman ? 
 If any, then, without doubt, she was the woman. 
 " Oh, she'll understand," he muttered petulantly, 
 angry with himself because he would not be con- 
 vinced. Once, in despair, he tried to tell himself that 
 this end to it was what people would call ordered for 
 the best — that it was an escape for him — still more 
 for her. But his strong, self-penetrating sense pushed 
 the plea aside — in him it was hypocrisy, the merest 
 conventionality. He had not even the half-stifled 
 thanksgiving for respite from a doom still longed for, 
 which had struggled for utterance in Maggie's sobs. 
 Yet he had something that might pass for it — a feel- 
 ing that made even him start in the knowledge of its 
 degradation. By fate, or accident, or mischance — call 
 it what he might — there was nothing irrevocable yet. 
 He could draw back still. Not thanksgiving for sin
 
 ON THE MATTER OP A RAILWAY. 247 
 
 averted, but a shamefaced sense of an enforced safety 
 made its way into his mind — till it was thrust aside 
 by anger at the check that had baffled him, and by 
 the longing that was still upon him. 
 
 Well, anyhow — for good or evil — willing or un- 
 willing — he was away. And she was alone in the 
 little house on the cliff. His face softened ; he ceased 
 to think of himself for a moment ; he thought of her, 
 as she would look when he did not come — when he 
 was false to a tryst never made in words, but surely 
 the strongest that had ever bound a man. He 
 clenched his fists as he stood looking from the stern 
 of the boat, muttering again his old plea, " She'll un- 
 derstand ! " 
 
 Was there not the railway ?
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 PAST PRAYING FOR. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison needed not Marjory to tell her. 
 She had received Willie Euston's note just as she was 
 about to leave her bedroom. It was scribbled in pen- 
 cil on balf a sheet of notepaper. 
 
 " Am called back to England — something wrong 
 about our railway. Very sorry I can't come and say 
 good-bye. I shall run back if I can, but I'm afraid 
 I may be kept in England. Will you write? 
 
 " W. R. R." 
 
 She read it, and stood as if changed to stone. 
 " Something wrong about our railway ! " Surely an 
 all-sufficient reason; the writer had no doubt of that. 
 lie might be kept in England ; that meant he would 
 be, and the writer seemed to see nothing strange in 
 the fact that he could be. She did not doubt the 
 truth of what the note said. A man lying would 
 have piled Pelion on Ossa, reason on reason, excuse on 
 
 (248)
 
 PAST PRAYING FOR. 249 
 
 excuse, protestation on protestation. Besides Willie 
 Huston did not lie. It was just the truth, the all- 
 sufficient truth. There was something wrong with 
 the railway, so he left her. He would lose a day if he 
 missed the boat, so he left her without a word of 
 farewell. The railway must not suffer for his taking 
 holiday ; her suffering was all his holiday should 
 make. 
 
 Slowly she tore the note into the smallest of frag- 
 ments, and the fragments fell at her feet. And his 
 passionate words were still in her ears, his kisses still 
 burnt on her cheek. This was the man whom to sway 
 had been her darling ambition, whom to love was her 
 great sin, whom to know, as in this moment she 
 seemed to know him, her bitter punishment. In her 
 heart she cried to heaven, " Enough, enough ! " 
 
 The note was his — his to its last line, its last word, 
 its last silence. The man stood there, self-epitomised, 
 callous and careless, unmerciful, unbending, unturn- 
 ing ; vowed to his quest, recking of naught else. But 
 — she clung to this, the last plank in her shipwreck — 
 great — one of the few for whom the general must 
 make stepping-stones. She thought she had been 
 one of the few ; that torn note told her error. Still, 
 she had held out her hands to ruin for no common 
 clay's sake. But it was too hard — too hard — too 
 hard. 
 
 " Will you write ? " Was he tender there ? Her
 
 250 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 bitterness would not grunt him even that. He did 
 not want her to slip away. The smallest addition will 
 make the greatest realm greater, and its loss sully the 
 king's majesty. So she must write, as she must thiuk 
 and dream — and remember. 
 
 Perhaps he might choose to come again — some 
 day — and she was to be ready ! 
 
 She went downstairs. In the hall she met her 
 children, and they said something to her ; they talked 
 and chattered to her, and, with the surface of her 
 mind, she understood ; and she listened and answered 
 and smiled. And all that they had said and she had 
 said went away ; and she found them gone, and her- 
 self alone. Then she passed to the sitting-room, 
 where was Marjory Valentine, breathless from mount- 
 ing the path too quickly ; and at sight of Marjory's 
 face, she said, 
 
 " I've heard from Mr. Ruston. lie has been called 
 away," forestalling Marjory's trembling words. 
 
 Then she sat down, and there was a long silence. 
 She was conscious of Marjory there, but the girl did 
 not speak, and presently the impression of her, which 
 was very faint, faded altogether away, and Maggie 
 Dennison seemed to herself alone again — thinking, 
 dreaming, and remembering, as she must now think, 
 dream, and remember — remembering the day that 
 was gone, thinking of what this day should have 
 been.
 
 PAST PRAYING FOR. 251 
 
 She sat for an hour, still and idle, looking out 
 across the sea, and Marjory sat motionless behind, 
 gazing at her with despair in her eyes. At last the 
 girl could bear it no longer. It was unnatural, un- 
 earthly, to sit there like that ; it was as though, by an 
 impossibility, a dead soul were clothed with a living 
 breathing body. Marjory rose and came close, and 
 called, 
 
 " Maggie, Maggie ! " 
 
 Her voice was clear and louder than her ordinary 
 tones ; she spoke as if trying to force some one to hear. 
 
 Maggie Dennison started, looked round, and passed 
 her hand rapidly across her brow. 
 
 " Maggie, I — I've not done anything about going." 
 
 "Going?" echoed Maggie Dennison. But her 
 mind was clearing now; her brain had been stunned, 
 not killed, and her will drove it to wakefulness and 
 work again. " Going ? Oh, I hope not." 
 
 "You know, last night " began Marjory, timid- 
 ly, flushing, keeping behind Mrs. Dennison's chair. 
 " Last night we — we talked about it, but I thought 
 perhaps now " 
 
 " Oh," interrupted Mrs. Dennison, " never mind 
 last night. For goodness' sake, forget last night. I 
 think we were both mad last night." 
 
 Marjory made no answer ; and Mrs. Dennison, her 
 hand having swept her brow once again, turned to her 
 with awakened and alert eyes.
 
 252 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " You upset me — and then I upset you. And we 
 botli behaved like hysterical creatures. If I told you 
 to go, I was silly; and if you said you wanted to go, 
 you were silly too, Marjory. Of course, you must stop ; 
 and do forget that — nonsense — last night." 
 
 Her tone was eager and petulant, the colour was 
 returning to her cheeks; she looked alive again. 
 
 Marjory leant an arm on the back of the chair, 
 looking down into Maggie Dennison's face. 
 
 " I will stay," she said softly, ignoring everything 
 else, and then she swiftly stooped and kissed Maggie's 
 cheek. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison shivered and smiled, and, detaining 
 the girl's head, most graciously returned her caress. 
 Mrs. Dennison was forgiving everything; by forgive- 
 ness it might be that she could buy of Marjory forget- 
 ful ness. 
 
 There was a ring at the door. Marjory looked 
 through the window. 
 
 " It's Mr. Loring," she said in a whisper. 
 
 Maggie Dennison smiled — graciously again. 
 
 " It's very kind of him to come so soon," said she. 
 
 "Shall I go?" 
 
 "Go? No, child — unless you want to. You know 
 him too. And we've no secrets, Tom Loring and I." 
 
 Tom Loring had mounted the hill very slowly. 
 The giving of that " piece of his mind " seemed not 
 altogether easy. He might paint poor Harry's forlorn
 
 PAST PRAYING FOR. 253 
 
 state ; Mrs. Dennison would be politely concerned and 
 politely sceptical about it. He might tell her again — 
 as he had told her before — that Willie Huston was a 
 knave and a villain, and she might laugh or be angry, 
 as her mood was ; but she would not believe. Or he 
 might upbraid her for folly or for worse; and this 
 was what he wished to do. Would she listen? Prob- 
 ably — with a smile on her lips and mocking little com- 
 pliments on his friendly zeal and fatherly anxiety. Or 
 she might flash out on him, and call his charge an in- 
 sult, and drive him away ; and a word from her would 
 turn poor old Harry into his enemy. Decidedly his 
 task was no easy one. 
 
 It was a coward's joy that he felt when he found a 
 third person there ; but he felt it from the bottom of 
 his heart. Divine delay ! Gracious impossibility ! 
 How often men adore them ! Tom Loring gave 
 thanks, praying silently that Marjory would not with- 
 draw, shook hands as though his were the most or- 
 dinary morning call, and began to discuss the scenery 
 of Dieppe, and — as became a newcomer — the incidents 
 of his voyage. 
 
 " And while you were all peacefully in your beds, 
 we were groping about outside in that abominable 
 fog," said he. 
 
 " How you must have envied us ! " smiled Mrs. 
 Dennison, and Marjory found herself smiling in emu- 
 lous hypocrisy. But her smile was very unsuccessful, 
 ' 17
 
 254 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 and it was well that Tom Loring's eyes were on his 
 hostess. 
 
 Then Mrs. Dennison began to talk about Willie 
 Ruston and her own great interest in him, and in the 
 Ornofaga Company. She was very good-humoured to 
 Tom Loring, but she did not fail to remind him how 
 unreasonable he had been — was still, wasn't he ? The 
 perfection of her manner frightened Marjory and re- 
 pelled her. Yet it would have seemed an effort of 
 bravery, had it been done with visible struggling. But 
 it betrayed no effort, and therefore made no show of 
 bravery. 
 
 " So now," said Maggie Dennison, " since I haven't 
 got Mr. Ruston to exchange sympathy with, I must 
 exchange hostilities with you. It will still be about 
 Ornofaga — that's one thing." 
 
 Tom had definitely decided to put off his lecture. 
 The old manner he had known and mocked and ad- 
 mired — the " these-are-the-orders " manner — was too 
 strong for him. He believed he was still fond of her. 
 He knew that he wondered at her still. Could it be 
 true what they told him — that she was as a child in 
 the hands of Willie Ruston ? He hated to think that, 
 because it must mean that Willie Ruston was — well, 
 not quite an ordinary person — a conclusion Tom loathed 
 to accept. 
 
 " And you're going to stay some tirntj with the 
 Seminghams ? That'll be very pleasant. And Adela
 
 PAST PRAYING FOR. 255 
 
 will like to have you so much. Oh, you can convert 
 her ! She's a shareholder. And you must have a talk 
 to the old Baron. You've heard of him? But then 
 he believes in Mr. Ruston, as I do, so yoifll quarrel 
 with him." 
 
 " Perhaps I shall convert him," suggested Tom. 
 
 " Oh, no, Ave thorough believers are past praying 
 for ; aren't we, Marjory ? " 
 
 Marjory started. 
 
 " Past praying for ? " she echoed. 
 
 Her thoughts had strayed from the conversation — 
 back to what she had been bidden to forget ; and she 
 spoke not as one who speaks a trivial phrase. 
 
 For an instant a gleam of something — anger or 
 fright — shot from Maggie Dennison's eyes. The next, 
 she was playfully, distantly, delicately chaffing Tom 
 about the meaning of his sudden arrival. 
 
 " Of course not " she began. 
 
 And Tom, interrupting, stopped the " Adela." 
 
 " And you stay here too ? " he asked, to turn the 
 conversation. 
 
 " Why, of course," smiled Mrs. Dennison. "After 
 being here all this time, it would look rather funny 
 if I ran away just when Harry's coming. I think he 
 really would have a right to be aggrieved then." She 
 paused, and added more seriously, " Oh, yes, I shall 
 wait here for Harry." 
 
 Then Tom Loring rose and took his leave. Mrs.
 
 256 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 Dennison entrusted him with an invitation to the 
 whole of the Seminghams' party to luncheon next 
 day (" if they don't mind squeezing into our little 
 room," she gaily added), and walked with him to the 
 top of the path, waving her hand to him in friendly 
 farewell as he began to descend. And, after he was 
 gone, she stood for a while looking out to sea. Then 
 she turned. Marjory was in the window and saw her 
 face as she turned. In a moment Maggie Dennison 
 saw her looking, and smiled brightly. But the one 
 short instant had been enough. The feelings first 
 numbed, then smothered, had in that second sprung 
 to life, and Marjory shrank back with a little inar- 
 ticulate cry of pain and horror. Almost as she ut- 
 tered it, Mrs. Dennison was by her side. 
 
 " We'll go out this afternoon," she said. " I think 
 I shall lie down for an hour. We managed to rob 
 ourselves of a good deal of sleep last night. You'd 
 better do the same." She paused, and then she 
 added, " You're a good child, Marjory. You're very 
 kind to me." 
 
 There was a quiver in her voice, but it was only 
 that, and it was Marjory, not she, who burst into 
 sobs. 
 
 "Hush, hush," whispered Maggie Dennison. 
 "Hush, dear. Don't do that. Why should you do 
 that?" and she stroked the girl's hot cheek, wet with 
 tears. " I'm very tired, Marjory," she went on. " Do
 
 PAST PRAYING FOR. 257 
 
 you think you can dry your eyes — your silly eyes — aud 
 help me upstairs? I— I can hardly stand," and, as 
 she spoke, she swayed and caught at the curtain by 
 her, and held herself up by it. " Ko, I can go 
 alone ! " she exclaimed almost fiercely. " Leave me 
 alone, Marjory, I can walk. I can walk perfectly ; " 
 and she walked steadily across the room, and Marjory 
 heard her unwavering step mounting the stairs to her 
 bedroom. 
 
 But Marjorj did not see her enter her room, stop 
 for a moment over the scraps of torn paper, still lying 
 on the floor, stoop and gather them one by one, then 
 put them in an envelope, and the envelope in her 
 purse, and then throw herself on the bed in an agony 
 of dumb pain, with the look on her face that had 
 come for a moment in the garden and came now, fear- 
 less of being driven away, lined strong and deep, as 
 though graven with some sharp tool.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE BAKON'S CONTRIBUTION. 
 
 It may be that the Baron thought he had sucked 
 the orange of life very dry — at least, when the cold 
 winds and the fog had done their work, he accepted 
 without passionate disinclination the hint that he 
 must soon take his lips from the fruit. He went to 
 bed and made a codicil to his will, having it executed 
 and witnessed with every requisite formality. Then 
 he announced to Lord Semingham, who came to see 
 him, that, according to his doctor's opinion and his 
 own, he might manage to breathe a week longer ; and 
 Semingham, looking upon him, fancied, without say- 
 ing, that the opinion was a sanguine one. This hap- 
 pened five days before Harry Dennison's arrival at 
 Dieppe. 
 
 " I am very fortunate," said the Baron, " to have 
 found such kind friends for the last stage ; " and he 
 looked from Lady Semingham's flowers to Adela's 
 grapes. " I could have bought them, of course," he 
 added. " I've always been able to buy — everything." 
 
 (258)
 
 THE BARON'S CONTRIBUTION. 259 
 
 The old man smiled as he spoke, and Semingham 
 smiled also. 
 
 " This," continued the Baron, " is the third time I 
 have been laid up like this." 
 
 " There's luck in odd numbers," observed Seming- 
 ham. 
 
 " But which would be luck ? " asked the Baron. 
 
 " Ah, there you gravel me," admitted Semingham. 
 
 " I came here against orders, because I must needs 
 poke my old nose into this concern of yours " 
 
 " Not of mine." 
 
 " Of yours and others. Well, I poked it in — and 
 the frost has caught the end of it." 
 
 " I don't take any particular pleasure in the con- 
 cern myself," said Semingham, "and I wish you'd 
 kept your nose out, and yourself in a more balmy cli- 
 mate." 
 
 " My dear Lord, the market is rising." 
 
 " I know," smiled Semingham. " Tom Loring 
 can't make out who the fools are who are buying. He 
 said so this morning." 
 
 The Baron began to laugh, but a cough choked his 
 mirth. 
 
 " He's an honest and an able man, your Loring ; 
 but he doesn't see clear in everything. I've been buy- 
 ing, myself." 
 
 " Oh, you have ? " 
 
 " Yes, and someone has been selling — selling large-
 
 260 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 ly — or the price would have been driven higher. It is 
 you, perhaps, my friend ? " 
 
 " Not a share. I have the vices of an aristocracy. 
 I am stubborn." 
 
 " Who, then ? " 
 
 " It might be — Dennison." 
 
 The Baron nodded. 
 
 " But what did you want with 'em, Baron ? Will 
 they pay?" 
 
 " Oh, I doubt that. But I wanted them. Why 
 should Dennison sell ? " 
 
 " I suppose he doubts, like you." 
 
 " Perhaps it is that." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Semingham. 
 
 In the course of the next three days they had 
 many conversations ; the talks did the Baron no good 
 nor, as his doctor significantly said, any harm ; and 
 when he could not talk, Semingham sat by him and 
 told stories. He spoke too, frequently, of Willie Rus- 
 ton, and of the Company — that interested the Baron. 
 And at last, on the third day, they began to speak of 
 Maggie Dennison ; but neither of them connected the 
 two names in talk. Indeed Semingham, according to 
 his custom, had rushed at the possibility of ignoring 
 such connection. Ruston's disappearance had shown 
 him a way ; and he embraced the happy chance. He 
 was always ready to think that any "fuss" was a mis- 
 take ; and, as he told the Baron, Mrs. Dennison had
 
 TIIE BARON'S CONTRIBUTION. 201 
 
 been in great spirits lately, cheered up, it seemed, by 
 the prospect of her husband's immediate arrival. The 
 Baron smiled to hear him ; then he asked, 
 
 " Do you think she would come to see me ? " 
 
 Semingham promised to ask her ; and, although 
 the Baron was fit to see nobody the next day — for he 
 had moved swiftly towards his journey's end in those 
 twenty-four hours — yet Mrs. Dennison came and was 
 admitted ; and, at sight of the Baron, who lay yellow 
 and gasping, forgot both her acting and, for an 
 instant, the reality which it hid. 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried before she could stop herself, 
 " how ill you look ! Let me make you comfortable ! " 
 
 The Baron did not deny her. He had something 
 to say to her. 
 
 " When does your husband come ? " he asked. 
 
 " To-morrow," said she briefly. 
 
 She did all she could for his comfort, and then sat 
 down by his bedside. He had an interval of some 
 freedom from oppression and his mind was clear and 
 concentrated. 
 
 " I want to tell you," he began, " something that 
 I have done." He paused, and added a question, 
 " Huston does not come back to Dieppe, I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 " I think not. He is detained on business," she 
 answered, " and he will be more tied when my hus- 
 band leaves."
 
 262 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Your husband will not long be concerned in the 
 Omofaga," said he. 
 
 She started ; the Baron told her what he had told 
 Semingham. 
 
 " He will soon resign his place on the Board, you 
 will see," he ended. 
 
 She sat silent. 
 
 " He will have nothing more to do with it, you 
 will see ; " and, turning to her, he asked with a sudden 
 spurt of vigour, " Do you know why ? " 
 
 " How should I ? " she answered steadily. 
 
 " And I — I have done my part too. I have left 
 him some money (she knew that the Baron did not 
 mean her husband) and all the shares I held." 
 
 " You've done that ? " she cried, with a sudden 
 light in her eyes. 
 
 " You do not want to know why ? " 
 
 " Oh, I know you admired him. You told me so." 
 
 " Yes, that in part. I did admire him. He was 
 what I have never been. I wish he was here now. I 
 should like to look at that face of his before I die. 
 But it was not for his sake that I left him the money. 
 Why, he could get it without me if he needed it ! 
 You don't ask me why ? " 
 
 In his excitement he had painfully pulled himself 
 higher up on his pillows, and his head was on the 
 level with hers now. He looked right into her eyes. 
 She was very pale, but calm and self-controlled.
 
 THE BARON'S CONTRIBUTION. 263 
 
 " I don't know," she said. " Why have you ? " 
 
 " It will make him independent of your husband," 
 said the Baron. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison dropped her eyes and raised them 
 again in a swift, questioning glance. 
 
 " Yes, and of you. He need not look to you now." 
 
 He paused and added, slowly, punctuating every 
 word, 
 
 " You will not be necessary to him now." 
 
 Mrs. Dennison met his gaze full and straight ; the 
 Baron stretched out his hand. 
 
 " Ah, forgive me ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " There is nothing to forgive," said she. 
 
 " I saw ; I knew ; I have felt it. Now he will go 
 away ; he will not lean on you now. I have set him 
 where he can stand alone." 
 
 A smile, half scornful and half sad, came on her 
 face. 
 
 " You hate me," said the Baron. " But I am right." 
 
 " I was — we were never necessary to him," said 
 she. " Ah, Baron, this is no news you give me. I 
 know him better than that." 
 
 He raised himself higher still, panting as he rested 
 on his elbow. His head craned forward towards her 
 as he whispered, 
 
 " I'm a dying man. You can tell me." 
 
 " If you were a dead man " she burst out pas- 
 sionately. Then she suddenly recovered herself.
 
 264 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " My dear Baron," she went on, " I'm very glad you've 
 done this for Mr. Ruston." 
 
 He sank down on his pillows with a weary sigh. 
 
 " Let him alone, let him alone," he moaned. " You 
 thought yourself strong." 
 
 " I suppose you mean kindly," she said, speaking 
 very coldly. " Indeed, that you should think of me 
 at all just now shows it. But, Baron, you are dis- 
 quieting yourself without cause." 
 
 " I'm an old man, and a sick man," he pleaded, 
 " and you, my dear " 
 
 " Ah, suppose I have been — whatever you like — 
 indiscreet? Well ?" 
 
 She paused, for he made a feebly impatient ges- 
 ture. Mrs. Dennison kept silence for a moment; 
 then in a low tone she said, 
 
 " Baron, why do you speak to a woman about such 
 things, unless you want her to lie to you ? " 
 
 The Baron, after a moment, gave his answer, that 
 was no answer. 
 
 " He is gone," he said. 
 
 " Yes, he is gone — to look after his railway." 
 
 " It is finished then ? " he half asked, half implored, 
 and just caught her low-toned reply. 
 
 "Finished? Who for?" Then she suddenly 
 raised her voice, crying, " What is it to you ? Why 
 can't I be let alone? How dare you make me talk 
 about it?"
 
 THE BARON'S CONTRIBUTION. 265 
 
 " I have done," said he, and, laying his thin yellow 
 hand in hers, he went on, " If you meet him again — 
 and I think you will — tell him that I longed to see 
 him, as a man who is dying longs for his son. lie 
 would be a breath of life to me in this room, where 
 everything seems dead. He is full of life — full as a 
 
 tiger. And you can tell him " He stopped a 
 
 moment and smiled. " You can tell him why I was 
 a buyer of Omofagas. What will he say ? " 
 
 " What will he say ? " she echoed, with wide- 
 opened eyes, that watched the old man's slow-moving 
 lips. 
 
 " Will he weep ? " asked the Baron. 
 
 " In God's name, don't ! " she stammered. 
 
 " He will say, ' Behold, the Baron von Geltschmidt 
 was a good man — he was of use in the world — may he 
 sleep in peace ! ' And now — how goes the railway '? " 
 
 The old man lay silent, with a grim smile on his 
 face. The woman sat by, with lips set tight in an 
 agony of repression. At last she spoke. 
 
 " If I'd known you were going to tell me this, I 
 wouldn't have come." 
 
 "It's hard, hard, hard, but " 
 
 " Oh, not that. But— I knew it." 
 
 She rose to her feet. 
 
 "Good-bye," said the Baron. "I shan't see you 
 again. God make it light for you, my dear." 
 
 She would not seem to hear him. She smoothed
 
 266 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 his pillows and his scanty straggling hair; then she 
 kissed his forehead. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said. " I will tell Willie when I 
 see him. I shall see him soon." 
 
 The old man moaned softly and miserably. 
 
 " It would be better if you lay here," he said. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," she answered, almost list- 
 lessly. " Good-bye." 
 
 Suddenly he detained her, catching her hand. 
 
 " Do you believe in people meeting again any- 
 where ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, I suppose so. No, I don't know, I'm sure." 
 
 " They've been telling me to have a priest. I call 
 myself a Catholic, you know. What can I say to a 
 priest ? I have done nothing but make money. If 
 that is a sin, it's too simple to need confession, and 
 I've done too much of it for absolution. How can I 
 talk to a priest ? I shall have no priest." 
 
 She did not speak, but let him hold her hand. 
 
 " If," he went on, with a little smile, " I'm asked 
 anywhere what I've done, I must say, ' I've made 
 money.' That's all I shall have to say." 
 
 She stooped low over him and whispered, 
 
 " You can say one more thing, Baron — one little 
 tiling. You once tried to save a woman," and she 
 kissed him again and was gone. 
 
 Outside the house, she found Semingham waiting 
 for her.
 
 X 
 
 THE BARON'S CONTRIBUTION. 2G7 
 
 " Oh, I suy, Mrs. Dennison," lie cried, " Harry's 
 come. He got away a day earlier than he expected. 
 I met him driving up towards your house." 
 
 For just a moment she stood aghast. It came 
 upon her with a shock ; between a respite of a day 
 and the actual terrible now, there had seemed a gulf. 
 
 " Is he there — at the house — now ? " she asked. 
 
 Semingham nodded. 
 
 "Will you walk up with me?" she asked eagerly. 
 " I must go directly, you know. He'll be so sorry not 
 to find me there. Do you mind coming? I'm tired." 
 
 He offered his arm, and she almost clutched at it, 
 but she walked with nervous quickness. 
 
 " He's looking very w T ell," said Semingham. " A 
 bit fagged, and so on, you know, of course, but he'll 
 soon get all right here." 
 
 " Yes, yes, very soon," she replied absently, quick- 
 ening her pace till he had to force his to match it. 
 But, half-way up the hill, she stopped suddenly, 
 breathing rapidly. 
 
 " Yes, take a rest, we've been bucketing," said he. 
 
 " Did he ask after me ? " 
 
 "Yes; directly." 
 
 "And you said ?" 
 
 " Oh, that you were all right, Mrs. Dennison." 
 
 " Thanks. Has he seen Mr. Loring? " 
 
 "No; but he knew he had come here. He told 
 me so."
 
 268 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Well, I needn't take you right up, need I ? " 
 
 Semiugham thought of some jest about not in- 
 truding on the sacred scene, but the jest did not 
 come. Somehow he shrank from it. Mrs. Dennison 
 did not. 
 
 " We shall want to fall on one another's necks," 
 said she, smiling. " And you'd feel in the way. You 
 hate honest emotions, you know." 
 
 He nodded, lifted his hat, and turned. On his 
 way down alone, he stopped once for a moment and 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Good heavens ! And I believe she'd rather meet 
 the devil himself. She is a woman ! " 
 
 Mrs. Dennison pursued her way at a gentler pace. 
 Before she came in sight, she heard her children's de- 
 lighted chatterings, and, a moment later, Harry's 
 hearty tones. His voice brought to her, in fullest 
 force, the thing that was always with her — with her as 
 the cloak that a man hath upon him, and as the girdle 
 that he is always girded withal. 
 
 When the children saw her, they ran to her, seiz- 
 ing her hands ami dragging her towards Harry. A 
 little way off stood Marjory Valentine, with a nervous 
 smile on her lips. Harry himself stood waiting, and 
 Mrs. Dennison walked up to him and kissed him. 
 Not till that was done did she speak or look him in 
 the face. He returned her kiss, and then, talking 
 rapidly, she made him sit down, and sat herself, and
 
 THE BARON'S CONTRIBUTION. 2G9 
 
 took her little boy on her knee. And she called Mar- 
 jory, telling her jokingly that she was one of the 
 family. 
 
 Harry began to talk of his journey, and they all 
 joined in. Then he grew silent, and the children 
 chattered more about the delights of Dieppe, and how 
 all would be perfect now that father was come. And, 
 under cover of their chatter, Maggie Dennison stole a 
 long covert glance at her husband. 
 
 " And Tom's here, father," cried the little boy on 
 her lap exultingly. 
 
 " Yes," chimed in Madge, " and Mr. Ruston's 
 gone." 
 
 There was a momentary pause ; then Mrs. Denni- 
 son, in her calmest voice, began to tell her husband of 
 the sickness of the Baron. And over Harry Denni- 
 son's face there rested a new look, and she felt it on 
 her as she talked of the Baron. She had seen him 
 before unsatisfied, puzzled, and bewildered by her, but 
 never before with this look on his face. It seemed to 
 her half entreaty and half suspicion. It was plain for 
 everyone to see. He kept his eyes on her, and she 
 knew that Marjory must be reading him as she read 
 him. And under that look she went on talking about 
 the Baron. The look did not frighten her. She did 
 not fear his suspicions, for she believed he would still 
 take her word against all the world — ay, against the 
 
 plainest proof. But she almost broke under the bur- 
 18
 
 270 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 den of it; it made her heart sick with pity for him. 
 She longed to cry out, then and there, " It isn't true, 
 Harry, my poor dear, it isn't true." She could tell 
 him that — it would not be all a lie. And when the 
 children went away to prepare for lunch, she did much 
 that very thing ; for, with a laughing glance of apol- 
 ogy at Marjory, she sat on her husband's knee and 
 kissed him twice on either check, whispering, 
 
 " I'm so glad you've come, Harry." 
 
 And he caught her to him with sudden violence — 
 unlike his usual manner, and looked into her eyes and 
 kissed her. Then they rose, and he turned towards 
 the house. 
 
 For a moment Marjory and Mrs. Dennison were 
 alone together. Mrs. Dennison spoke in a loud clear 
 voice — a voice her husband must hear. 
 
 " We're shamefully foolish, aren't we, Marjory ? " 
 
 The girl made no answer, but, as she looked at 
 Maggie Dennison, she burst into a sudden convulsive 
 sob. 
 
 " Hush, hush," whispered Maggie eagerly. " My 
 God ! if I can, you can ! " 
 
 So they went in and joined the children at their 
 merry noisy meal.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR. 
 
 Willie Ruston slept, on the night following his 
 return to London, in the Carlins' house at Hamp- 
 stead. The all-important question of the railway 
 made a consultation necessary, and Ruston's indispo- 
 sition to face his solitary rooms caused him to aecept 
 gladly the proffered hospitality. The little cramped 
 place was always a refuge and a rest ; there he could 
 hest rejoice over a victory or forget a temporary 
 defeat. There he fled now, in the turmoil of his 
 mind. The question of the railway had hurried him 
 from Dieppe, but it could not carry away from him 
 the memories of Dieppe. Yet that was the office he 
 had already begun to ask of it — of it and of the quiet 
 busy life at Hampstead, where he lingered till a week 
 stretched to two and to three, spending his days at 
 work in the City, and his evenings, after his romp 
 with the children, in earnest and eager talk and 
 speculation. He regretted bitterly his going to Di- 
 eppe. He had done what he condemned ; he had raised 
 
 (271)
 
 272 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 up a perpetual reproach and a possible danger. He 
 was not a man who could dismiss sucli a thing with a 
 laugh or a sneer, with a pang of penitence and a 
 swift reaction to the low levels of morality, with a 
 regret for imprudence and a prayer against conse- 
 queuccs. His nature was too deep, and the influence 
 he had met too strong, for any of these to be enough. 
 Yet he had suffered the question of the railway to 
 drag him away at a moment's notice ; and he was 
 persuaded that he must take his leaving as setting an 
 end to all that had passed. All that must be put 
 behind ; forgetfulness in thought might be a relief 
 impossible to attain, a relief that he would be ashamed 
 of striving to attain; but forgetfulness in act seemed a 
 duty to be done. In his undeviating reference of every- 
 thing to his own work in life and his neglect of any 
 other touchstone, he erected into an obligation what 
 to another would have been a shameless matter of 
 course ; or, again, to yet another, a source of shame- 
 faced relief. His sins were sin first against himself, 
 in the second degree only against the participant in 
 them; his preoccupation with their first quality went 
 far to blind him to the second. 
 
 Yet lie was very sorry for Maggie Dennison. Nay, 
 those words were ludicrously feeble for the meaning 
 he wanted from them. Acutely conscious of having 
 done her a wrong, he was vaguely aware that ho 
 might underestimate the wrong, and remembered
 
 A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR. '273 
 
 uneasily how she had told him that he did not under- 
 stand, and despaired because he could not understand. 
 lie felt more for her now — much more, it seemed to 
 him ; but the consciousness of failure to put himself 
 where she stood dogged him, making him afraid 
 sometimes that he could not realise her sufferinjrs, 
 sometimes that he was imputing to her fictitious tor- 
 tures and a sense of ignominy which was not her own. 
 Searching light, he began to talk to Carlin in general 
 terms, of course, and by way of chance discourse ; and 
 he ran up against a curious stratum of Puritanism 
 imbedded amongst the man's elastic principles. The 
 narrowest and harshest judgment of an erring woman 
 accompanied the supple trader and witnessed the sur- 
 viving barbarian in Mr. Carlin ; an accidental distant 
 allusion displayed an equally relentless attitude in his 
 meek hard-working little wife. Willie Ruston drew 
 in his feelers, and, aghast at the evil these opinions 
 stamped as the product of his acts, declared for a 
 moment that his life must be the only and insufficient 
 atonement. The moment was a brief one. He dis- 
 missed the opinions with a curse, their authors with a 
 smile, and did not scorn to take for comfort even 
 Maggie Dennison's own enthusiasm for his work. 
 That had drawn them together ; that must rule and 
 limit the connection which it had created. An end — 
 a bound — a peremptory stop (there was still time to 
 stop) was the thiug. She would see that, as he saw it.
 
 274 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 God knew (he said to himself) what a wrench it was 
 — for she meant more to him than he had ever con- 
 ceived a woman could mean ; but the wrench must 
 be undergone. He would rather die than wreck his 
 work ; and she, he knew, rather die than prove a 
 wrecking siren to him. 
 
 Suddenly, across the desponding stubbornness of 
 his resolves, flashed, with a bright white light, the 
 news of the Baron's legacy, accompanying, but, after 
 a hasty regretful thought and a kindly regretful smile, 
 obliterating the fact of the Baron's death. Half the 
 steps upward, he felt, which he had set himself pain- 
 fully and with impatient labour to cut, were hewn 
 deej) and smooth for his feet ; he had now but to 
 tread, and lift his foot and tread again. From a paid 
 servant of his Company, powerful only by a secret 
 influence unbased on any substantial foundation, he 
 leapt to the position of a shareholder with a larger 
 stake than any man besides ; no intrigue could shake 
 him now, no sudden gust of petulant impatience at 
 the tardiness of results displace him. lie had never 
 thought of this motive behind the Baron's large pur- 
 chases of Omofaga shares ; as he thought of it, he had 
 not been himself had he not smiled. And his smile 
 was of the same quality as had burst on his face when 
 firsl Maggie Dennison dropped the veil and owned 
 his sway. 
 
 One day he did not go down to the city, but spent
 
 A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR. 275 
 
 his time wandering on the heath, mapping out what 
 lie would do in the fast-approaching days in Omofaga. 
 The prospects were clearing ; he had had two inter- 
 views with Lord Detchmore, and the Minister had 
 fallen back from his own objections on to the scruples 
 of his colleagues. It was a promising sign, and Wil- 
 lie was pressing his advantage. The fall in the shares 
 had been checked ; Tom Loring wrote no more ; and 
 Mrs. Carlin had forgotten to mourn the extinct coal 
 business. He came home, with a buoyant step, at 
 four o'clock, to find Carlin awaiting him with dis- 
 mayed face. There was the worst of news from 
 Queen Street. Mr. Dennison had written announcing 
 resignation of his place on the Board. 
 
 " It's a staggering blow," said Carlin, thrusting his 
 hands into his pockets. " Can't you bring him round ? 
 Why is he doing it?" 
 
 " Well, what does he say?" asked Ruston, a* frown 
 on his brow. 
 
 " Oh, some nonsense — pressure of other business 
 or something of that kind. Can't you go and see 
 him, Willie? He's back in town. He writes from 
 Curzon Street." 
 
 " I don't know why he does it," said Ruston slow- 
 ly. " I knew he'd been selling out." 
 
 " He hasn't made money at that." 
 
 " No. I've made the profit there," said Ruston, 
 with a sudden smile.
 
 276 TIIE G0D IN TIIE CAR - 
 
 uTl 
 
 The Baron bought 'em, eh?" laughed Carlin. 
 " You generally come out right side up, Willie. You'll 
 go and see him, though, won't you ? " 
 
 Yes. He would go. That was the resolution 
 which in a moment he reached. If there were dan- 
 ger, he must face it, if there were calamity, he must 
 know it. He would go and see Harry Dennison. 
 
 As he was, on the stroke of half- past four, he 
 jumped into a hansom-cab, and bade the man drive to 
 Curzon Street. 
 
 Harry was not at home — nor Mrs. Dennison, added 
 the servant, But both were expected soon. 
 
 " I'll wait," said Willie, and he was shown up into 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 As the servant opened the door, he said in his low 
 respectful tones, 
 
 " Mrs. Cormack is here, sir, waiting for Mrs. Den- 
 
 nison." 
 
 A moment later Willie Ruston was overwhelmed 
 in a shrilly enthusiastic greeting. Mrs. Cormack had 
 been in despair from ennui; Maggie's delay was end- 
 less, and Mr. Ruston was in verity a godsend. Indeed 
 there was every appearance of sincerity in the lady's 
 welcome. She stood and looked at him with an ex- 
 pression of most wicked and mischievous pleasure. 
 The remorse detected by Tom Loring was not visible 
 now; pun; delight reigned supreme, and gave free 
 scope to her frivolous fearlessness.
 
 A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR. 277 
 
 "Enfui!" she said. "Behold the villain of the 
 piece ! " 
 
 He opened his eyes in questioning. 
 
 "Oh, you think to deceive me too? Why, I have 
 prophesied it." 
 
 "You are," said Willie, standing on the hearth- 
 rug, and gazing at her nervous restless figure, so rich 
 in half-expressed hints too subtle for language, " the 
 most outrageous of women, Mrs. Oormack. Fortu- 
 nately you have a fling at everybody, and the saints 
 come off as badly as the sinners." 
 
 A shrug asserted her opinion of his pretences. He 
 answered, 
 
 " I really am so unfortunate as not to have the 
 least idea what you're driving at." 
 
 An inarticulate scornful little sound greeted this 
 protest. 
 
 " Oh, well, I shall wait till you say something," re- 
 marked Willie, with a laugh. " I can't deny villainies 
 wholesale, and I can't argue against Gallic ejacula- 
 tions." 
 
 " You still come here ? " she asked, ignoring his 
 rudeness, and coming to close quarters with native 
 audacity. 
 
 He looked at her for a moment, and then walked 
 up to her chair, and stood over her. She leant back, 
 gazing up at him with a smile. 
 
 " Look here ! Don't talk nonsense," he said
 
 278 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 brusquely; "even such talk as yours may do harm 
 with fools." 
 
 " Fools ! " she echoed. " You mean ? " 
 
 " More than half the world," he interrupted. 
 
 " Including ?" she began again in mockery. 
 
 " Some of our acquaintance," he answered, with 
 the glimmer of a smile. 
 
 "Ah, I thought you were angry!" she cried, 
 pointing at the smile on his lips. 
 
 " I shall be, if you don't hold your tongue." 
 
 " You beg me to be silent, Mr. Ruston ? " 
 
 " I desire you not to chatter about me, Mrs. Cor- 
 mack." 
 
 " Ah, what politeness ! 1 shall say what I please," 
 and she rose and stood facing him defiantly. 
 
 " I wish," he said, " that I could tell you what 
 they do to gossiping women in Omofaga. It is so very 
 disagreeable — and appropriate." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind hearing." 
 
 " I can believe it, but I mind saying." 
 
 She flushed, and her breath came more quickly. 
 
 " Xo doubt you will enforce the treatment — in 
 your own interest," she said. 
 
 " You won't be there," replied he, with affected 
 regret. 
 
 " Well, here I shall say what I please." 
 
 "And who will listen?" 
 
 "One man, at least," she cried, in incautious
 
 A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR. 270 
 
 anger. " Ah, you'd like to beat me, wouldn't 
 you ? " 
 
 "Why suggest the impossible?" he asked, smil- 
 ing. " I can't beat every " He paused, and added 
 
 with deliberateness, " every vulgar-minded woman in 
 London ; " and turning his back on her, he sat down 
 and took up a newspaper that lay on the table. 
 
 For full five or six minutes Mrs. Cormack sat 
 silent. Willie Huston glanced through the leading 
 article, and turned the paper, folding it neatly. There 
 was a letter from a correspondent on the subject of 
 the watersheds of Central South Africa, and he was 
 reading it with attention. He thought that he recog- 
 nised Tom Loring's hand. The watersheds of Omo- 
 faga were not given their due. Ah, and here was that 
 old falsehood about arid wastes round Fort Imperial ! 
 
 " By Jove, it's too bad ! " he exclaimed aloud. 
 
 Mrs. Cormack, who had for the last few moments 
 been watching him, first with a frown, then with a 
 half -incredulous, half-amazed smile, burst out into 
 laughter. 
 
 " Really, one might as well be offended with a 
 grizzly bear ! " she cried. 
 
 He put down the paper, and met her gaze. 
 
 "How in the world," she went on, "does she — 
 there, I beg your pardon. How does anyone endure 
 you, Mr. Ruston?" 
 
 As she spoke, before he could answer, the door
 
 280 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 opened, and Harry Dennison came in. He entered 
 with a hesitating step. After greeting Mrs. Cormack, 
 he advanced towards Ruston. The latter held out his 
 hand, and Harry took it. He did not look Ruston in 
 the eyes. 
 
 "How are you?" said he. "You want to see 
 me ? " 
 
 " Well, for a moment, if you can spare the time — 
 on business." 
 
 " Is it about my letter to Carlin ? " 
 
 Ruston nodded. Mrs. Cormack kept a close watch. 
 
 " I — I can't alter that," said Hurry, in a confused 
 way. " Sir George is so crippled now, so much of the 
 work falls on me ; I have really no time." 
 
 " You might have left us your name." 
 
 " I couldn't do that, could I? Suppose you came 
 to grief?" and he laughed uncomfortably. 
 
 Willie Ruston was afflicted by a sense of weakness 
 — a vulnerability new in his experience — forbidding 
 him to be urgent with the renegade. Had Carlin been 
 present, he would have stood astounded at his chief's 
 tonguetiedness. Mrs. Cormack smiled at it, and her 
 smile, caught in a swift glance by Ruston, spurred him 
 to a voluble appeal, that sounded to himself hollow 
 and ineffective. It had no effect on Harry Dennison, 
 who said little, but shook his head with unfailing reso- 
 lution. Mrs. Cormack could not resist the temptation 
 to offer matters an opportunity of development.
 
 A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR. 281 
 
 " Rat what does Maggie say to your desertion ? " 
 she asked in an innocently playful way. 
 
 Earry seemed nonplussed at the question, and Wil- 
 lie Huston interposed. 
 
 " We needn't bring Mrs. Dennison into it," he said, 
 smiling. " It's a matter of business, and if Dennison 
 has made up his mind " 
 
 He ended with a shrug, and took up his hat. 
 
 " I — I think so, Ruston," stumbled Harry. 
 
 " Where is Maggie ? " asked Mrs. Cormack curious- 
 ly. " They told me she would be in soon." 
 
 " I don't know," said Harry. " She went out driv- 
 ing. She's sometimes late in coming back." 
 
 Ruston was shaking hands with Mrs. Cormack, 
 and, when he walked out, Harry followed him. The 
 two men went downstairs in silence. Harry opened 
 the front door. Willie Ruston held out his hand, 
 but Harry did not this time take it. Holding the 
 door-knob, he looked at his visitor with a puzzled 
 entreaty in his eyes, and his visitor suddenly felt sorry 
 for him. 
 
 " I hope Mrs. Dennison is well ? " said Ruston, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " No," answered Harry, with rough abruptness. 
 " She's not well. I knew how it would be ; I told you. 
 You would go." 
 
 " My dear fellow " 
 
 " You would talk to her about your miserable Com-
 
 282 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 pany — our Company, if you like. I knew it would do 
 her harm. I told you so." 
 
 lie was pouring out his incoherent charges and 
 repetitions in a fretful petulance. 
 
 " The doctor says her nerves are all wrong ; she 
 must be left alone. I see it. She's not herself." 
 
 " Then that," said Ruston, " is the real reason why 
 you're severing yourself from us ? " 
 
 " I don't want her to hear anything more about it; 
 she got absorbed in it. I told you she would, but you 
 wouldn't listen. Tom Loring thought just the same. 
 But you would go." 
 
 " Is she ill ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know that she's ill. She's — she's not 
 herself. She's strange." 
 
 The note of distress in his voice grew more acute 
 as he went on. 
 
 "I'm very sorry," said Willie, baldly. "Give her 
 my best " 
 
 " If you want to see me again about it, I — you'll 
 always know where to find me in the City, won't you ?" 
 He shuffled his feet nervously, and twisted the door- 
 knob as he spoke. 
 
 " You mean," asked Huston, slowly, " that I'd bet- 
 ter not come here? " 
 
 "Well, yes — just now," mumbled Harry; and he 
 added apologetically, " She's seeing very few people 
 just now, you know."
 
 A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR. 2S3 
 
 "As you please, of course," said Ruston, shortly. 
 " I daresay you're right. I should like to say, Denni- 
 
 sou, that I did not intend " He suddenly stopped 
 
 short. There was no need to rush unbidden into more 
 falseness. " Good-bye," he said. 
 
 Harry took the offered hand in a limp grasp, but 
 his eyes did not leave the ground. A moment later the 
 door closed, and Ruston was alone outside — knowing 
 that he had been turned out — in however ineffective 
 blundering manner, yet, in fact, turned out — and by 
 Harry Dennison. That Harry knew nothing, he hardly 
 felt as a comfort; that perhaps he suspected hardly 
 as a danger. He was angry and humiliated that such 
 a thing should happen, and that he should be power- 
 less to prevent, and without title to resent, the blow. 
 
 Looking up he caught sight dimly in the dim light 
 of a lithe figure and a mocking face. Mrs. Cormack 
 had regained her own house by means of the little 
 gate, and stood leaning over the balcony smiling at 
 him like some disguised fiend in a ballet or opera- 
 bouffe. He heard a tinkling laugh. Had she lis- 
 tened ? She was capable of it, and if she had, it 
 might well be that she had caught a word or two. 
 But perhaps his air and attitude were enough to tell 
 the tale. She craned her neck over the parapet, and 
 called to him. 
 
 " I hope we shall see you soon again. Of course, 
 you'll be coming to see Maggie soon ? "
 
 284 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Oh, soon, I hope," he answered sturdily, and the 
 low tinkle of laughter rang out again in answer. 
 
 Without more, he turned on his heel and walked 
 down the street, a morose frown on his brow. 
 
 He had been gone some half-hour when, just 
 before eight o'clock, Mrs. Dennison's victoria drove 
 quickly up to the door. The evening was chilly and 
 she was wearing her furs. Her face rose j>ale and 
 rigid above them ; and as she walked to the house, 
 her steps dragged as though in weariness. She did 
 not go upstairs, but knocked, almost timidly, at the 
 door of her husband's study. Entering in obedience 
 to his call, she found him sitting in his deep leathern 
 arm-chair by the fire. She leant her arm on the back 
 and stared over his head into the fire. 
 
 " Anyone been, Harry ? " she asked. 
 
 He lifted his eyes with a start. 
 
 "Is it you, Maggie?" he cried, leaping up and 
 seizing her hand. " Why, how cold you are, dear ! 
 Come and sit by the fire." 
 
 She did as he bade her. 
 
 " Any visitors ? " she asked again. 
 
 " Ruston," he answered, turning and poking the 
 fire as he did so. " He came to see me about the 
 Company, you know." 
 
 " Is he long gone?" 
 
 " Yes, some time." 
 
 " He was angry, was he ? "
 
 A JOINT IN BIS ARMOUR. 285 
 
 " Yes, Maggie. But I stuck to it. I won't have 
 anything more to do with the thing." 
 
 His petulance betrayed itself again in his voice. 
 She said nothing, and, after a moment, he asked anx- 
 iously, 
 
 " Do you mind much ? You know the doc- 
 tor " 
 
 " Oh, the doctor ! No, Harry, I don't mind. Do 
 as you like. He can get on without us." 
 
 " If you really mind, I'll try " 
 
 " No, no, no," she burst out. " You're quite right. 
 Of course you're right. I don't want you to go on. 
 I'm tired of it too." 
 
 " Are you ? " he asked, with a face suddenly bright- 
 ening. "Are you really? Then I'm glad I told 
 Huston not to come bothering about it here." 
 
 Had he been listening, he could have heard the 
 sharp indrawing of her breath. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she asked. 
 
 " Why, I told him not to come and see you till — 
 till you were stronger." 
 
 She shot a terrified glance at him. His expression 
 was merely anxious and, according to its wont when 
 he was in a difficulty, apologetic. 
 
 " And he won't be here much longer now," he 
 added, comfortingly. 
 
 " No, not much," she forced herself to murmur. 
 
 " Won't you go and dress for dinner ? " he asked, 
 19
 
 286 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 after a moment. " It's ordered for a quarter-past, and 
 it's more than that now." 
 
 "Is it? I'll come directly. You go, and I'll 
 follow you. I shan't be long." 
 
 He came near to where she sat. 
 
 " Are you feeling better ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, Harry, Harry, I'm well, perfectly well ! 
 You and your doctor ! " and she broke into an im- 
 patient laugh. " You'll persuade me into the grave 
 before you've done." 
 
 He looked at her for a moment, and then, shaping 
 his lips to whistle, sounded a few dreary notes and 
 stole out of the room. 
 
 She heard the door close, and, sitting up, stretched 
 her arms over her head. Then she sighed for relief 
 at his going. It was much to be alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE. 
 
 " A month to-day ! " said Lady Valentine, pausing 
 in her writing (she had just set " Octr. 10th " at the 
 head of her paper) and gazing sorrowfully across the 
 room at Marjory. 
 
 Marjory knew well what she meant. The poor 
 woman was counting the days that still lay between 
 her and the departure of her son. 
 
 " Now don't, mother," protested Marjory. 
 
 " Oh, I know I'm silly. I met Mr. Huston at the 
 Seminghams' yesterday, and he told me that there 
 wasn't the least danger, and that it was a glorious 
 chance for Walter — just what you said from the first, 
 dear — and that Walter could run over and see me in 
 about eighteen months' time. Oh, but, Marjory, I 
 know it's dangerous ! " 
 
 Marjory rose and crossed over to where her moth- 
 er sat. , 
 
 " You must be a Spartan matron, dear," said she. 
 " You can't keep Walter in leading strings all his life." 
 
 (287)
 
 2S8 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " No; but he might have stayed here, and got on, 
 and gone into Parliament, and so on." She paused 
 and added, " Like Evan, you know." 
 
 Marjory coloured — more from self-reproach than 
 embarrassment. She had gone in these last weeks 
 terribly near to forgetting poor Evan's existence. 
 
 " Evan came in while I was at the Seminghams'. 
 He looked so dull, poor fellow. I — I asked him to 
 dinner, Marjory. He hasn't been here for a long 
 while. We haven't seen nearly as much of him since 
 we knew Mr. Huston. I don't think they like one 
 another." 
 
 " You know why he hasn't come here," said Mar- 
 jory softly. 
 
 " He spent a week with me while you were at 
 Dieppe. He seemed to like to hear about you." 
 
 A smile of sad patience appeared on Marjory's 
 face. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, you are such a bad hinter," she 
 half laughed, half moaned. 
 
 " Poor Evan ! I'm very sorry for him ; but I can't 
 help it, can I?" 
 
 "It would have been so nice." 
 
 " Ami you used to be such a mercenary creature !" 
 
 "Ah, well, my dear, I want to keep one of my 
 children with me. But, if it can't be, it can't." 
 
 Marjory bent down and whispered in her mother's 
 ear, " I'm not going to Omofaga, dear."
 
 A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE. 289 
 
 "Well, I used to be half afraid of it," admitted 
 Lady Valentine (she forgot that she had half hoped it 
 also) ; " but you never seem to be interested in him 
 now. Do you mind Evan coming to dinner?" 
 
 " Oh, no," said Marjory. 
 
 Since her return from Dieppe she had seemed to 
 " mind " nothing. Relaxation of the strain under 
 which her days passed there had left her numbed. 
 She was conscious only of a passionate shrinking from 
 the sight or company of the two people who had there 
 filled her life. To meet them again forced her back 
 in thought to that dreary mysterious night with its 
 unsolved riddle, that she feared seeking to answer. 
 
 Her mother had called on Maggie Dennison, and 
 came back with a flow of kindly lamentations over 
 Maggie's white cheeks and listless weary air. Her 
 brother was constantly with Ruston, and tried to per- 
 suade her to join parties of which he was to be one. 
 She fenced with both of them, escaping on one plea 
 and another; and Maggie's acquiescence in her ab- 
 sence, no less than Ruston's failure to make a chance 
 of meeting her, strengthened her resolve to remain 
 aloof. 
 
 Young Sir Walter also came to dinner that night ; 
 he was very gay and chatty, full of Omofaga and his 
 fast-approaching expedition. He greeted Evan Hasel- 
 den with a manner that claimed at least equality ; nay, 
 he lectured him a little on the ignorant interference
 
 290 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 of a stay-at-home House of Commons with the work 
 of the men on the spot, in South Africa and else- 
 where ; people on this side would not give a man a 
 free hand, he complained, and exhorted Evan to take 
 no part in such ill-advised meddling. 
 
 Hence he was led on to the topic he was never now 
 far away from — Willie Euston — and he reproached 
 his mother and sister for their want of attention to 
 the hero. 
 
 This was the first gleam of light for poor Evan 
 Haselden, for it told him that Willie Ruston was not, 
 as he had feared, a successful rival. He rejoiced at 
 Lady Valentine's hinted dislike of Ruston, and anx- 
 iously studied Marjory's face in hope of detecting a 
 like disposition. But his vanity led him to return 
 Walter's lecture, and he added an innuendo concern- 
 ing the unscrupulousness of adventurers who cloaked 
 money-making under specious pretences. Walter 
 flared up in a moment, and the dinner ended in some- 
 thing like a dispute between the two young men. 
 
 " Well, Dennison's found him out, anyhow," said 
 Evan bitterly. "He's cut the whole concern." 
 
 " We can do without Dennison," said young Sir 
 Walter scornfully. 
 
 When the meal was finished, young Sir Walter, 
 treating his friend without ceremony, carelessly plead- 
 ed an engagement, and went out. Lady Valentine, 
 interpreting Evan's glances, and hoping against hope,
 
 A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE. 201 
 
 seized the chance of leaving him alone with her 
 daughter. Marjory watched the manoeuvre without 
 thwarting it. Her heart was more dead to Evan than 
 it had ever been. Her experiences at Dieppe had 
 aged her mind, and she found him less capable of 
 stirring any feeling in her than even in the days when 
 she had half made a hero out of Willie Ruston. 
 
 She waited for his words in resignation ; and he, 
 acute enough to mark her moods, began as a man be- 
 gins who rushes on anticipated defeat. What is unin- 
 telligible seems most irresistible, and he knew not at 
 what point to attack her indifference. He saw the 
 change in her ; he could have dated its beginning. 
 The cause he found somehow in Ruston, but yet it 
 was clear to him that she did not think of Ruston as 
 a suitor — almost clear that she heard his name and 
 thought of him with repulsion — and that the attrac- 
 tion he had once exercised over her was gone. 
 
 The weary talk wore to its close, ending with an- 
 gry petulance on his side, and, at last, on hers with a 
 grief that was half anger. He could not believe in 
 her decision, unless there were one who had displaced 
 him ; and, seeing none save Ruston, in spite of his 
 own convictions, he broke at last into a demand to be 
 told whether she thought of him. Marjory started in 
 horror, crying, " No, no," and, for all Evan's preoccu- 
 pation, her vehemence amazed him. 
 
 " Oh, you've found him out too, perhaps," he
 
 292 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 sneered. " You've found him out by now. All the 
 same, it was his fault that you didn't care for me be- 
 fore." 
 
 " Evan," she implored, " do, pray, not talk like 
 that. There's not a man in the whole world that I 
 would not have for my husband rather than him." 
 
 " Now," he repeated ; " but I'm speaking of be- 
 fore." 
 
 Half angry again at that he should allow himself 
 such an insinuation, she yet liked him too well, and 
 felt too unhappy to be insincere. 
 
 " Well," she said with a troubled smile, " if you 
 like, I've found him out." 
 
 " Then, Marjory," cried Evan, in a spasm of re- 
 viving hope, " if that fellow's out of the way " 
 
 But she would not hear him, and he flung himself 
 out of the house with a rudeness that his love par- 
 doned. 
 
 She heard him go, in aching sorrow that he, who 
 felt few things deeply, should fed this one so deeply. 
 Then, following the calls of society, which are followed 
 in spite of most troubles, she, pale-faced and sad, and 
 her mother, almost weeping in motherly distress, 
 dressed themselves to go to a party. Lady Seming- 
 ham was at home that night. 
 
 At the party all was gay and bright. Lady Sem- 
 ingham was chattering to Mr. Otto Heather. Scm- 
 ingham was trying to make Mr. Foster Belford under-
 
 A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE. 203 
 
 stand the story of the Baron and Willie Ruston, Lord 
 Detchmore, who had come in from a public dinner, 
 was conspicuous in his blue riband, and was listening 
 to Adela Ferrars with a smile on his face. Marjory 
 sat down in a corner, hoping to escape introductions, 
 and, when an old friend carried her mother off to eat 
 an ice, she kept her place. Presently she heard cried, 
 " Mrs. Dennison," and Maggie came in with her usual 
 grace. It seemed as though the last few months were 
 blotted out, and they were all again at that first party 
 at Mrs. Dennison's where Willie Ruston had made his 
 entree. The illusion was not to lack confirmation, for, 
 a moment later, Ruston himself was announced, and 
 the sound of his name made Adela turn her head for 
 one swift moment from her distinguished companion. 
 
 "Ah!" said Lord Detch more, "then I must go. 
 If I talk to him any more I'm a lost man." 
 
 " There's Mr. Loring in the corner — no, not that 
 corner ; that's Marjory Valentine. He will take your 
 side." 
 
 "Why are they all in corners?" asked Detchmore. 
 
 " They don't want to be trodden on," said Adela, 
 with a grimace. " You'd better take one too." 
 
 " There's Mrs. Dennison in a third corner. Shall 
 I take that one, or should I get trodden on there ? " 
 
 Adela looked up swiftly. His remark hinted at 
 gossip afloat. 
 
 " Take one for yourself," she began, with an un-
 
 294 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 easy laugh. But the laugh suddenly became genuine 
 for the very absurdity of the thing. " We'll go and 
 join Mr. Loring, shall we ? " she proposed. 
 
 Lord Detchmore acquiesced, and they walked over 
 to where Tom stood. On their way, to their conster- 
 nation, they encountered Willie Ruston. 
 
 " Now we're in for it," breathed Detchmore in low 
 tones. But Ruston, with a bow, passed on, going 
 straight as an arrow towards where Maggie Dennison 
 sat. Lord Detchmore raised his eyebrows, Adela shut 
 her fan with a click, Tom Loring, when they reached 
 him, was frowning. Away across the room sat Mar- 
 jory alone. 
 
 " Good heavens ! he let me alone ! " exclaimed 
 Lord Detchmore. 
 
 " Perhaps I was your shield," said Adela. " He 
 doesn't like me." 
 
 " Nor you, Loring, I expect ? " 
 
 Presently Lord Detchmore moved away, leaving 
 Adela and Tom together. They had been together a 
 good deal lately, and their tones showed the intimacy 
 of friendship. 
 
 " That man," said Adela quickly, " suspects some- 
 thing. He's a terrible old gossip, although he is a 
 great statesman, of course. Can't you prevent them 
 talking there together?" 
 
 " No," said Tom composedly, " I can't; she'd send 
 me away if I went."
 
 A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE. 295 
 
 " Then I shall go. Why isn't Harry here ? " 
 
 " Fie wouldn't come. I've been dining with him 
 at the club." 
 
 " He ought to have come." 
 
 " I don't believe it would have made any differ- 
 ence." 
 
 Adela looked at him for a moment ; then she 
 walked swiftly across the room to Maggie Dennison, 
 aud held out her hand. 
 
 " Maggie, I haven't had a talk with you for ever so 
 long. How do you do, Mr. Ruston V " 
 
 Ruston shook hands but did not move. He stood 
 silently through two or three moments of Adela's 
 forced chatter. Mrs. Dennison was sitting on a small 
 couch, which would just hold two people ; but she sat 
 in the middle of it, and did not offer to make room 
 for Adela. When Adela paused for want of anything 
 to say, there was silence. She looked from the one to 
 the other. Ruston smiled the smile that always 
 exasperated her on his face— the smile of possession 
 she called it in an attempt at definition. 
 
 " Look at Marjory ! " said Mrs. Dennison. " How 
 solitary she looks! Poor girl! Do go and talk to 
 her, Adela." 
 
 " I came to talk to you," said Adela, in fiery tem- 
 per. 
 
 " Well, I'll come and talk to you both directly," 
 said Maggie.
 
 296 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " We're talking business," added Willie Rnston, 
 still smiling. 
 
 " Oh, if you don't want me ! " cried Adela, and she 
 turned away, declaring in her heart that she had made 
 the last effort of friendship. 
 
 With her going went Huston's smile. He bent his 
 head, and said in a low voice, 
 
 " You are the only woman whom I could have left 
 like that, and the only one whom I could have found 
 it hard to leave. Was it very hard for you ? " 
 
 " It was just the truth for me," she answered. 
 
 " Of course you were angry and hurt. I was afraid 
 you would be," he said. 
 
 She looked at him with a curious smile. 
 
 "But then," he continued, "you saw how I was 
 placed. Do you think I didn't surfer in going? I've 
 never had such a wrench in my life. Won't you for- 
 give me, Maggie?" 
 
 "Forgive! What's the use of talking like that? 
 What's the use of my 'forgiving' you for being what 
 you arc ?" 
 
 " You talk as if you'd found me out in some- 
 thing." 
 
 She turned to him, saying very low, 
 
 "And haven't vou found me out, too? We are 
 face to face now, Willie." 
 
 lie did not fully understand her. Half in justifi- 
 cation, half iu apology, he said doggedly,
 
 A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE. 2 ( J7 
 
 " I simply had to go." 
 
 " Yes, you simply had to go. There was the rail- 
 way. Oh, what's the use of talking about it?" 
 
 " I was afraid you meant to have nothing more to 
 do with me." 
 
 " Or you wished it?" she asked quickly. 
 
 He started. She had discerned the thoughts that 
 came into his mind in his solitary walks. 
 
 " Don't be afraid. I've wished it," she added. 
 
 There was a pause ; then he, not denying her 
 charge, whispered, 
 
 " I can't wish it now — not when I'm with you." 
 
 " To have nothing more to do with you ! Ah, 
 Willie, I have nothing to do with anything but you." 
 
 A swift glance from him told her that her appeal 
 touched him. 
 
 " What else is left me ? Can I live as I am liv- 
 ing?" 
 
 " What are we to do ? " he asked. " We shall see 
 one another sometimes now. I can't come to your 
 house, you know. But sometimes " 
 
 " At a party — here and there ! And the rest of the 
 time I must live at — at home ! Home ! " 
 
 He bent to her, w r hispering, 
 
 " We must arrange " 
 
 " No, no," she replied, passionately. " Don't you 
 see ? " 
 
 " What ? " he asked, puzzled.
 
 298 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Oh, you don't understand ! It's not that. It's 
 not that I can't live without you." 
 
 " I never said that," he interposed quickly. 
 
 " And yet I suppose it is that. But it's something 
 more. Willie, I can't live with him." 
 
 " Does he suspect?" he asked in an eager whisper. 
 
 " I don't know. I really don't know. It's worse 
 if he doesn't. Oh, if you knew what I feel when he 
 looks at me and asks " 
 
 "Asks what?" 
 
 " Nothing— nothing in words ; but, Willie, every- 
 thing, everything. I shall go mad, if I stay. And then 
 
 don't you see ?" She stopped, going on again a 
 
 moment later. " I've borne it till I could see you. 
 But I can't go on bearing it." 
 
 He glanced at her. 
 
 " We can't talk about it here," he said. " Every- 
 body will see how agitated you are." 
 
 For answer she schooled her face to rigidity, and 
 her hands to motionlessness. 
 
 " You must talk about it — here and now," she 
 said. " It's the only time I've seen you since— Dieppe. 
 What are you going to do, Willie?" 
 
 lie looked round. Then, with a smile, he offered 
 his arm. 
 
 " I must take you to have something," he said. 
 " Come, we must walk through the room." 
 
 She rose and took his arm. Bowing and smiling,
 
 A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE. 299 
 
 she turned to greet her acquaintances. She stopped 
 to speak to Lord Detchmore, and exchanged a word 
 with her host. 
 
 "Yes. What are you going to do?" she asked 
 again, aloud. 
 
 They had reached the room where the buffet stood. 
 Mrs. Dennison, after a few words to Lady Valentine, 
 who was still there, sat down on a chair a little remote 
 from the crowd. Ruston brought her a cup of coffee, 
 and stood in front of her, with the half -conscious in- 
 tention of shielding her from notice. She drank the 
 coffee hastily ; its heat brought a slight glow to her 
 face. 
 
 " You're going as you planned ? " she asked. 
 
 He answered in low, dry tones, emptied of all emo- 
 tion. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " I'm going." 
 
 She stretched out her hand towards him implor- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Willie, you must take me with you," she said. 
 
 He looked down with startled face. 
 
 " My God, Maggie ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " I can't stay here. I can't stay with him." 
 
 Her lips quivered ; he took her cup from her (he 
 feared that she would let it fall), and set it on the ta- 
 ble. Behind them he heard merry voices; Semiug- 
 ham's was loud among them. The voices were coming 
 near them.
 
 300 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " I must think," he whispered. " We can't talk 
 now. I must see you again." 
 
 "Where?" she asked helplessly. 
 
 " Carlin's. Come up to-morrow. I can arrange 
 it. For heaven's sake, begin to talk about some- 
 thing." 
 
 She looked up in his face. 
 
 " I could stand here and tell it to the room," she 
 said, " sooner than live as I live now." 
 
 He had no time to answer. Semingham's arm was 
 on his shoulder. Lord Detchmore stood by his side. 
 
 " I want," said Semingham, " to introduce Lord 
 Detchmore to you, Mrs. Dennison. It's not at all dis- 
 interested of me. You must persuade him — you 
 know what about." 
 
 " No, no," laughed the Minister, " I mustn't be 
 talked to; it's highly improper, and I distrust my 
 virtue." 
 
 " I'll be bound now that you were talking about 
 Omofaga this very minute," pursued Semingham. 
 
 " Of course we were," said Huston. 
 
 " You're a great enthusiast, Mrs. Dennison," 
 smiled Detchmore. " You ought to go out, you 
 know. Can't you persuade your husband to lend you 
 to the expedition?" 
 
 Huston could have killed the man for his mal- 
 apropos jesting. Maggie Dennison seemed unable to 
 answer it. Semingham broke in lightly,
 
 A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE. 301 
 
 " It would be a fine chance for proving the qual- 
 ity — and the equality — of women," said he. " I al- 
 ways told Mrs. Deanison that she ought to be Queen 
 of Omofaga." 
 
 " And I hope," said Detchmore, with a significant 
 smile, " that there'll soon be a railway to take you 
 there." 
 
 Even at that moment, the light of triumph came 
 suddenly gleaming into Euston's eyes. He looked at 
 Detchmore, who laughed and nodded. 
 
 " I think so. I think I shall be able to manage 
 it," he said. 
 
 " That's an end to all our troubles," said Seniing- 
 ham. " Come, we'll drink to it." 
 
 He signed to a waiter, who brought champagne. 
 Lord Detchmore gallantly pressed a glass on Mrs. 
 Dennison. She shook her head, but took it. 
 
 " Long life to Omofaga, and death to its ene- 
 mies ! " cried Semingham in burlesque heroics, and, 
 with a laugh — that was, as his laughs so often were, 
 as much at himself as at the rest of the world — he 
 made a mock obeisance to Willie Ruston, adding, 
 " Moriamur pro rege nostro!" and draining the glass. 
 
 Maggie Dennison's eyes sparkled. Behind the 
 mockery in Semingham's jest, behind the only half 
 make-believe homage which Detchmore's humorous 
 glance at Ruston showed, she saw the reality of defer- 
 ence, the acknowledgment of power in the man she 
 20
 
 302 THE GOD IN TOE CAR. 
 
 loved. For a brief moment she tasted the troubled 
 joy which she had paid so high to win. For a mo- 
 ment her eyes rested on Willie Huston as a woman's 
 eyes rest on a man who is the world's as well as hers, 
 but also hers as he is not the world's. She sipped the 
 champagne, echoing in her low rich voice, so that the 
 men but just caught the words, " Moriamur pro rege 
 nostro" and gave the glass into Ruston's hand. 
 
 A sudden seriousness fell upon them. Detchmore 
 glanced at Semingham, and thence, curiously, at Wil- 
 lie Euston, whose face was pale and marked with a 
 deep-lined frown. Mrs. Dennison had sunk back in 
 her chair, and her heart rose and fell in agitated 
 breathings. Then Willie Huston spoke in cool delib- 
 erate tones. 
 
 " The King there was a Queen," he said. " You've 
 drunk to the wrong person, Semingham. I'll drink it 
 right," and, bowing to Maggie Dennison, he drained 
 his glass. Looking up, he found Detchmore's eyes on 
 him in overpowering wonder. 
 
 " If I tell you a story, Lord Detchmore," said he, 
 "you'll understand," and, yielding his place by Mag- 
 gie Dennison, he took Detchmore with him, and they 
 walked away in talk. 
 
 It was an hour later when Lord Detchmore took 
 leave of his host. 
 
 "Well, did you hear the story?" asked Seming- 
 ham.
 
 A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE. :;,,;; 
 
 " Yes ; I heard it," said Detchmore, " about the 
 telegram, wasn't it?" 
 
 kk Ves, and of course, you see, it explains the 
 toast." 
 
 " That sounds like a question, Semingham." 
 
 " Oh, no. The note of interrogation was — a prin- 
 ter's error." 
 
 " It's a remarkable story." 
 
 " It really is," said Semingham. 
 
 " And — is it the whole story ? " 
 
 " Well, isn't it enough to justify the toast?" 
 
 " It — and she — are enough," said Detchmore. 
 " But, Semingham " 
 
 Lord Semingham, however, took him by the arm, 
 walked him into the hall, got his hat and coat for 
 him, helped him on with them, and wished him good- 
 night. Detchmore submitted without resistance. Just 
 at the last, however, as he fitted his hat on his head, 
 he said, 
 
 " You're unusually explicit, Semingham. He goes 
 to Omofaga soon, don't he ? " 
 
 " Yes, thank God," said Semingham, almost cheer- 
 fully.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT. 
 
 " You can manage it for me ? " asked Willie Rus- 
 ton. 
 
 " I suppose I can," answered Carlin ; " but it's 
 rather queer, isn't it, Willie ? " 
 
 " I don't know whether it's queer or not ; but I 
 must talk to her for half-an-hour." 
 
 " Why not at Curzon Street ? " 
 
 Ruston laughed a short little laugh. 
 
 " Do you really want the reason stated ? " he in- 
 quired. 
 
 Carlin shook his head gloomily, but he attempted 
 no remonstrance. He confined himself to saying, 
 
 " I hope the deuce you're not getting yourself into 
 a mess ! " 
 
 " She'll be here about five. You must be here, 
 you know, and you must leave me with her. Look 
 here, Carlin, I only want a word with her." 
 
 " But my wife " 
 
 " Send your wife somewhere — to the theatre with 
 
 (804)
 
 THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT. 305 
 
 the children, or somewhere. Mind you're here to 
 receive her." 
 
 He issued his orders and walked away. He hated 
 making arrangements of this sort, but there was (he 
 told himself) no help for it. Anything was better 
 than talking to Maggie Dennison before the world in 
 a drawing-room. And it was for the last time. Ee- 
 moved from her presence, he felt clear about that. 
 The knot must be cut ; the thing must be finished. 
 His approaching departure made a natural and inevit- 
 able end to it ; and her mad suggestion of coming with 
 him shewed in its real enormity as he mused on it in 
 his solitary thoughts. For a moment she had carried 
 him away. The picture of her pale eloquent face, and 
 the gleam of her eager eyes had almost led him to 
 self -betrayal ; the idea of her in such a mood beside 
 him in his work and his triumphs had seemed for the 
 moment irresistible. She could double his strength 
 and make joy of his toil. But it could not be so ; and 
 for it to be so, if it could be, he must stand revealed 
 as a traitor to his friend, and be banned for an outlaw 
 by his acquaintance. He had been a traitor, of 
 course, but he need not persist. They — she and he — 
 must not stereotype a passing madness, nor refuse the 
 rescue chance had given them. There was time to 
 draw back, to set matters right again — at least, to 
 trammel up the consequence of wrong. 
 
 When she came, and Carlin, frowning perplexedly,
 
 306 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 had, with awkward excuses, taken himself away, he 
 said all this to her in stumbling speech. From the 
 exaltation of the evening before they fell pitiably. 
 They had soared then in vaulting imagination over 
 the bristling barriers ; to-day they could rise to no 
 such height. Reality pressed hard upon them, crush- 
 ing their romance into crime, their passion to the vul- 
 garity of an everyday intrigue. This secret backstairs 
 meeting seemed to stamp all that passed at it with its 
 own degrading sign ; their high-wrought defiance of 
 the world and the right dwindled before their eyes to 
 a mean and sly evasiveness. So felt Willie Ruston ; 
 and Maggie Dennison sat silent while he painted for 
 her what he felt. She did not interrupt him ; now 
 and again a shiver or a quick motion shewed that she 
 heard him. At last he had said his say, and stood, 
 leaning against the mantelpiece, looking down on her. 
 Then, without glancing up, she asked, 
 
 "And what's to become of me, Willie?" 
 
 The sudden simple question revealed him to him- 
 self. Put in plain English, his rigmarole meant, 
 " Go your way and I'll go mine." What he had said 
 might be right — might be best — might be duty — might 
 be religion — might be anything you would. But a 
 man may forfeit the right to do right. 
 
 " Of you ? " he stammered. 
 
 " I can't live as I am," she said. 
 
 lie began to pace up and down the room. She
 
 THE CUTTING OP THE KNOT. 307 
 
 sat almost listlessly in her chair. There was an air of 
 helplessness about her. But she was slowly thinking 
 over what he had said and realising its purport. 
 
 " You mean we're never to meet again ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Not that ! " he cried, with a sudden heat that 
 amazed himself. V Not that, Maggie. Why that ? " 
 
 " Why that ? " she repeated in wondering tones. 
 " What else do you mean ? You don't mean we 
 should go on like this ? " 
 
 He did not dare to answer either way. The one 
 was now impossible — had swiftly, as he looked at her, 
 come to seem impossible ; the other was to treat her 
 as not even he could treat her. She was not of the 
 stuff to live a life like that. 
 
 There was silence while he waged with himself 
 that strange preposterous struggle, where evil seemed 
 good, and good a treachery not to be committed ; 
 wherein his brain seemed to invite to meanness, and 
 his passion, for once, to point the better way. 
 
 " I wish to God we had never " he began ; but 
 
 her despairing eyes stifled the feeble useless sentence 
 ■m his lips. 
 
 At last he came near to her ; the lines were deep 
 on his forehead, and his mouth quivered under a 
 forced smile. He laid his hand on her shoulder. She 
 looked up questioningly. 
 
 " You know what you're asking ? " he said.
 
 308 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 She nodded her head. 
 
 " Then so be it," said he ; and he went again and 
 leant against the mantelpiece. 
 
 He felt that he had paid a debt with his life, but 
 knew not whether the payment were too high. 
 
 It seemed to him long before she spoke — long 
 enough for him to repeat again to himself what he 
 had done — how that he, of all men, had made a bur- 
 den that would break his shoulders, and had fettered 
 his limbs for all his life's race — yet to be glad, too, 
 that he had not shrunk from carrying what he had 
 made, and had escaped coupling the craven with his 
 other part. 
 
 "What do you mean?" she asked at last; and 
 there was surprise in her tone. 
 
 " It shall be as you wish," he answered. " We'll 
 go through with it together." 
 
 Though he was giving what she asked, she seemed 
 hardly to understand. 
 
 " I can't let you go," he said ; "and I suppose you 
 can't let me go." 
 
 "But— but what'll happen?" 
 
 " God knows," said he. " We shall be a long way. 
 off, anyhow." 
 
 "In Omofaga, Willie?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 After a pause she rose and moved a step towards 
 him.
 
 THE CUTTING OP THE KNOT. 309 
 
 " Why are you doing it?" she asked, searching his 
 eyes with hers. " Is it just because I ask ? Because 
 you're sorry for me ? " 
 
 She was standing near him, and he looked on her 
 face. Then he sprang forward, catching her hands. 
 
 " It's because* you're more to me than I ever 
 thought any woman could be." 
 
 She let her hands lie in his. 
 
 " But you came here," she said, " meaning to send 
 me away." 
 
 " I was a fool," he said, grimly, between his teeth. 
 
 She drew her hands away, and then whispered, 
 
 " And, Willie— Harry ? " 
 
 Again he had nothing to answer. She stood look- 
 ing at him with a wistful longing for a word of com- 
 fort. He gave none. She passed her hand across her 
 eyes, and burst into sudden sobs. 
 
 " How miserable I am ! " she sobbed. " I wish I 
 was dead ! " 
 
 He made as though to take her hand again, but 
 she shrank, and he fell back. With one hand over 
 her eyes, she felt her way back to her chair. 
 
 For five minutes or more she sat crying. Ruston 
 did not move. He had nothing wherewith to console 
 her, and he dared not touch her. Then she looked up. 
 
 " If I were dead ? " she said. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! You'd break my heart," he an- 
 swered in low tones.
 
 310 THE GOD IX THE CAR. 
 
 In the midst of her weeping, for an instant she 
 smiled. 
 
 " Ah, Willie, Willie ! " she said ; and he knew that 
 she read him through and through, so that he was 
 ashamed to protest again. 
 
 She did not believe in that from him. 
 
 Presently her sobs ceased, and she crushed her 
 handkerchief into a ball in her hand. 
 
 " Well, Maggie ? " said lie in hard even tones. 
 
 She rose again to her feet and came to him. 
 
 " Kiss me, Willie," she said ; " I'm going back 
 home." 
 
 He took her in his arms and kissed her. She 
 released herself, and gazed long in his face. 
 
 "Why?" he asked. "You can't bear it; you 
 know you can't. Come with me, Maggie. I don't 
 understand you." 
 
 " No ; I don't understand myself. I came here 
 meaning to go with you. I came here thinking I 
 could never bear to go back. Ah, you don't know 
 what it is to live there now. But I must go back. 
 Ah, how I hate it ! " 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm. 
 
 " Think— if I came with you ! Think, Willie ! " 
 
 " Yes," he said, as though it had been wrung from 
 him, " I know, lint come all the same, Maggie," and 
 with a sudden gust of passion he began to beseech 
 her, declaring that he could not live without her.
 
 THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT. 31 1 
 
 "No, no," she cried; "it's not true, Willie, or 
 you're not the man I loved. Go on, dear ; go on. I 
 shall hear about you. I shall watch you." 
 
 "But you'll be here — with him," he muttered in 
 grim anger. 
 
 " Ah, Willie, are you still — still jealous ? Even 
 now ? " 
 
 A silence, fell between them. 
 
 " You shall come," he said at last. " What do I 
 care for him or the rest of them ? I care for nothing 
 but you." 
 
 " I will not come, Willie. I dare not come. Wil- 
 lie, in a week — in a day — Willie, my dear, in an hour 
 you will be glad that I would not come." 
 
 As she spoke, her voice grew louder. The words 
 sounded like a sentence on him. 
 
 "Is that why?" he asked, regarding her with 
 moody eyes. 
 
 She hesitated before she answered, in bewildered 
 despair. 
 
 " Yes. I don't know. In part it is. And I 
 daren't think of Harry. Let me think, Willie, that 
 it's a little bit because of Harry and the children. I 
 know I can't expect you to believe it, but it is a little, 
 though it's more because of you." 
 
 " Of me ? — for my sake, do you mean ? " 
 
 " No ; not altogether for your sake ; because of 
 you."
 
 312 TI1E GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " And, Maggie, if he suspects ? " 
 
 " He won't suspect," she said. " He would take 
 my word against the world." 
 
 " They suspect — some of them — that woman Mrs. 
 Cormack. A nd — does Marjory ? " 
 
 " It is nothing. He won't believe. Marjory will 
 not say a word." 
 
 " You'll persuade him that there was noth- 
 ing ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I'll persuade him," she answered. 
 
 She began to pull a glove on to her hand. 
 
 " I must go," she said. " It's nearly an hour since 
 I came." 
 
 lie took a step towards her. 
 
 " You won't come, Maggie ? " he urged, and there 
 was still eagerness in his voice. 
 
 " Not again, Willie. I can't stand it again. Good- 
 bye. I've given you everything, Willie. And you'll 
 think of me now and then ? " 
 
 He was unmanned. He could not answer her, but 
 turned towards the wall and covered his face with his 
 hand. 
 
 " I shan't think of you like that," she said, a note 
 of wondering reproach in her voice. " I shall think 
 of you conquering. I like the hard look that they 
 blame you for.. Well, you'll have it soon again, 
 Willie." 
 
 She moved towards the door. He did not turn.
 
 THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT. 313 
 
 She waited an instant looking at him. A smile was 
 on her lips, and a tear trickled down her cheeks. 
 
 " It's like shutting the door on life, Willie," she 
 said. 
 
 He sprang forward, but she raised her hand to stay 
 him. 
 
 " No. It is— settled," said she ; and she opened 
 the door of the room and walked out into the little 
 entrance-hall. 
 
 It was a wet evening, and the rain pattered on the 
 roof of the projecting porch. They stood there a mo- 
 ment, till her cabman, who had taken refuge in the 
 lee of the garden wall, brought his vehicle up to the 
 door. They heard a step creak behind them in the 
 hall, and then recede. Carlin was treading on tip-toe 
 away. 
 
 Maggie Dennison put out her hand and met Rus- 
 ton's. She pressed his hand with strength more than 
 her own, and she said, very low, 
 
 " I am dying now — this way — for my king, Willie," 
 and she stepped out into the rain, and climbed into 
 the cab. 
 
 " Back to where you brought me from," she called 
 to the man, and leaning forward, where the cab lamps 
 caught her face, so that it gleamed like the face of 
 some marble statue, she looked on Willie Ruston. Her 
 lips moved, but he heard no word. The wheels turned 
 and the lamps flashed, and she was carried away.
 
 3L4 TIIE G0I) IN TIIE CAR - 
 
 Willie started forward a step or two, then ran to 
 the gate and, leaning on it, watched the red lights as 
 they fled away; and long after they were gone, he 
 stood there, bareheaded, in the drenching rain. He 
 did not think ; he still saw her, still heard her voice, 
 and watched her broad low brow. She still stood be- 
 fore him, not the fairest of women, but the woman 
 who was for him. And the rumble of retreating 
 wheels sounded again in his ears. She was gone. 
 
 How long he stood he did not know. Presently 
 he felt an arm passed through his, and he was led 
 back to the house. 
 
 Old Carlin took him through the hall into bis own 
 little study, where a bright fire blazed, and gave him 
 brandy, which he drank, and helped him off with his 
 wet coat, and put a cricketing jacket on him, and 
 pushed him into an arm-chair, and hunted for a pair 
 of slippers for him. 
 
 All this while neither spoke ; and at last Carlin, his 
 tasks done, stood and warmed himself at the fire, look- 
 ing steadily in front of him, and never at his friend. 
 
 " You dear old fool," said Willie Ruston. 
 
 "Ah, well, well, you mustn't take cold. If you 
 were laid up now, what the deuce would become of 
 Omofaga ? " 
 
 His small, sharp, shrewd eyes blinked as he spoke, 
 and he glanced at Willie Huston as he named 
 Omofaga.
 
 THE CUTTING OP THE KNOT. :;i;, 
 
 Willie sprang to his feet with an oath. 
 
 " My God ! " he cried, " why do you do this for 
 me ? Who'll do anything for her ? " 
 
 Carlin blinked again, keeping his gaze aloof. 
 Then he held out his hand, and Willie seized it, 
 saying, 
 
 " I'm — I'm precious hard hit, old man." 
 
 The other nodded and, as Willie sank back in his 
 chair, stole quietly out of the room, shutting the door 
 close behind him. 
 
 Willie Kuston drew his chair nearer the fire, and 
 spread out his hands to the blaze. And as the heat 
 warmed his frame, the stupor of his mind passed, and 
 he saw some of what was true — a glimpse of his naked 
 self thrown up against the light of the love that others 
 found for him. And he turned away his eyes, for it 
 seemed to him that he could not look long and endure 
 to live. And he groaned that he had won love and 
 made for himself so mightv an accuser of debts that 
 it lay not in him to pay. For even then, while he 
 cursed himself, and cursed the nature that would not 
 be changed in him ; even while the words of his love 
 were in his ears, and her presence near with him ; even 
 while life seemed naught for the emptiness her going 
 made, and himself nothing but longing for her ; even 
 then, behind regret, behind remorse, behind agony, 
 behind self-contempt and self-disgust, lay hidden, and 
 deeper hidden as he thrust it down, the knowledge
 
 316 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 that he was glad — glad that his life was his own 
 again, to lead and make and shape ; wherein to take 
 and hold, to play and win, to fasten on what was his, 
 and to beat down his enemies before his face. That 
 no man could rob him of, and the woman who could 
 would not. So, as Maggie Dennison had said, in the 
 passing of an hour he was glad ; and in the passing of 
 a week he had learnt to look in the face of the glad- 
 ness which he had and loathed.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE RETURN OF A FRIEND. 
 
 About a week later, Tom Loring sat at work in 
 his rooms. The table was strewn with books of blue 
 and of less alarming colours. Tom was smoking a 
 short pipe, and when he paused for a fresh idea, the 
 smoke welled out of his mouth, aye, and out of his 
 nose, thick and fast. For a while he wrote busily ; 
 then a dash of his pen proclaimed a finished task, and 
 he lay back in the luxury of accomplishment. Pres- 
 ently he pushed back his chair, knocked out his pipe, 
 refilled it, and stretched himself on the sofa. After 
 the day's work came the day's dream ; and the day's 
 dream dwelt on the coming of the evening hour, when 
 Tom was to take tea with Adela Ferrars at half-past 
 five. When he had an appointment like that, it 
 coloured his whole day, and made his hard labour 
 pass lightly. Also it helped him to forget what there 
 was in his own life and his friends' to trouble him ; 
 and he nursed with quiet patience a love that did not 
 expect, that hardly hoped for, any issue. As he had 
 
 21 (317)
 
 318 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 been content to be Harry Dennison's secretary, so 
 he seemed satisfied to be an undeclared lover; finding 
 enough for his modesty in what most men would have 
 felt only a spur to urge them to press further. 
 
 He was roused by a step on the stair. A moment 
 later, Harry Dennison burst into the room. Tom had 
 seen him a few days before, uneasy, troubled, apolo- 
 getic, talking of Maggie's strange indisposition — she 
 was terribly out of sorts, he had said, and appeared to 
 find all company and all talk irksome. He had spoken 
 with a meek compassion that exasperated Tom — an 
 unconsciousness of any hardship laid on him. Tom 
 sat up, glad to console him for an hour ; glad, per- 
 haps, of any company that would trick an hour into 
 the past. But to-day Harry's step was light; there 
 was a smile on his lips, a gleam of hope in his eyes ; 
 he rushed to Tom, seized his hand, and, before he sat 
 down or took off his hat, blurted out, 
 
 " Tom, old boy, she wants you to come back." 
 
 Tom started. 
 
 " What ?" he cried, " Mrs. Dennison wants " 
 
 " Yes," Harry went on, " she sent for me to-day, 
 and told me that she saw how I missed you, and that 
 she was sorry that she had — well — sorry for all the 
 trouble, you know. Then she said, ' I wonder if Tom 
 (she called you Tom) bears malice. Tell him Omo- 
 faga is quite gone, and I want him to come back, and 
 if he'll come here, I'll go on my knees to him.' "
 
 THE RETURN OF A FRIEND. 319 
 
 Harry stopped, smiling joyfully at his wonderful 
 news. Tom wore a doubtful look. 
 
 " I can't tell you," said Harry, " what it means to 
 me. It's not only your coming, old chap, though, 
 heaven knows, I'm gladder of that than I've been of 
 anything for months — but you see what it means, 
 Tom ? It means — why, it means that we're to be as 
 we were before that fellow came. Tom, she spoke to 
 me more as she used to-day." 
 
 His voice faltered ; he spoke as an innocent loyal 
 man might of a pardon from some loved capricious 
 Sovereign. He had not understood the disfavour — he 
 had dimly discerned inexplicable anger. Now it was 
 past, and the sun shone again. Tom found himself 
 saying, 
 
 " I wish there were more fellows in the world like 
 you, Harry." 
 
 Harry's eyes opened in momentary astonishment at 
 the irrelevance, but he was too full of his news and 
 his request to stay for wonder. 
 
 " You'll come, Tom ? " he asked. " You won't re- 
 fuse her ? " " Could any one refuse her anything ? " 
 was what his tone said. " We want you, Tom," he went 
 on. "Hang it, I've had no one to speak to lately but 
 that Cormack woman. I hate that woman. She's al- 
 ways hinting something — some lie or other, you know." 
 
 " Don't be too hard on little Mrs. Cormack," said 
 Tom.
 
 320 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 He remembered certain words which had shown a 
 soft spot in Mrs. Cormack's heart. Harry did not 
 know that she had grieved to hear him pacing up and 
 down. 
 
 "You'll come, Tom? I know, of course, that 
 you've a right to be angry, and to say you won't, and 
 all that. But I know you won't do it. She's not 
 well, Tom ; and I — I can't always understand her. 
 You used to understand her, Tom. She used to like 
 your chaff, you know." 
 
 Tom would not enter on that. He pressed Harry's 
 hand, answering, 
 
 " Of course, I'll come." 
 
 " Bring all this with you," cried Harry. " I shan't 
 take up your time. You must stick to your own work 
 as much as you like. When'll you come, Tom ? " 
 
 " Why, to-morrow," said Tom Loring. 
 
 "Not now?" 
 
 " I might, if you like," smiled Tom. 
 
 " That's right, old chap. You can send round for 
 your things. Bring a bag, and come to-night. Your 
 room's there for you. I told them to keep it ready. 
 Damn it, Tom, I thought things would come straight 
 some day, and I kept it ready." 
 
 Had things come straight? Tom did not know. 
 
 " I say," pursued Harry, " I met Euston to-day. 
 He was very kind about my cutting the Omofaga. I 
 wonder if I've been unjust to him ! "
 
 THE RETURN OF A FRIEND. 321 
 
 Then Tom smiled. 
 
 " I shouldn't bother about that, if I were you," 
 said he. 
 
 " Well, he's not a thin-skinned chap, is he ? " asked 
 Harry, with relief. 
 
 " I should fancy not," said Tom. 
 
 " You see, he's off in a fortnight, and I thought 
 we ought to part friends. 80 I told him — well, I said, 
 you know, that when he came back, we should be glad 
 to see him." 
 
 Tom began to laugh. 
 
 "You're getting quite a diplomatist, Harry," he 
 said. 
 
 When Harry bustled away, his high spirits raised 
 higher still by Tom's ready assent, Tom put on the 
 garb of society, and took a cab to Adela Ferrars'. 
 
 " She'll be very pleased about this," thought Tom, 
 as he went along. " It's good news to take her." 
 
 But whatever else Tom Loring knew, it is certain 
 
 that he was not infallible on the subject of women 
 
 and their feelings. He recognised the fact (having 
 
 indeed suspected it many times before) when Adela, 
 
 ' on the telling of his tidings, flashed out in petulance, 
 
 " She's sent for you back ? " she asked ; and Tom 
 nodded. 
 
 "And you're going?" was the next quick ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Well, I could hardly refuse, could I ? "
 
 322 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " No ; I suppose not — at least not if you're Mag- 
 gie Dennison's dog, for her to drive away with a stick 
 and whistle back at her pleasure." 
 
 Tom had been drinking tea. He set down the 
 cup, and feebly stroked his thigh with his hand ; and 
 he glanced at Adela (who was rattling the tea things) 
 with deprecatory surprise. 
 
 " I hadn't thought of it like that," he ventured to 
 remark. 
 
 " Oh, of course, you hadn't. Maggie sends you 
 away — you go. Maggie sends a footman (well, then, 
 Harry) for you — and back you go. And I suppose 
 you'll say you're very sorry, won't you ? and you'll 
 promise you won't do it again, won't you ? " 
 
 "I don't think I shall be asked to do that," said 
 Tom, speaking seriously, but showing a slight offence 
 in his manner. 
 
 "But if she tells you to?" asked Adela scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 " I didn't think you'd take it like this. Why 
 shouldn't I go back?" 
 
 " Oh, go back ! Go back and fetch and carry for 
 Maggie, and write Harry's speeches till the end of the 
 chapter. Oh, yes, go back." 
 
 Tom was puzzled. 
 
 " Has anything upset yon to-day?" he asked. 
 
 " Has anything upset me ! " echoed Adela, throw- 
 ing her eyes up to the ceiling.
 
 THE RETURN OP A FRIEND. 323 
 
 Tom finished his tea in a nervous gulp. 
 
 " I don't see why I shouldn't go back," he said. 
 
 " Well, I'm telling you to go back," said Adela. 
 "Go back till she's had enough of you again— and 
 then be turned out again." 
 
 Tom's face grew crimson. 
 
 " At least," he said slowly, " she has never spoken 
 to me like that." 
 
 Adela had left the table and taken an arm-chair 
 near the fire. Her back was to the door and her face 
 towards Tom ; she held a fire-screen between her and 
 him, letting the blaze burn her face. But Tom, being 
 unobservant, paid no attention to the position of the 
 fire-screen. With a look of pain on his face, he took 
 up his hat and rose to his feet. The meeting had 
 been very different from what he had hoped. 
 
 " When do you go ? " she asked brusquely. 
 
 " To-night. I'm just going back to my rooms for 
 a bag, and then I shall go. I'm sorry you should — 
 I'm sorry you don't think I'm doing right." 
 
 " It doesn't matter two straws what I think," said 
 Adela behind the screen. 
 
 " Aye, but it does to me," said Tom. 
 
 She made no answer, and he stood for a moment, 
 looking uneasily at the intruding fire-screen. 
 
 " Well, good-bye," he said. 
 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 " I shall see you soon, I hope."
 
 324- THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " If Maggie will let you come." 
 
 " I don't know," said Tom, " what pleasure you 
 find in that. It seems to me that as a gentleman — to 
 say nothing of my being their friend — I must go back." 
 
 She made no retort to this, and he moved a step 
 towards the door. Then he turned and glanced at 
 her. She had dropped the screen and her eyes were 
 fixed on the fire. He sighed, frowned, shrugged his 
 shoulders, turned, and made for the door again. In 
 another second he would have been gone, but Adela 
 cried softly, 
 
 ."Mr. Loring." 
 
 " Yes," he answered, coming to a halt. 
 
 " Stay where you are a minute. Will you stay 
 there a minute?" 
 
 " An hour if you like," said Tom. 
 
 " I just want to say that — that — You're coming 
 nearer! — I want you to stay just where you are." 
 
 Tom halted. He had, in fact, been coming slowly 
 towards her. 
 
 " I suppose," said Adela, in quite an indifferent 
 tone, " that you'll settle down with the Dennisons 
 again?" 
 
 " I don't know. Yes ; I suppose so." 
 
 " Do you," said Adela, sinking far into the re- 
 cesses of the arm-chair, and holding up the screen 
 again, "like being there better than anywhere else? 
 I suppose Maggie is very charming?"
 
 THE RETURN OF A FRIEND. 325 
 
 " You know just what she is." 
 
 " I'm sure I don't. I'm a woman." 
 
 There was a long pause. Tom felt absurd, stand- 
 ing there in the middle of the room. Suddenly Adela 
 leapt to her feet. 
 
 " Oh, go away ! Yes, you're right to go back. Oh, 
 yes, you're quite right. Good-bye, Mr. Loring." 
 
 For a moment longer Tom stood still; then he 
 moved, not towards the door, but towards Adela. 
 When he spoke to her it was in a husky voice. There 
 were no sweet seducing tones in his voice. 
 
 " There's only one place in the world I really care 
 to be," he said. 
 
 She did not speak. 
 
 " Harry and Mrs. Dennison are my friends," he 
 said, " and as long as my time's my own, I'll give it 
 to them. But you don't suppose I go there for happi- 
 ness?" 
 
 " I don't suppose you ever did anything for happi- 
 ness," said Adela, as though she were advancing a 
 heinous charge. " Really, nothing makes me so im- 
 patient as an unselfish man." 
 
 Tom smiled, but his smile was still a nervous one. 
 Nevertheless he felt less absurd. A distant presage of 
 triumph stole into his mind. 
 
 " Don't you want me to go ? " he asked. 
 
 " You may go wherever you like," said she. 
 
 Tom came still nearer. Adela held out her hand
 
 326 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 and said " good-bye." Tom took the hand and 
 held it. 
 
 " You see," he said, " I didn't think I had any- 
 where else to go. I did know a charming lady who 
 was very witty ;md — very rich ! " 
 
 " I — I'll put some more in Omofaga and lose it. 
 Oh, you are stupid, Tom ! I really thought I should 
 have to ask you myself, Tom. I'd have done it sooner 
 than let you go." 
 
 It was not, happily, in the end necessary, and Adela 
 said with a sigh, 
 
 " I believe that I've something to thank Mr. Bus- 
 ton for, after all." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Why, he made me resolved to marry the man who 
 of all the world was most unlike him." 
 
 " Then I've something to thank him for too." 
 
 " Tom," she said, " I don't know what I said to you. 
 I — I was jealous of Maggie Dennison." 
 
 It was later by an hour when Tom Loring took his 
 way, not to his rooms for a bag, but straight to Cur- 
 zon Street. Adela had consented not to wait (" In 
 one's eleventh season one does not want to wait," she 
 said), and Tom considered that it was now hardly 
 worth while to move. So he broke into Harry Denni- 
 son's study with a radiant face, crying, 
 
 " Harry, I'm not coming to you after all, old fel- 
 low."
 
 THK RETURN OF A FRIEND. 327 
 
 Harry started up in dismay, but a short explana- 
 tion turned his sorrow into rejoicing. Again and 
 again he shook Tom's hand, telling him that the man 
 who won a good wife won the greatest treasure earth 
 could offer — and (he added) "by Jove, Tom, I believe 
 the best chance of heaven too," and Tom gripped 
 Harry's hand and cleared his own throat. Then 
 they both felt very much ashamed, and, by way of for- 
 getting this deplorable outburst of emotion (which 
 Tom felt was quite un-English, and smacked indeed 
 of Mrs. Cormack), agreed to go upstairs and announce 
 the news to Maggie. 
 
 " She'll be delighted," said Harry. 
 
 Tom followed him upstairs to the drawing-room. 
 Mrs. Dennison was sitting by the fire, doing nothing. 
 But she sprang up when they came in, and advanced 
 to meet Tom. He also felt like an ill-used subject as 
 she gave him her hand and said, 
 
 " How forgiving you are, Tom ! " 
 
 He looked in her face, and found her smiling un- 
 der sad eyes. And he muttered some confused words 
 about " all that " not mattering " tuppence." And in- 
 deed Mrs. Dennison seemed content to take the same 
 view, for she smiled again and said, 
 
 " Ah, well, there's an end of it, anyhow." 
 
 Then Harry, who had been wondering why Tom 
 delayed his tidings, burst out with them, and Tom 
 added lamely,
 
 328 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 " Yes, it's true, Mrs. Dennison. So you see I can't 
 come." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 " I must accept your excuse," she said, and added 
 a few kind words. " As for Adela," she went ou, 
 " she's never besn to see me lately, but for your sake 
 I'll be humble and go and see her to-morrow." 
 
 Harry, as though suddenly remembering, ex- 
 claimed that he must tell the children ; in fact, he 
 had an idea that a man liked to talk about his en- 
 gagement to a woman alone, and plumed himself on 
 getting out of the room with some dexterity. So 
 Tom and Maggie Dennison were left for a little while 
 together. 
 
 At first they talked of Adela, but it was on Tom's 
 mind to say something else, and at last he contrived to 
 give it utterance. 
 
 " I can't tell you," he said, looking away from her, 
 " how glad I was to get your message. This — this 
 trouble — has been horrible. I know I behaved like a 
 sulky fool. I was quite wrong. It's awfully good of 
 you to forget it." 
 
 " Don't talk like that," she said in a low, slow 
 voice. " How do you think Harry's looking?" 
 
 " Oh, better than I have seen him for a long 
 time. But you're not looking very blooming, Mrs. 
 Dennison." 
 
 She leant forward.
 
 THE RETURN OF A FRIEND. 329 
 
 " Do you think he's happy, or is he worrying? lie 
 talks to you, yon know." 
 
 " I think lie's happier than he's been for months." 
 
 She lay back with a sigh. 
 
 " I hope so," she said. 
 
 " And you ? " he asked, timidly yet urgently. 
 
 It seemed useless to pretend complete ignorance, 
 yet impossible to assert any knowledge. 
 
 " Oh, why talk about me ? Talk about Adela." 
 
 "I love Adela," he said gravely, "as I've never 
 loved any other woman. But when I was a young 
 man and came here, you were very kind to me. And 
 I — no, I'll go on now — I looked up to you, and 
 thought you the — the grandest woman I knew ; and 
 to us young men you were a sort of queen. Well, I 
 haven't changed, Mrs. Dennison. I still think all 
 that, and, if you ever want a friend to help you, 
 or — or a servant to serve you, why, you can call 
 on me." 
 
 She sat silent while he spoke, gazing at the ground 
 in front of her. Tom grew bolder. 
 
 " There was one thing I came to Dieppe to do, but 
 I hadn't the courage there. I wanted to tell you that 
 Harry — that Harry was worthy of your love. I 
 thought — well, I've gone further than I thought I 
 could. You know ; you must forgive me. If there's 
 one thing in all the world that makes me feel all I 
 ever felt for you, and more, it's to see him happy
 
 330 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 again, and you here trying to make him. Because I 
 know that, in a way, it's difficult." 
 
 "Do you know ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, I know. And, because I know, I tell you 
 that you're a wife any man might thank God for." 
 
 M re. Dennison laughed ; and Tom started at the 
 jarring sound. Yet it was not a sound of mirth. 
 
 " You had temptations most of us haven't — yes, 
 and a nature most of us haven't. And here you are. 
 So," — he rose from his chair and took her hand that 
 drooped beside her, and bent his head and kissed it — 
 " though I love Adela with all my heart, still I kiss 
 your hand as your true and grateful servant, as I used 
 to be in old days." 
 
 Tom stopped ; he had said his say, and his voice 
 had grown tremulous in the saying. Yet he had done 
 it; he had told her what he felt; and he prayed that 
 it might comfort her in the trouble that had lined her 
 forehead and made her eyes sad. 
 
 Mrs. Dennison did not glance at him. For a mo- 
 ment she sat quite silent. Then she said, 
 
 " Thanks, Tom," and pressed his hand. 
 
 Then she suddenly sat up in her chair and held 
 her hand out before her, and whispered to him words 
 that he hardly heard. 
 
 "If you knew," she said, "you wouldn't kiss it; 
 you'd spit on it." 
 
 Tom stood, silently, suddenly, wretchedly conscious
 
 THE RETURN OF A FRIEND. 331 
 
 that he did not know what lie ought to do. Then he 
 blurted out, 
 
 " You'll stay with him?" 
 
 " Yes, I shall stay with him," she said, glancing 
 up ; and Tom seemed to see in her eyes the picture of 
 the long future that her words meant. And he went 
 away with his joy eclipsed.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE MOVING CAR. 
 
 In the month of June two years later, Lord Sem- 
 ingham sat on the terrace outside the drawing-room 
 windows of his country house. By him sat Adela 
 Loring, and Tom was to be seen a hundred yards 
 away, smoking a pipe, and talking to Harry Dennison. 
 Suddenly Semingham, who had been reading the 
 newspaper, broke into a laugh. 
 
 " Listen to this," said he. " It is true that the vote 
 for the Omofaga railway was carried, but a majority of 
 ten is not a glorious victory, and there can be little 
 doubt that the prestige of the Government will sutler 
 considerably by such a narrow escape from defeat, and 
 by Lord Detchmore's ill-advised championship of Mr. 
 Huston's speculative schemes. Why is the British 
 Government to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for 
 Mr. Huston? That is what we ask." 
 Lord Semingham paused and added, 
 " Thev may well ask. I don't know. Do von?" 
 " Yesterday," observed Adela, " I received a com- 
 
 \ (332)
 
 THE MOVING CAR, ;;:;:>, 
 
 munication from you in your official capacity. It was 
 not a pleasant letter, Lord Semingham." 
 
 " I daresay not, madam," said Semingham. 
 
 " You told me that the Board regretted to say 
 that, owing to unforeseen hindrances, the work in 
 Omofaga had not advanced as rapidly as had heen 
 hoped, and that for the present it was considered ad- 
 visable to devote all profits to the development of the 
 Company's territory. You added however, that you 
 had the utmost confidence in Mr. Ruston's zeal and 
 ability, and in the ultimate success of the Company." 
 
 " Yes ; that was the circular," said Semingham. 
 " That, is, in fact, for some time likely to be the cir- 
 cular." 
 
 They both laughed ; then both grew grave, and sat 
 silent side by side. 
 
 The drawing-room w r indow was thrown open, and 
 Lady Semingham looked out. She held a letter in 
 her hand. 
 
 " Oh, fancv, Adela ! " she cried. " Such a terrible 
 thing has happened. I've had a letter from Marjory 
 Valentine — she's in awful grief, poor child." 
 
 " Why, what about?" cried Adela. 
 
 " Poor young Walter Valentine has died of fever 
 in Omofaga. He caught it at Fort Imperial, and he 
 was dead in a week. Poor Lady Valentine ! Isn't it 
 sad ? " 
 
 Adela and Semingham looked at one another. A 
 22
 
 334 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 moment ago they had jested on the sacrifices demanded 
 by Omofaga; Semingham had seen in the division on 
 the vote for the railway a delightful extravagant bur- 
 lesque on a larger stage of the fatefulness which he 
 had whimsically read into Willie Ruston's darling 
 scheme. Adela had fallen into his mood, adducing 
 the circular as her evidence. They were taken at 
 their word in grim earnest. Omofaga claimed real 
 tears, as though in conscious malice it had set itself to 
 outplay them at their sport. 
 
 " You don't say anything, Alfred," complained 
 little Lady Semingham from the window. 
 
 " What is there to say ? " asked he, spreading out 
 his hands. 
 
 " The only son of his mother, and she is a widow," 
 whispered Adela, gazing away over the sunny mea- 
 dows. 
 
 Bessie Semingham looked at the pair for an 
 instant, vaguely dissatisfied with their want of de- 
 monstrativeness. There seemed, as Alfred said, very 
 little to say; it was so sad that there ought to have 
 been more to say. But she could think of nothing 
 herself, so, in her pretty little lisp, she repeated, 
 
 " How sad for poor Lady Valentine ! " and slowly 
 shut the window. 
 
 " lie was a bright boy, with the makings of a man 
 in him," said Semingluim. 
 
 Adela nodded, and for a long while neither spoke
 
 THE MOVING CAR. 335 
 
 again. Then Semingham, with the air of a man who 
 seeks relief from sad thoughts which cannot alter 
 sadder facts, asked, 
 
 " Where are the Dennisons?" 
 
 " She went for a walk by herself, but I think she's 
 come back and gone a stroll with Tom and Harry." 
 As she spoke, she looked up and caught a puzzled 
 look in Semingham's eye. " Yes," she went on in 
 quick understanding. " I don't quite understand her 
 either." 
 
 "But what do you think?" he asked, in his in- 
 satiable curiosity that no other feeling could altogether 
 master. 
 
 " I don't want to think about it," said Adela. 
 " But, yes, I'll tell you, if you like. She isn't 
 happy." 
 
 " No. I could tell you that," said he. 
 
 " But Harry is happy. Lord Semingham, when I 
 see her with him — her sweetness and kindness to him 
 — I wonder." 
 
 This time it was Semingham who nodded silent 
 assent. 
 
 " And," said Adela, with a glance of what seemed 
 like defiance, " I pray." 
 
 " You're a good woman, Adela," said he. 
 
 " He sees no change in her, or he sees a change 
 that makes him love her more. Surely, surely, some 
 day, Lord Semingham ?"
 
 336 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 She broke off, leaving her hope unexpressed, but 
 a faint smile on her face told of it. 
 
 " It may be — some day," he said, as though he 
 hardly hoped. Then, with one of his quick retreats, 
 he took refuge in asking, " Are you happy with your 
 husband, Adela ? I hope to goodness you are." 
 
 " Perfectly," she answered, with a bright passing 
 smile. 
 
 "But you get no dividends," he suggested, raising 
 his brows. 
 
 " No ; no dividends," said she. " No more do you." 
 
 " No ; but we shall." 
 
 " I suppose we shall." 
 
 " He'll pull us through." 
 
 " I wish he'd never been born," cried Adela. 
 
 " Perhaps. Since he has, I shall keep my eye on 
 him." 
 
 From the shrubbery at the side of the lawn, 
 Maggie Dennison came out. She was leaning on her 
 husband's arm, and Tom Loring walked with them. 
 A minute later they had heard from Adela the news 
 of the ending of young Sir Walter's life and hopes. 
 
 " Good God !" cried Harry Dennison in grief. 
 
 They sat down and began to talk sadly of the lost 
 boy. Only Maggie Dennison said nothing. Iler eyes 
 were fixed on the sky, and she seemed hardly to hear. 
 Yet Adela, stealing a glance at her, saw her clenched 
 hand quiver.
 
 THE MOVING CAR. 337 
 
 " Do you remember," asked Semingham, " how at 
 Dieppe Bessie would have it that the little red crosses 
 were tombstones ? She was quite pleased with the 
 idea." 
 
 " Yes ; and how horrified the old Baron was," 
 said Adela. 
 
 " Both he and Walter gone ! " mused Harry Den- 
 nison. 
 
 " Well, the omen is fulfilled now," said Tom Lor- 
 inff. " Ruston need not fear for himself." 
 
 Harry Dennison turned a sudden uneasy glance 
 upon his wife. She looked up aud met it with a calm 
 sad smile. 
 
 "He was a brave boy," she said. "Mr. Ruston 
 will be very sorry." She rose and laid her hand on 
 her husband's arm. " Come, Harry," she said, " we'll 
 walk again." 
 
 He rose and gave her his arm. She paused, glanc- 
 ing from one to the other of the group. 
 
 " You mustn't think he won't be sorry," she said 
 pleadingly. 
 
 Then she pressed her husband's arm and walked 
 away with him. They passed again into the fringing 
 shrubbery and were lost to view. Tom Loring did 
 not go with them this time, but sat down by his wife's 
 side. For a while no one spoke. Then Adela said 
 softly, 
 
 "She knows him better than we do. I suppose
 
 338 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 he will be sorry. Will he be sorry for Marjory 
 too ? " 
 
 " If he thinks of her," said Semingham. 
 
 " Yes— if he thinks of her." 
 
 Semingham lit a cigarette and watched the smoke 
 curl skywards. 
 
 " Some of us are bruised," said he, " and some of 
 us are broken." 
 
 " Not beyond cure ? " Adela beseeched, touching 
 his arm. 
 
 " God knows," said he with a shrug. 
 
 "Not beyond cure?" she said again, insisting. 
 
 " I hope not, my dear," said Tom Loring gently. 
 
 "Bruised or broken — bruised or broken!" mused 
 Semingham, watching his smoke-rings. " But the 
 car moves on, eh, Adela? " 
 
 " Yes, the car moves on," said she. 
 
 " And I don't know," said Tom Loring, " that I'd 
 care to be the god who sits in it." 
 
 While Maggie Dennison walked with Harry in the 
 shrubbery, and the group on the terrace talked of the 
 god in the car, on the other side of the world a man 
 sat looking out of a window under a new-risen sun. 
 Presently his eyes dropped, and they fell on a wooden 
 cross that stood below the window. A cheap wreath 
 of artificial flowers decked it — a wreath one of Rus- 
 ton's company had carried over seas from the grave of
 
 THE MOVING CAlt. 339 
 
 his dead wife, and had brought out of his treasures to 
 honour young Sir Walter's grave ; because he and 
 they all had loved the boy. And, as Maggie Dennison 
 had said, Huston also was sorry. His eyes dwelt on 
 the cross, while he seemed to hear again Walter's 
 merry laugh and confident ringing tones, and to see 
 his brave, lithe figure as he sprang on his horse and 
 cantered ahead of the party, eager for the road, or the 
 sport, aye, or the fight. For a moment Willie Ruston's 
 head fell, then he got up — the cross had sent his 
 thoughts back to the far-off land he had left. He 
 walked across the little square room to an iron-bound 
 box ; unlocking it, he searched amid a pile of papers 
 and found a woman's letter. He began to read it, but, 
 when he had read but half, he laid it gently down 
 again among the papers and closed and locked the 
 box. His face was white and set, his eyes gleamed as 
 if in anger. Suddenly he muttered to himself, 
 
 " I loved that boy. I never thought of it killing 
 him." 
 
 And on thought of the boy came another, and 
 for an instant the stern mouth quivered, and he half- 
 turned towards the box again. Then he jerked his 
 head, muttering again ; yet his face was softer, till a 
 heavy frown grew upon it, and he pressed his hand 
 for the shortest moment to his eyes. 
 
 It was over — over, though it was to come again. 
 Treadiug heavily on the floor — there was no lightness
 
 340 THE GOD IN THE CAR. 
 
 left in his step — he reached the door, and found a 
 dozen mounted men waiting for him, and a horse held 
 for him. He looked round on the men ; they were 
 fine fellows, tall and stalwart, ready for anything. 
 Slowly a smile broke on his face, an unmirthful smile, 
 that lasted but till he had said, 
 
 " Well, boys, we must teach these fellows a little 
 lesson to-day." 
 
 His followers laughed and joked, but none joined 
 him where he rode at their head. The chief was a 
 man to follow, not to ride with, they said, half in 
 liking, half in dislike, wholly in trust and deference. 
 Yet in old days he had been good to ride with too. 
 
 The car was moving on. Maybe Tom Loring was 
 not very wrong, when he said that he would not care 
 to be the man who sat in it. 
 
 THE END.
 
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 esting story, and a thoughtful endeavor to prophesy some of the triumphs which science 
 is destined to win by the year 2coo. The book has been written with a purpose, and 
 that a higher one than the mere spinning of a highly imaginative yarn. Mr. Astor has 
 been engaged upon the book for over two years, and has brought to bear upon it a 
 great deal of hard work in the way of scientific research, of which he has been very fond 
 ever since he entered Harvard. It is admirably illustrated by Dan Beard."— Mail and 
 Express. 
 
 " Mr. Astor has himself almost all the qualities imaginable for making the science of 
 astronomy popular. He knows the learned maps of the astrologers. He knows the 
 work of Copernicus. He has made calculations and observations. He is enthusiastic, 
 and the spectacular does not frighten him."— New York Times. 
 
 "The work will remind the reader very much of Jules Verne in its general plan of 
 using scientific facts and speculation as a skeleton on which to hang the romsntic 
 adventures of the central figures, who have all the daring ingenuity and luck of Mr. 
 Verne's heroes. Mr. Astor uses histoiy to point out what in his opinion science may 
 be expected to accomplish. It is a romance with a purpose." — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 
 
 " The nmance contains many new and striking developments of the possibilities 
 of science hereafter to be explored, but the volume is intensely interesting, both as a 
 product of imagination and an illustration of the ingenious and original application of 
 science." — Rochester Herald. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 *J^fIE MANXMAN. By Hall Caine, author of 
 
 ■*■ "The Deemster," " Capt'n Davy's Honeymoon," " The Scape- 
 goat," etc. i2mo. Cluth, $1.50. 
 
 " Within the last few years there have come to the front in England, as writers of 
 fiction, l'.arrie, Stevenson, Crockett, Weyman, and Hall Caine — the last, if we may 
 judge by his latest work, the greatest." — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 "The most powerful story that has been written in the present generation." — 
 Edinburgh Scotsman. 
 
 " It is difficult not to speak with what, may seem indiscriminate praise of Mr. Hall 
 Caine's new work." — London Daily News. 
 
 "The book, as a whole, is on a rare level of excellence — a level which we venture 
 to predict will always be rare."— London Chronicle. 
 
 " A story of marvelously dramatic intensity, and in its ethical meaning has a force 
 comparable only to Hawthorne's 'Scarlet Letter.' " — Boston Beacon. 
 
 "We agree with those who hold 'The Manxman' to be the best of Mr. Hall 
 Caine's stories, and one of the best stories of the year." — The Critic. 
 
 "A singularly powerful and picturesque piece of work, extraordinarily dramatic. 
 . . . Taken altogether, ' The Manxman ' can not fail to enhance Mr. Hall Caine's 
 reputation. It is a most powerful book." — London Standard. 
 
 "The story will assuredly rank with Mr. Caine's best work, and will obtain imme- 
 diate favor with the lovers of strong and pure romance." — London Globe. 
 
 " The story that will absorb thousands of readers, and add rare laurels to the reputa- 
 tion of its author. ... A work such as only a great story-teller could imagine. . . . 
 A really great novel." — Liverpool Post. 
 
 " A book the construction and execution of which very few living European novel- 
 ists could excel. The fullness of the texture in this last novel, the brilliancy of the suc- 
 cessive episodes, the gravity and intensity of the sentiment, the art with which the ever- 
 deepening central tragedy is relieved by what is picturesque and what is comic — all 
 this has only to be seriously considered to be highly appreciated. ' J he Manxman' 
 is a contribution to literature, and the most fastidious critic woidd give in exchange 
 for it a wilderness of that deciduous trash which our publishers caff fiction. "— Eomund 
 Gosse, in St. James's Gazette. 
 
 " A work of rare merit and striking originality. . . . Indubitably the finest book 
 that Mr Hall Caine has yet produced. It is a noble contribution to the enrichment of 
 English fiction and the advancement of its author's fame." — London Academy. 
 
 " It will be read and reread, and take its place in the literary inheritance of the 
 English speaking nations, like George Eliot's great books." — The Queen. 
 
 " ' The Manxman,' we may say at once, confirms the author's claim to rank 
 among the first novelists of the day. . . . The story is constructed and worked out 
 with consummate skill, and, though intensely tragic it is lightened by some charming 
 descriptions of scenery and local customs. The characters, even the minor ones, are 
 closely studied and finely executed, and show a deep experience and knowledge ol 
 human nature, in its lighter as well as darker aspects, such as only a master hand 
 could faithfully have drawn." — London Literary World. 
 
 " In truth it is Mr. Caine's masterpiece, and congratulations are pouring in upon 
 him from right and left. . . . The story had only been issued a few hours when Mr. 
 Gladstone wrote to the Isle of Man to express his admiration for the new success." — 
 London correspondence of the New York Critic. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
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