The God in the Car Part 36

He was afraid of himself--and his exclamation betrayed the fear. Men of strong will are not all will; the strong will has other strong things to fight, and 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 moment, and recognised with an odd mixture of pride and humiliation--to give up his life to a pa.s.sion. Had that been the issue clearly and definitely set before him he would not have sat doubtful on the jetty. He understood what of n.o.bility lay in such a temperament, 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 between 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, after these attempted reasonings, he would fall again to thinking of Maggie Dennison, her voice, her manner, and the revelation of herself; and in these picturings the reasoning died away.

There are a few deliberate sinners, a few by whom "Evil, be thou my Good" is calmly uttered as a dedication and a sacrament, but most men do not make up their minds to be sinners or determine in cool resolve to do acts of the sort that lurked behind Willie Ruston's picturings. They only fail to make up their minds not to do them. Ruston, in a fury of impatience, 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 confident 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 standpoint, 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 importance 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 Walter, 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 Semingham. To ask Tom Loring while Ruston 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 Ruston smiled, and said that, if Loring did not mind meeting him, he did not mind meeting Loring; indeed, he would welcome the opportunity of proving to that unbeliever that there was water somewhere within a hundred miles of Fort Imperial (which Tom in one of those articles had st.u.r.dily 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, nodding his head wisely.

"Will she? Do you know?" asked Ruston 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, she's----"

"Well?"

"She's all of a flutter," laughed Walter.

"You've got to the bottom of that," said Ruston 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 Ruston, 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 Omof.a.ga, don't you?"

"Rather!" came full and rich from his companion's lips.

"With a few thousand miles between us and everything--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 farewell than a careless nod. Of Tom Loring's coming he thought little. It might be that Sir Walter had 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 something like horror.

Again, and with a laugh, Ruston pointed out the motive of his coming, as young Sir Walter had interpreted it; but he added, as though in concession, and with another laugh,

"Perhaps he wants to keep his eye on me, too. He doesn't trust me further than he 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 Ruston opened his eyes. He did not understand 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 murmured.

"What harm will he do? You needn't see anything of him," rejoined Ruston, more astonished at each new proof of disquietude in her.

But Tom Loring was not to be so lightly dismissed 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 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 there was fear in her eyes when she looked at Ruston.

He sat still a moment, and then in slow tones he said,

"I don't see what concern your affairs are of Loring's, or mine either, by G.o.d!"

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?"

"What then?" came curt and crisp from him, her reproach falling unheeded.

"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," he said doggedly. "I know it's nothing to Loring."

"I don't believe," she went on, "that he's coming because of Adela at all."