The God in the Car Part 15

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 in 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 Omof.a.ga prospectus will be out to-morrow."

Adela laughed.

"Bessie is really quite annoyed," remarked Lord Semingham. "I have seldom seen her so perturbed--but I've sent Ruston 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 beyond 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 Omof.a.ga."

"Hush! No words of ill-omen, please! Well, it's annoyed me immensely I can't think what the foolish 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 gla.s.s in his eye.

Adela felt as though she were playing at some absurd game of questions and answers, and must make her reply according to the rules.

"Oh, Mr. Ruston!" she said, with a grimace.

Her visitor nodded--as though he had been answered according to the rules.

"Tom broke out in the most extraordinary manner. He said he couldn't stay with Dennison, if Dennison let Ruston lead him by the nose (_ipsissima verba_, my dear Adela), and told Ruston 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. Ruston. He talked just the same way to me. What did Harry Dennison 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 Ruston got up and said he'd go and leave them to settle it between Tom and him. Oh, Ruston behaved very well. It was uncommonly awkward for him, you know."

"Yes; and when he'd gone?"

"Harry told Tom that he must keep his engagements; but that, sooner than lose him, he'd go no deeper. That was pretty handsome, I thought, but it 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 a.s.s, 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 Omof.a.ga 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 began to play some infernal tune, and that soft-hearted old baby, Harry, blew his nose, and d.a.m.ned the draught."

"And he's going?"

"Yes."

"But," she broke out, "how can he? He's got no money. What'll he live on?"

"Harry offered him as much as he wanted; but he said he had some savings, and wouldn't take a farthing. 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 Loring," 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!"