The God in the Car Part 29

"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. Cormack, 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 courage.

"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. But you, an Englishman----! Oh, never, Mr.

Loring!"

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 p.r.o.nounced the word with unfamiliar delicateness.

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.

"What should you do?" he asked, in new-born humility.

"I? 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 scornful 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."

"Oh, you surpa.s.s yourself," she smiled. "Your compliments are magnificent."

"You must have learnt it from him."

"Oh, no. From my husband," said Mrs. Cormack.

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 embarra.s.sed. 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 in, and he refused. Then I offered to go in--he was very frightened. Oh, _mon Dieu_!" and she laughed almost hysterically.

This very indirect confession proved in the end to be all that Mrs.

Cormack'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 expressed 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 for 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 presence would unquestionably exasperate Maggie Dennison. Adela decided to wait.