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diff --git a/40583-8.txt b/40583-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6447f25..0000000 --- a/40583-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10290 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The God in the Car, by Anthony Hope - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The God in the Car - A Novel - -Author: Anthony Hope - -Release Date: August 26, 2012 [EBook #40583] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOD IN THE CAR *** - - - - -Produced by Suzanne Shell, Ernest Schaal, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - THE GOD IN THE CAR - - _A NOVEL_ - - - BY - ANTHONY HOPE - AUTHOR OF THE PRISONER OF ZENDA, ETC. - - - [Illustration] - - - NEW YORK - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - 1894 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1894. - - BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I.--AN INSOLENT MEMORY 1 - - II.--THE COINING OF A NICKNAME 14 - - III.--MRS. DENNISON'S ORDERS 26 - - IV.--TWO YOUNG GENTLEMEN 39 - - V.--A TELEGRAM TO FRANKFORT 52 - - VI.--WHOSE SHALL IT BE? 66 - - VII.--AN ATTEMPT TO STOP THE WHEELS 81 - - VIII.--CONVERTS AND HERETICS 96 - - IX.--AN OPPRESSIVE ATMOSPHERE 108 - - X.--A LADY'S BIT OF WORK 120 - - XI.--AGAINST HIS COMING 134 - - XII.--IT CAN WAIT 148 - - XIII.--A SPASM OF PENITENCE 160 - - XIV.--THE THING OR THE MAN 173 - - XV.--THE WORK OF A WEEK 185 - - XVI.--THE LAST BARRIERS 200 - - XVII.--A SOUND IN THE NIGHT 217 - - XVIII.--ON THE MATTER OF A RAILWAY 231 - - XIX.--PAST PRAYING FOR 248 - - XX.--THE BARON'S CONTRIBUTION 258 - - XXI.--A JOINT IN HIS ARMOUR 271 - - XXII.--A TOAST IN CHAMPAGNE 287 - - XXIII.--THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT 304 - - XXIV.--THE RETURN OF A FRIEND 317 - - XXV.--THE MOVING CAR 332 - - - - - THE GOD IN THE CAR. - - - CHAPTER I. - - AN INSOLENT MEMORY. - - -"I'm so blind," said Miss Ferrars plaintively. "Where are my glasses?" - -"What do you want to see?" asked Lord Semingham. - -"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 impression." - -"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?" - -"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 fashion? 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?" - -"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. You're not ashamed to be -serious! Oh, yes, I've annoyed--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 movement, made her -conspicuous among the women in her drawing-room. Young Evan Haselden -seemed to appreciate 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 acknowledged 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. - -"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." - -Ruston 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 sudden 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 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 resolutely 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 -consciousness from which her interests and her occupations could not -permanently rescue her. For example, 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-looking, -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 forgotten, and there -remained only the one voice which had been raised to break the harmony -of approbation--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 suspicion 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 anything. 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, forgetful 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 -ungenerous. It had rung out like a pistol-shot, "Maggie, you're marrying -a fool," and then a snap of tight-fitting lips, a glance of scornful -eyes, and a quick, unhesitating stride away that hardly waited for a -contemptuous smile at her angry cry, "I'll never speak to you again." -She had been in a fury of wrath--she had a power of wrath--that a plain, -awkward, penniless, 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 reverie. 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 Haselden's trim figure with -wary, critical glances, alert to turn aside if he should glance her way. -Mrs. Dennison returned the ball of civility, and, released by several -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 Ruston were still in conversation. - -"These _men_, Maggie," began Adela--and it seemed a mere caprice of -pronunciation, that the word did not shape itself into "monkeys"--"are -the absurdest creatures. They say I'm not fit to take part in politics! -And why?" - -Mrs. Dennison shook her head, and smiled. - -"Because, if you please, I'm too emotional. Emotional, 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 your way," said Evan, who seemed to bear no malice. - -"How delightful!" - -"You don't object?" - -"Not the least. I'm driving." - -"A mere schoolboy 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 business." - -"What, already?" - -"Oh, we've met in the city, Mrs. Dennison," explained 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. - -"So you were counted out?" she asked. - -"Yes, or I shouldn't be here." - -"You see, I am acquitted, Mrs. Dennison. Only an accident brought him -here." - -"An accident impossible to foresee," she acquiesced, with the slightest -trace of bitterness--so slight that her husband did not notice it. - -Ruston 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 enquiry. - -"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?" - -"Yes," 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." - -"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, breaking 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." - -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 Dennison 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 contented, 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 society; 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 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 -resources like Dennison Sons & Company, he becomes one whom it is -expedient to bid to dinner and examine with scrutinising enquiry. He may -have a bag of gold for you; or you may enjoy the pleasure of exploding -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 amusement. - -"The Heathers are coming," he said, "and Lady Val and Marjory, and young -Haselden, and Ruston." - -"_Toujours_ Ruston," murmured Adela. - -"And one or two more. What's wrong with Ruston? There is, my dear Adela, -no attitude more offensive than that of indifference to what the common -herd finds interesting." - -"He's a fright," said Adela. "You'd spike yourself 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?" - -"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 dinner. Her heart sank as he -offered his arm. She had been heard to call him the silliest man in -Europe; 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 commercialism, 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 -outburst, unless it were a sort of alert and almost defiant readiness, -smacking of a challenge to catch him napping. - -"I'm not a mediævalist myself," she observed, and prepared to endure the -penalty of an _exposé_ 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 -Ruston--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 foolish were very large. - -"I thought you were such friends!" exclaimed Heather in surprise. - -"Well, to confess, I was thinking of something else. Who do you mean?" - -"Why, Mrs. Dennison. I was saying that her calm queenly 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 Semingham 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 evidently meant to be repeated, and to rank -as authoritative. - -"Of course," chuckled Semingham. - -If he had been a shopman, he could not have 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, Ruston came straight to her and, -displacing 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 -habitually, had two or three men round her, but to-night none contested -Ruston'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 crossing his legs. - -"Yes, we are a gang, and all on one chain. You're a recent captive, -though." - -"Yes," 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 I 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 Semingham?" - -"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 -humour." She paused and then--to show that she was not in awe of -him--she added,--"Now, I should say, you have very little." - -"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 disliked 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 interest for him, just in -proportion as it gained interest for her. In fact, Mr. Ruston 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." - -"Oh, well, I'm very sorry," he conceded, still smiling, 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, accompanying 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. Ruston sat down and Haselden drifted, aimless -and forlorn, 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 conversation, 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 Juggernaut. 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 Semingham, in a tone that -evaded any personal responsibility for the truth of the statement. - -"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. Semingham 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 Ruston 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. - -"What the deuce she finds to talk about to that fellow, I can't think," -pursued Evan, and he 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 Curzon Street there lived, -in a small house, a friend of hers, a certain Mrs. Cormack. She was a -Frenchwoman, who had been married to an Englishman, and was now his most -resigned widow. She did not pretend 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 -transgressors 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 -coeur_ 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 -another, and had no particular reason for not following 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 regarding 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 acquaintance; 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?" - -"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 praying 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 -respectable, and peopled the world with heroes of loose morals and -overpowering wills. She adored a dominating 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 dull. She had been bored all -day long; the children had 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 interesting 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 dwelling in the country town, whence Willie -had summoned 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 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 familiarity presented her old acquaintance in a new light -to Maggie Dennison. Even the children prattled about "Willie," and their -mother's rebukes made "Mr. Ruston" 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 justification for his faith. - -"I used to know him very well, you know," remarked 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 Carlin'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? - -There was a commotion among the children, starting from one who was -perched on the window-sill. Ruston 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 undertone. - -"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." - -"Harry?" she said, in a tone that she regretted a moment later, for -there was a passing gleam in Ruston's eye before he answered gravely, - -"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 Ruston. "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 directness of -his that shamed mere dexterity and superseded tact, bade Carlin stay -where he was, and himself escorted the visitor to her carriage. Half-way -down the garden walk she looked up at him and remarked, - -"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 moment he was off at a tangent. - -"I like your friend Miss Ferrars. She says a lot of sharp things, and -now and then something sensible." - -"Now and then! Poor Adela!" - -"Well, she doesn't often try. Besides, she's handsome." - -"Oh, you've found time to notice that?" - -"I notice that first," said Mr. Ruston. - -They were at the carriage-door. - -"I'm not dressed properly, so I mustn't drive with you," 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 Regent'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 collision with other hard -substances." - -"Thank you for that 'other'!" cried Mrs. Dennison, 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 -carriage. 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 interesting; in -which fact again she found a certain strangeness 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. 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 encounter 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 -flickering 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 orderly trim mansions of his brain. In fact, she was to him a -more or less pleasant acquaintance, sandwiched in his mind between Adela -Ferrars and Marjory 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 conclusion was hardly such as to make her -smile--unless indeed she had added to it the reflection that it is ill -judging of things till they are finished. Her acquaintance with Willie -Ruston was not ended yet. - -"Maggie, Maggie!" cried her husband through 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 Ruston 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 achievement fresh in his hand, he had -been content to hold his peace. Did he think her not worth telling? - -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 Mrs. 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 man who is trying not to -lose his temper, or, anyhow, to conceal the loss. - -"Well, apart from anything else, suppose Dennison heard you? It wouldn't -be over-pleasant for him." - -Mrs. Dennison 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 exasperation, 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 with Mrs. Dennison. -Bright spots of colour glowed on her cheeks; had she answered the -question of the origin of the topic? Tom blushed and looked furtively at -her. - -"So the great scheme is launched," she remarked, "and Mr. Ruston -triumphs!" - -Tom's manner betrayed intense relief, but he was still perturbed. - -"We're having a precious lot of Ruston," he observed, leaning against -the mantelpiece and putting his hands in his pockets. - -"_I_ 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. Never mind her. Harry likes him too." - -"Lucky for Ruston he does. Your husband's a useful friend. I fancy most -of Ruston'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 twenty-one -years of age. Lady Valentine had a jointure, and Marjory a pretty face. -The remaining family assets were a country-house of moderate dimensions -in the neighbourhood of Maidenhead, and a small flat in Cromwell Road. -Lady Valentine deplored the rise of the plutocracy, and had sometimes -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 opinion had -some importance. He was hardly responsible for the error, and very -probably Mr. Ruston would 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 Cromwell Road, which Ruston -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 -"Oxford boys" were very silly--a remark which embittered, 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 in 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 Parliament. Evan -was a strong Tory, but payment of members had an unholy attraction for -him; this indication 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. - -Seeing that what Sir Walter wanted was an unfavourable opinion of -Ruston, he could not have done better than consult his respected friend. -Juggernaut--Adela Ferrars 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 description, 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 Walter, "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 Walter. "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 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 _pour passer le temps_," Evan assured him with -that superb man-of-the-worldliness. - -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!" - -"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 tactfully. - -"Well--for heaven's sake, don't let it go any farther--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 incredulous 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 betraying some trepidation. - -"I don't know for certain, of course. And, I say, 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 opportunity -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 happened 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 refreshing 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. - -"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 obedience to some skilful -guidance, he revealed what there was more--what beyond mere offended -dignity--between himself and Mr. Ruston. 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 -reluctance to accept it--she must think as he did about Willie Ruston. -The tangible evidence appeared on examination reassuringly small, and -Evan, by a strange conversion, found himself driven to defend his -apprehensions 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 -Ruston, not that Ruston would return her liking. On the whole Mrs. -Dennison comforted him, and, dismissing Ruston from the discussion, said -with a smile, - -"So you're thinking of settling down already, are you?" - -"I say, Mrs. Dennison, 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 manner. - -"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? He -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." - -"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. Dennison 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. Ruston!" - -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. Belford 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. Ruston. - -"Oh, then he knows by now," said Semingham in a tone of relief. - -"And it'll be all right," added Belford contentedly. - -"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?" - -"Ask Ruston," interposed Semingham. - -"I did; but I don't think he told me." - -"But surely, my dear Mrs. Dennison, your husband 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 undertaking 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. Dennison asked. - -"No! He's been to Ruston." - -Mrs. Dennison looked at him for an instant with something rather like -scorn in her eye. Lord Semingham laughed. - -"I'm not quite as bad as that, really," he said. - -"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-seriously. - -"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 -thoroughgoing 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. - -"To do Belford 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 between them, and said, -with apparent seriousness, - -"Oh, he mustn't think he can do just what he likes with us." - -"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 minutes, 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 unscrupulous, 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 Ruston'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 annoyingly, -immediately after a gathering, marked by uncommon 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 with intense -savagery and cruelty in social and political 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 disclosure; 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 opprobrious names, and snapped his fingers at -all possible treaties in the world 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 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 Ruston 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 postponed, 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 remaining guests. - -All parties cannot be successful, and, if truth be told, this of Lady -Valentine's was no conspicuous triumph. Belford and Loring quarrelled -about Omofaga, 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 insisted 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 expression 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 worming 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 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, peevishly. 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 ungratefully, 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 Loring, 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 attempting everything; -it had struck Willie Ruston in that light. Therefore she was at times -angry with Tom--and all the more angry the more she admired him. - -"You do me the honour to be anxious on my account?" she asked very -stiffly. - -"He asked me how much money you had the other day." - -"Oh, 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 was -hopelessly sulky, Adela 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 depended 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 armchair, looking at him and listening to Lord Semingham, 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. - -"You see," observed Lord Semingham, "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 Government behind them to some extent." - -Tom flung himself into a chair. - -"The thing's monstrous," he pronounced. "Semingham 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." - -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 Semingham. - -"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. - -"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 suddenly 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 Semingham 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 apologetically, "do you think you -quite understand----?" - -But Tom Loring's patience was exhausted. His interview with Adela left -him little reserve of toleration; 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." - -"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 been 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 reminded 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 demanded angrily. - -"I should be proud to be," she said haughtily. - -Her husband smiled in an uneasy effort after nonchalance, 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 half in contempt, half in -entreaty, wholly in an earnest 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--what a man like him would think. -But she recovered herself 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 -Semingham, 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, - -"Hang it! Shall we chance it, Harry?" - -Mrs. Dennison made one swift step forward towards him, her face all -alight; but she stopped before she reached the table and turned to her -husband. 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 shoulder 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 Semingham'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 he followed her there. They -heard Carlin's cry of delight, and Harry Dennison beginning to make -excuses and trying to find business reasons for what had 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 defiantly. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - WHOSE SHALL IT BE? - - -Probably no one is always wrong; at any rate, Mr. Otto Heather was right -now and then, and he had hit the mark when he accused Willie Ruston of -"commercialism." But he went astray when he concluded, _per saltum_, -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 conscience 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 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 Omofagas--might be a -promising speculation; add him, and Omofaga 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. - -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 something 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 Ruston, 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." - -"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 Bismarck's way?" - -"You are not Bismarck--and a certainty is what the public thinks one." - -"Is that philosophy or finance?" asked Ruston, 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 -doctrine: - -"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 extract doesn't raise my idea -of its value." - -"But what the public thinks a certainty, is a certainty--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 Omofaga?" - -"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 -Ruston 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 Ruston 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 therefore 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 bearings. - -"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 Dennisons?" - -"They're behind me if----" - -"Well?" - -"If you're not in front of me." - -"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 oppression, 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. Ruston 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." - -"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. Ruston rose. "Much obliged for your hospitality, -Baron," he added, holding out his hand. - -"Where are you going?" asked the Baron. - -"Omofaga--_viâ_ 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. Hence 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 Dennison 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. He 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 shooting, or anybody else's. -Poor Harry!" - -"He doesn't know yet?" - -"Aren't you almost afraid to tell him, Mr. Ruston?" - -"Aren't you, Mrs. Dennison?" - -He 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. - -"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. Dennison!" - -With a curious laugh, she dashed the blind-tassel against the window. It -was not for the sake of hearing 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 mentally 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. - -"Why," said he, "I believe you're angry about something. You look just -as you did on--on the memorable occasion." - -"Uh, we aren't all Carlins!" she exclaimed, carried 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 Carlin----" 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----" - -"How dare you! I'm not a girl to be chaffed." - -The tears were standing in her eyes, as she threw herself back in a -chair. Willie Ruston got up and stood by her. - -"You'll be proud of that telegram some day," he said, rather as though -he felt bound to pay her a compliment. - -"Oh, 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. He began to -understand Mrs. Dennison better. - -"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. - -"You'll have soldiers?" - -"We shall call 'em police," he corrected, smiling. - -"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-whispered, 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. Dennison had -hardly dropped Willie Ruston's hand before he was gone; she had -certainly not dropped it before he came. - -Willie Ruston 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. He 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. Ruston was frowning and thrumming -at intervals on the table. But presently 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 fight me for Omofaga." - -"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. Ruston. 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 impossible 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. - -"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 Ferrars lived in Queen's Gate, in company with her aunt, Mrs. -Topham. Mrs. Topham'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 -responsibility 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 opposite 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) 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 unprotected 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 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 Omofaga 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 -Omofaga." - -"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 glass 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 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 began to play some infernal tune, and that -soft-hearted old baby, Harry, blew his nose, and damned 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!" - -"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." Adela looked at him as if she thought -him profoundly unsatisfactory. He was vaguely conscious of her -depreciation, and added, "Ruston'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 end 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 deprecating -helplessness, fired a last shot. "Ruston 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. Dennison alone, and opened fire at once. - -"What have you done, Maggie?" she cried, flinging 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. - -"Harry is a melancholy sight," resumed Mrs. Dennison. "He spends his -time looking for the blotting-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 Berthe 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 excellent spirits. The air -of listlessness, which was apt to mar her manner, and even to some -degree her appearance (for to look bored is not becoming), had entirely -vanished. - -"You don't seem very sorry about poor Mr. Loring," Adela observed. - -"Oh, I am; but Mr. Loring can't stop the wheels of the world. And it's -his own fault." - -Adela sighed. 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, Maggie?" - -"Oh, splendid, and in great glee about the seaside"--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. -Ruston 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. Ruston," said Adela, putting up her -glass and examining Mrs. Dennison closely. She spoke coolly, but with a -nervous knowledge of her presumption. - -Mrs. Dennison may have had a taste for diplomacy and the other arts of -government, but she was no diplomatist. She thought herself gravely -wronged by Adela's suggestion, and burst out angrily, - -"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 too bad. I suppose he told you -the whole thing? I declare I wasn't dreaming of anything of the kind; I -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. Dennison, 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 -hopelessly puzzled. "What did you do that for?" - -"I don't know," said Mrs. Dennison. "It happened somehow as we were -talking. We got interested, you know." - -Adela's next question was also one at which it was possible to take -offence; but she 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." - -"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 his 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 shipshape. 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 obstinately. - -"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, with the air of one who -surrenders before an inexplicable 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 Dennison. - -"Being 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. - -"For God's sake," said he, "don't let him see that!" - -"Oh, how you twist things!" she cried in impatient 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." - -Without 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 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 gaining 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 shoulders 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 enabled them to perform the -operation known as "unloading" (and literary men must often admire the -terse and condensed expressiveness of "City" metaphors) 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 Omofaga. Lady -Semingham, having been made aware 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 confidence), 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 mantle 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 him to Omofaga. Sir Walter was dazzled. Between -spending another year or two at Oxford _in statu pupillari_, vexed by -schools and disciplined by proctors--between being required to be in by -twelve at night and unable to visit London without permission--between -this unfledged state and the position of a man among the men who were in -the vanguard of the empire 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 -uproot 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 Haselden. 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 shed 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 -enterprises must always be watered by the tears of mothers and nourished -on the blood of sons. _Sic fortis Etruria crevit._ - -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-religious. They were all very successful, and, -taken together, 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 disposed 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 Ruston spoke of being 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 be barren of all -sources of wealth. The writer grudgingly 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 diamonds, 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 tone of a man who expects -and, on the whole, welcomes ill-usage. "How did you know it was mine?" - -"It's so like that article of Harry Dennison's. I 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?" - -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 consideration; "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. He's turning me into an hospital." - -"What?" - -"People he wounds come to me. Old Lady Valentine came and cried because -Walter's going to Omofaga; and Evan came and--well, swore because Walter -worships Mr. Ruston; and Harry Dennison came and looked bewildered, -and--you know--because--oh, because of you, and so on." - -"And now I come, don't I?" - -"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 at 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, without 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 understand '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 probably manage to escape -the reality," observed Adela, and her tone, for some reason or -other--perhaps merely through natural championship of her sex--was -rather cold and her manner stiff. - -"Oh, some women are all right;" and Adela acknowledged 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. He won't stand nonsense of that -kind." - -"You'll deserve horsewhipping if you do," remarked Adela. - -"Then what am I to do?" - -"Nothing. In fact, Mr. Loring, you have no genius 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." - -"Don't! Don't spoil it! But--but don't you get money for them?" - -Tom was in better humour now. He 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, perhaps, 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 unquestionably the articles prevented -a great many persons 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 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 he 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 practice she harboured a most -bigoted horror--as of proclaiming the part that love must play in her -marriage. The romantic resolve lay snug in its hidden nest, sheltered -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 whose peril had robbed Tom Loring of his peace, and made him -do the doubtful thing. Why had he done it? Or (and Adela smiled -mockingly at this resurrection of the Old Woman), if he did do it, why -did he do it for Maggie Dennison? 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 Haselden, -and said cynical things all the evening; so that, at last Evan told her -that she had no more feeling than a mummified 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 -opportunity--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. -He 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 -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 Semingham, "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 prospect of immediate wealth -flowing in from Omofaga was, as Lord Semingham knew very well, not -assured. - -"Loring's stopped hammering us," said Ruston; "that's one thing." - -"Oh, you found out he wrote them?" - -"Yes; and uncommonly well he did it, confound him. I wish 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 had learnt not to waste delicate -phrases on Willie Ruston. - -"Well, I didn't know he was worth the trouble." - -"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 wondered -how and why he had allowed this young man to lead him so far and so -deep; moments when a convulsion 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 administration, 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 Lords, and expressed the opinion that when the -Company and Mr. Ruston went to Omofaga they would find themselves in a -pretty hornets' nest, Lord Semingham 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 civilised world standing aloof. And the -dividends--well, of course, there were the dividends, but Lord Semingham -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. - -"Well, yes; I did, at last, not without hesitation, accede to his -request." - -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 meeting -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 proposed a walk in the Park. - -"But are you paired?" asked Semingham; for an important division was to -occur that day in the Commons. - -"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 fortune," 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, and something better than pride made the young man diffuse in -the telling of his trouble. Lord Semingham 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. - -"Ruston'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. You know Ruston's -been trying to get Detchmore to back him up in making a railway to -Omofaga?" - -"I didn't know," said Lord Semingham, with an unmoved face. - -"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; I 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 observed. "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 promised no worldly -gain. - -"I asked Mrs. Dennison what she thought," pursued Evan. - -"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 influence 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 relieved 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 -mystery-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 before. 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 -laughing 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 exultantly; "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 -lurking desire to evade the ices. - -"I met young Haselden as we came along," Ruston observed, wiping his -brow. - -"Ah! Yes, he's been with me." - -The children had wandered a few yards off, and stood impatiently looking -at their hero. - -"He'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 Ruston, 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. "I hear -you're going to Dieppe next week?" asked Ruston. - -"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 friendly nod, he rose and went on his way. -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 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 human 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 compounded -wholly of dreams, but mixed of stuff that had made human comedies and -human tragedies since the world began. Mrs. Dennison had bidden Willie -Ruston to Dieppe. That was Semingham's instant conclusion; she had -bidden him, not merely by a formal 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 Haselden'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 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 nothing -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 Omofaga 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' banishment, 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 _en famille_) 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 favourite 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 superior 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 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 by 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 curiosity 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. - -"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 Loring. - -"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. Give 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 preferred unconditional -benefits. - -Harry laughed dolefully. He had been looking forward to a holiday with -his children. Their uninterrupted society would have easily consoled him -for the loss of the moor. - -"It's an awful bore," he said; "but there's no 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 olet_. - -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?" - -Harry nodded assent. - -Mrs. Cormack was leaning forward. A moment later she sank back, hiding a -smile behind her napkin; for Madge observed, in a tone of utter -contentment, - -"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 -eating. - -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 temporary 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 -Ruston 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," continued Harry. "I can -look after Omofaga." - -Mrs. Cormack rapped the teaspoon sharply on her cup. The man was such a -fool. Harry, dimly recognising her irritation, looked up inquiringly; -but she 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 trifle condescending, -and the grateful friend pictured her under the indignity 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. Cormack." - -"Ah, but he excites her too. We poor women have nerves, Mr. Dennison. It -would be much better 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." - -"Oh, were they really? I thought--well, anyhow, Mr. Ruston being there -will do her no good. She'll like it immensely, of course." - -Harry Dennison 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 -curious 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. - -"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. Ruston 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 Ruston? Let's see what he says." - -"Oh, there's nothing else," she answered, laying it beside her. - -Mrs. Cormack 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. Ruston'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. - -"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 inside 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 between -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, Tom had looked -at him almost in the same way as Berthe Cormack had--just when he was -wringing his 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. - -"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 honeymoon." - -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! After all, you're not stopping -because of Omofaga, but because Sir George has got the gout." - -Harry Dennison, convicted of folly, had no answer, though he was hurt -that he should be convicted out of his wife's mouth. He shuffled his -feet about and began to whistle dolefully. - -Mrs. Dennison looked at him with smothered impatience. 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 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 husband. 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 beside 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 understood -her--that he was not a fool--that he was man enough for her! Yes, that -she need not turn to Ruston or anybody else. Oh, yes, he could -understand her, really he could. - -Not a word of it would come. He dared not begin: 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--indulgently but -satirically, and the emphasis of her purposely 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 little 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. I'm tired. I've been 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 he, 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 XI. - - 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 _Ouf_. I say '_Ouf_' 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 you 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. - -"Yes--just behind a charming _Parisienne_ in a pair of--behind a -charming _Parisienne_ in an appropriate 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," observed 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!" - -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 bathing; 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. "Costume number one, off at 11.30. -Costume number two, on at 12. Costume number two, off at 3.30. -Costume----" - -"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 important things. You can't -imagine George Eliot----" - -"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 Marjory. - -"A strong-minded woman, Miss Marjory." - -"He's talking nonsense, Marjory." - -"I supplied a historical instance in Miss Valentine'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 neighbour. 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. - -"When Mr. Ruston comes," she began, "I shall ask him whether----" - -The sentence was not finished. - -"When who comes?" cried Adela; and Semingham 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 passing 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." - -"But you do now?" - -"Yes." - -Adela hated the pregnant brevity of this affirmative. - -"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. Dennison'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 Dennison as a sufficing chaperon--would have amused Adela. But -she was past amusement. Her patience snapped, as it were, in two. She -turned almost fiercely on her companion, forgetting all prudence in her -irritation. - -"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 retreated 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 believe 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 girl 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 another 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. Adela 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," 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 were 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--when Adela drew -Marjory towards her, and kissed her lips. - -"I couldn't, my dear," she said, "but, if you can, for heaven's sake do. -I may be wrong, but--I'm uneasy." - -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 Marjory. - -"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 account of the matter was, -perhaps, just a little one-sided, though containing a part of the truth. -Marjory meditated on it for a moment, Adela still covertly looking at -her. The discovery was very strange. Half-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, the knowledge -of Maggie Dennison that her resolve implied. Adda watched her, as, their -farewell said, she walked, first quickly, then very slowly, towards the -villa which Mrs. Dennison had hired, on the cliff-side, near the old -Castle. Then, with a last sigh, she put up her parasol and sauntered -back to the Hôtel 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 burden she had taken up seemed heavier. It was not sorrow -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 enthusiasm 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 unquestioning -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 -impossible crime. And Marjory remembered, with a sinking heart, Maggie -Dennison's smile of happy triumph when she read out the lines in which -Ruston 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 garden. Mrs. Dennison wore white; her pale, -clear-cut profile was towards Marjory; she rested her chin on 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 overwhelming -sense of helplessness, smote her. She understood 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 Ruston? -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?" - -"Not very." - -"Well, I am," and Mrs. Dennison arose. "I forgot it, but I am." - -"They didn't know Mr. Ruston 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 moods is their -intermixture with everyday life. The intervals, the "waits," the mass of -irrelevant trivialities that life inartistically mingles with its drama, -flinging 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 Marjory 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 been all aglow to begin. Her face grew -dull and her eyelids half-dropped as she leant her head on the back of -her chair. - -"_Déjeuner!_" cried Mrs. Dennison merrily. "And this afternoon we're all -going to gamble at _petits chevaux_, and if we win we're going to buy -more Omofagas. There's a picture of a speculator's family!" - -"Mr. Dennison'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 complaints over the utter disappearance of an -omelette she had set her heart upon. - -That afternoon they all played at _petits chevaux_, and the only one to -win was Madge. But Madge utterly refused to invest her gains in -Omofagas. She assigned no reasons, slating that her mother did not like -her to declare the feeling which influenced her, and Mrs. Dennison -laughed again. But Adela Ferrars 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, scrutinising his faded blue -eyes and the wrinkles of weariness 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 pleasure, 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. He 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 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 -been enough. His great scheme was floated; a few months more would see -him in Omofaga; 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 the 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 -inaccessible 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 necessary 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 kept her -temper); he liked talking to Marjory Valentine 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. Ruston was not -easily shocked. - -Unaffected, free from self-consciousness, undividedly 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 associates. 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 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 fine fancies round the obvious, -and loses the power of action in the fascination of self-created -puzzles. The _nuances_ of a woman's attraction towards a man, whether it -be admiration, 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 women--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 precious -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 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 photograph of Ruston 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. He 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 whisky 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 Carlin's here." - -"You see I've got other work besides Omofaga," pleaded Harry. - -"Oh, I know Dennisons have lots of irons in the fire. But Omofaga won't -trouble you. I've told Carlin 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 Ruston. "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. Ruston, -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. Ruston meant to go to Dieppe. That was now to Harry Dennison -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," responded 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 suggestions, 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 request 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." - -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 encounter of eyes; hastily he averted his head, and his face -flushed. 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 naturally 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," said Harry eagerly. - -"Aren't you rather giving away your friend young Haselden?" - -"Who told you, Ruston?" - -"Lady Val. Who told you?" - -"Semingham." - -"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 accompany 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 Ruston'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. - -"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 commonplace -truth, Willie Ruston 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 Omofaga. 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, notwithstanding 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 think him!--and, with this -reflection, he put the whole matter 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. He stood -and looked, pulling hard and fast at his pipe. He was there--there in -Fort Imperial already--far away from London 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. He 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 seat, 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!" - -And to bed he 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 Ruston not been quite so sure that he read Tom -Loring's character aright, he might have spared a thought for Mrs. -Cormack. - - - - - 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 exactly opposite the bench on which Tom was seated, and he -heard his name called in a high-pitched voice that he recognised. -Looking up, he saw Mrs. Cormack 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 perceived, to -his surprise, that it contained, hidden behind Mrs. Cormack'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 entertainment 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." - -"I should not have guessed it," said Mrs. Cormack, 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 treetops. - -"Oh, he is very very bad," whispered Mrs. Cormack. "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. He'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. With me--I should be -charmed," and Tom settled himself in the victoria. - -He 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. What does it matter? Well, anyhow, I'm sorry for that poor -man." - -"Your sympathy is very ready, Mrs. Cormack." - -"You mean it is too soon--premature?" - -"I mean it's altogether unnecessary, to my humble thinking." - -"But I'm not a fool," she protested. - -Tom could not help laughing. The laugh, however, rather spoilt his -argument. - -"Have it your own way," he conceded, conscious of his error, and trying -to cover it by a burlesque surrender. "He's miserable." - -"Well, he is." - -There was a placid certainty about her that disturbed 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. -_Voilà 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 almost cried that he couldn't -go to Dieppe, and that somebody else----" - -Tom suddenly turned upon her. - -"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 remarked, 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. 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 pronounced 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 surpass 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 -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 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. - -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 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 Ruston 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 Ruston, 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 correspondents, which were situate there. - -"They keep you informed, it seems?" - -"I live by being kept informed," said the Baron. - -Ruston 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?" - -"Oh, I've not lost all interest in Omofaga." - -"No, you haven't," said Ruston. "On the contrary, 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 Ruston 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?" - -Ruston was about to refuse; but the Baron added, half seriously, - -"I've come a long way to see you." - -"All right, I'll come," he 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. Dennison 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 husband the----" - -"I mean, how is Omofaga?" - -"Capital; and here?" - -"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 country; but it was the first -three mouths 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 he 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 himself. "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 indeed." - -"Yes," she said, and became again silent. - -"_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 Ruston, with a smile. - -"Are you serious?" she asked quickly. "I mean, do you really want my -opinion, or are you being polite?" - -"I don't think _you_ a fool, you know," said Willie Ruston. - -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. - -"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 Ruston 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 directness. - -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 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 understanding, as though she had caught the meaning that -before eluded her, she cried, "I'm just like you, I believe. 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 Dennison. Another 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." - -"Yes, but--oh, it would come to Mr. Belford! 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 believe 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 Ruston jump up while her last sentence was but half -said. - -"My dear Miss Valentine," he cried, his face lighting up with a smile of -pleasure, "how pleasant to meet you again!" - -There was no mistaking the sincerity of his greeting. 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 allurement. The -last traces of what Lord Semingham meant by "insipidity" had been chased -away. Ruston 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 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 -homage 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 inappropriateness 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 with me because I would -come to Dieppe. I should have felt the same in his place; but he's well -enough, I 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 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? Why 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 Marjory 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 and nothing else -that her own home failed to satisfy. 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 between 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 existence--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 anything that would give her foothold. - -"I love my husband," she found herself saying. "I love poor old Harry -and the children." She repeated 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 nothing at all, and that there was nothing -a woman might take in exchange for this one splendid, all-comprehending -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 surrender 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 commands, 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. Semingham 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 because 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 obstinate, fatalistic as to his health, infatuated in his folly; -stay he would, while Ruston stayed. Yet what Ruston did, pleased him -not; for the better part of the man--what led him to respond to kindness -or affection, 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?" - -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. "Nothing? When 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, 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, I see. Still I am glad." - -"I can't go on talking about it; but is there no hope?" - -"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." - -"I 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 Ruston 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. Ruston'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 pause, "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 couples, and, for a perceptible moment, stood wavering 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 thrown herself at his feet. She -hated to think of the things she had said or half-said; and she had seen -Marjory's eyes look wondering horror and pitying contempt 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 resolute 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 Ruston. "But then they -always say I'm a conceited chap." - -He spoke with a laugh, but he looked at her intently. 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 disappeared; 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 matters, they had seemed such--the present moment shed -its light. He recalled, with understanding, things 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. The -new relation between them proclaimed itself the interpretation and the -work of the bygone week. - -Her glove lay in her lap, and he touched it lightly; the gesture -speaking of their sudden new familiarity. - -Her reproach was no less eloquent; she rebuked not the thing, but the -rashness of it. - -"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 -perplexity; 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 suddenly and to the full a sense -of interest and expectation 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 -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, thoughtfully 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, twenty -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 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 -acquaintance. 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, Maggie, 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, 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 see. Here, just hold it while I look at -Carlin's letter. He explains it all," and Lord Semingham began to fumble -in his breast-pocket. - -"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 thoughtfully. "So 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 Semingham with dignity. -"Those--er--little----" - -"No, not tombstones," interrupted the Baron earnestly. - -"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 apologetically, "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 Semingham'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." - -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. He 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 going 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. - -"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 ventured to suggest. - -"Mr. Ruston 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. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - THE LAST BARRIERS. - - -Willie Ruston 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 process 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 -vaguely occupied with Maggie Dennison, his mind playing to and fro over -her voice, her tricks of manner, 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 humanity; 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 -acknowledge; 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 conflict in a word of slang. - -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 passion. Had that been the -issue clearly and definitely set before him he would not have sat -doubtful on the jetty. He understood what of nobility 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 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, 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 Omofaga, 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 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?" - -"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." - -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 Ruston, 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 sitting-room where they were; the sun was -setting over 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. - -"He's Harry's friend," she said, "and he used to be mine; and he trusted -me." - -Willie Ruston threw his head back with a little sharp jerk. - -"Oh, well, I didn't come to talk about Tom Loring," he 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 anybody," said Maggie -Dennison, her 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 them 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. - -She laid hers gently on it. - -"Don't go to Omofaga, Willie," she said. - -For a moment he sheerly stared at her; then he burst 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 amusement. - -"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; but 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 merriment 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 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 only reward--seemed on the 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 musings 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 appealed 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 moment; she would -ask of him now the uttermost wish of her heart--the wish that had -displaced all else--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 himself 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 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 going." - -He did as she bade him, trying to assume an indifferent 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 detection, 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 -Ruston 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 trembling lips, crying, in low tones, - -"Ah, but I have you, 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 Ruston, 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 with brief good-nights--Madge -being kissed only on strong persuasion--took his leave. The children -flocked away to take off their hats, and Marjory was left alone with her -hostess. - -The girl looked pale, weary, and sad. Mrs. Dennison was stirred to an -impulse of compassion. Walking 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. Dennison flushed red from neck to -forehead, and then grew paler than the pallor she had pitied. The girl's -unspoken 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 in 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 yesterday unborn -and impossible, is to-day incipient and a great way off, to-morrow -complete, present, and accomplished. 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 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 promise is forgotten, the craving for its fulfilment dies away. -"Let me alone," is the only cry; and the appeal makes its own answer, -the entreaty its own concession. - -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 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 window. 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 weary 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 she 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 -between 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 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 with 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. It -must be 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 superstitious 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 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 fog," she added as she gazed through the -glass. Her tone was strangely full of relief. - -"I opened the window," whispered Marjory, "and I saw--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 something," 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 shoulders 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." - -Mrs. Dennison shook her head. The girl sprang 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, "but 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," continued 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. Dennison, 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. Suddenly -Marjory threw herself on the floor at her friend's feet. - -"Maggie, come away from here," she beseeched. "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, Maggie, 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-morrow--you and the children. -Come back with them to England! Maggie, I can't stay here!" - -Mrs. Dennison put out her hands and took Marjory'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?" - -"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 Seminghams 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. Dennison slowly walked to her, and stood by her. Then, -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. - -Why 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 me touch you! There's no reason I 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 -answer. - -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 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 world--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 reluctant 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, - -"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 chamber-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 impatiently as though he had had too much of his -thoughts, and, going to the table, looked at the addresses on his -letters. With a sudden access of eagerness he seized on one and tore it -open. It bore Carlin's handwriting, and he groaned to see that the four -sides were close-filled. Old Carlin was terribly verbose 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 apathy of the public, and -lastly, a conscientious account 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 Detchmore. He -draws back about the railway, and says the Government won't sanction -it." - -Willie Ruston 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. - -He 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 thing 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 knows grief and vexation but -has set wavering behind 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 bellowing." But he was -here at last, and Adela was merrier than she had been in all her stay at -Dieppe. Semingham 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, therefore, to all unjustifiable attempts -to saddle mere onlookers 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 explanation was approaching, -and grew surer and surer that to her would be left the task. She -believed that 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 herself. - -"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. He 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. Ruston and Walter to wait on her--you know -Maggie 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 Semingham. - -"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 Semingham laughed; even Adela and Tom smiled. - -"What a blessed irrelevance you have, my dear," said Semingham, stroking -his wife's small hand. - -Lady Semingham smiled delightedly and blushed prettily. She enjoyed -Alfred's praise. He was so _difficile_ as a rule. The exact point of the -word "irrelevance" she did not stay to consider; she had evidently said -something that pleased him. A moment 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 politeness. A nod to -Semingham, 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 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 fumbling 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 Detch----By Jove, though, I -forgot 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 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 frivolous. - -"Hold for your life, Miss Ferrars," said Willie; and going up to Bessie -Semingham he held out his hand. - -"What, are you really off? It's too bad of you, Mr. Ruston! Not that -I've seen much of you. Maggie has quite monopolised you." - -Adela and Tom looked at the ground. Semingham turned his back; his smile -would not be smothered. - -"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 watch, - -"I can't manage it. I should miss the boat. I must write her a line." - -"Oh, she'll never forgive you," cried Lady Semingham. - -"Oh, yes, she will," he laughed. "It's for Omofaga, 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 space; 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 -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 conviction. - -"Then I was very wrong, or he's a most extraordinary 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." - -"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 ignorance. - -"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?" - -"Well, I've thought a little better of her lately." - -"To think of your making friends with Mrs. Cormack!" - -"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 plainness 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 shutting 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 -conversation was not so elaborate, but it was more spontaneous and, to -his mind, pleasanter. Moreover, the sea air had put colour in her cheeks -and painted her 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 -suddenly 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 Ruston and the coming of Tom were -almost too much good-fortune 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. - -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 Semingham----" began Marjory, -growing red, and in great embarrassment. - -"Oh, but hear my news first," cried Adela; "Marjory, he's gone!" - -"Who?" - -"Why, that man Mr. Ruston." - -"Gone?" echoed Marjory in amazement. - -To her it seemed incredible that he should be gone--strange perhaps to -Adela, but to her incredible. - -"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 could hardly believe it -of one who now seemed to her hardly a man. - -"Isn't it splendid? And he went off without seeing--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 Ruston 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 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, feeling 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 unhappy. 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 sympathetic. -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 dipped and died away. The excitement of the message 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 Ruston was -proof; and his fellow-voyagers wondered at the man with the frowning -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 convinced. 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 feeling 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 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 unwilling--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 understand!" - -Was there not the railway? - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - PAST PRAYING FOR. - - -Mrs. Dennison needed not Marjory to tell her. She had received Willie -Ruston's note just as she was about to leave her bedroom. It was -scribbled in pencil on half 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. He 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 excuse, protestation -on protestation. Besides Willie Ruston 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 fragments, 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, unturning; 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 bitterness would not grant -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 think 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 herself alone. Then she passed to the sitting-room, -where was Marjory Valentine, breathless from mounting the path too -quickly; and at sight of Marjory's face, she said, - -"I've heard from Mr. Ruston. He 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. - -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, unearthly, -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, timidly, 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. - -"You upset me--and then I upset you. And we both 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 forgiveness it might be that she could buy of Marjory forgetfulness. - -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 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 Ruston 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? Probably--with a smile on her lips and mocking -little compliments on his friendly zeal and fatherly anxiety. Or she -might flash out on him, and call his charge an insult, 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 withdraw, shook hands as though his were -the most ordinary 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 emulous hypocrisy. But her smile was very -unsuccessful, 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 Omofaga 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 repelled 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 Omofaga--that's one thing." - -Tom had definitely decided to put off his lecture. The old manner he had -known and mocked and admired--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 time with the Seminghams? That'll be very -pleasant. And Adela 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 -you'll quarrel with him." - -"Perhaps I shall convert him," suggested Tom. - -"Oh, no, we 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. 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 -inarticulate cry of pain and horror. Almost as she uttered 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 you think you can dry -your eyes--your silly eyes--and 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. "No, 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 Marjory 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, -fearless of being driven away, lined strong and deep, as though graven -with some sharp tool. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - THE BARON'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 -saying, that the opinion was a sanguine one. This happened 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." - -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 Semingham. - -"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 concern myself," said -Semingham, "and I wish you'd kept your nose out, and yourself in a more -balmy climate." - -"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 buying, myself." - -"Oh, you have?" - -"Yes, and someone has been selling--selling largely--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 Ruston, 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 mistake; and, as he told the Baron, Mrs. Dennison had 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, "Ruston does not come back to Dieppe, I suppose?" - -"I think not. He is detained on business," she answered, "and he will be -more tied when my husband leaves." - -"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. - -"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 passionately. Then she -suddenly recovered herself. - -"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 disquieting 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 gesture. 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?" - -"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. He 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 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 listlessly. "Good-bye." - -Suddenly he detained her, catching her hand. - -"Do you believe in people meeting again anywhere?" 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 thing. You once tried to -save a woman," and she kissed him again and was gone. - -Outside the house, she found Semingham waiting for her. - -"Oh, I say, Mrs. Dennison," he 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 well," 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, quickening 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." - -"Well, I needn't take you right up, need I?" - -Semingham thought of some jest about not intruding 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 delighted 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, seizing her hands and -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 took her little boy -on her knee. And she called Marjory, 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. Dennison, in her calmest voice, -began to tell her husband of the sickness of the Baron. And over Harry -Dennison'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 burden 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 apology 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 Hampstead. The all-important question of the railway -made a consultation necessary, and Ruston's indisposition to face his -solitary rooms caused him to accept gladly the proffered hospitality. -The little cramped place was always a refuge and a rest; there he could -best 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 Dieppe. He had -done what he condemned; he had raised up a perpetual reproach and a -possible danger. He was not a man who could dismiss such 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 consequences. 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 everything 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 he 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 he might -underestimate the wrong, and remembered uneasily how she had told him -that he did not understand, and despaired because he could not -understand. He 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 sufferings, -sometimes that he was imputing to her fictitious tortures 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 surviving -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 dismissed 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 thing. She would see that, as he -saw it. God knew (he said to himself) what a wrench it was--for she -meant more to him than he had ever conceived 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 painfully and with impatient labour to -cut, were hewn deep 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. He -had never thought of this motive behind the Baron's large purchases 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 first Maggie Dennison dropped the veil and owned his sway. - -One day he did not go down to the city, but spent his time wandering on -the heath, mapping out what he would do in the fast-approaching days in -Omofaga. The prospects were clearing; he had had two interviews 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 -Willie 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 dismayed 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 slowly. "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. - -"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 danger, 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. Dennison." - -A moment later Willie Ruston was overwhelmed in a shrilly enthusiastic -greeting. Mrs. Cormack had been in despair from _ennui_; Maggie's delay -was endless, 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 expression of most wicked and mischievous -pleasure. The remorse detected by Tom Loring was not visible now; pure -delight reigned supreme, and gave free scope to her frivolous -fearlessness. - -"_Enfin!_" 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. Cormack. Fortunately 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," remarked Willie, with a -laugh. "I can't deny villainies wholesale, and I can't argue against -Gallic ejaculations." - -"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 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. Cormack." - -"Ah, what politeness! I 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. - -"No 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 anger. "Ah, you'd like to -beat me, wouldn't you?" - -"Why suggest the impossible?" he asked, smiling. "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 Ruston -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 recognised Tom Loring's hand. The -watersheds of Omofaga 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 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 Harry, 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 resolution. Mrs. Cormack -could not resist the temptation to offer matters an opportunity of -development. - -"But what does Maggie say to your desertion?" she asked in an innocently -playful way. - -Harry seemed nonplussed at the question, and Willie Ruston 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 curiously. "They told me she would -be in soon." - -"I don't know," said Harry. "She went out driving. 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 Company--our Company, if you -like. I knew it would do her harm. I told you so." - -He 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 Ruston, slowly, "that I'd better not come here?" - -"Well, yes--just now," mumbled Harry; and he added apologetically, -"She's seeing very few people just now, you know." - -"As you please, of course," said Ruston, shortly. "I daresay you're -right. I should like to say, Dennison, 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 powerless 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 listened? 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?" - -"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 pale 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?" - -"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 anxiously, - -"Do you mind much? You know the doctor----?" - -"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 brightening. "Are you really? -Then I'm glad I told Ruston 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, 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 impatient 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. Ruston 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 mother sat. - -"You must be a Spartan matron, dear," said she. "You can't keep Walter -in leading strings all his life." - -"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. -Ruston. I don't think they like one another." - -"You know why he hasn't come here," said Marjory 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." - -"And 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." - -"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 persuade 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 -absence, 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 Haselden with a manner that claimed at least equality; nay, he -lectured him a little on the ignorant interference of a stay-at-home -House of Commons with the work of the men on the spot, in South Africa -and elsewhere; 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 -Ruston--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 anxiously -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 -concerning the unscrupulousness of adventurers who cloaked money-making -under specious pretences. Walter flared up in a moment, and the dinner -ended in something 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 pleaded an engagement, and went out. Lady -Valentine, interpreting Evan's glances, and hoping against hope, 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 begins who rushes on anticipated defeat. What -is unintelligible 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 attraction he had once exercised over her was gone. - -The weary talk wore to its close, ending with angry 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 -preoccupation, her vehemence amazed him. - -"Oh, you've found him out too, perhaps," he sneered. "You've found him -out by now. All the same, it was his fault that you didn't care for me -before." - -"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 before." - -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 reviving 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 pardoned. - -She heard him go, in aching sorrow that he, who felt few things deeply, -should feel 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 Semingham was at home that night. - -At the party all was gay and bright. Lady Semingham was chattering to -Mr. Otto Heather. Semingham was trying to make Mr. Foster Belford -understand 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 _entrée_. 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 Detchmore, "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 uneasy 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 consternation, 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 Marjory 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 something. 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." - -"Then I shall go. Why isn't Harry here?" - -"He 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 difference." - -Adela looked at him for a moment; then she walked swiftly across the -room to Maggie Dennison, and held out her hand. - -"Maggie, I haven't had a talk with you for ever so long. How do you do, -Mr. Ruston?" - -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 temper. - -"Well, I'll come and talk to you both directly," said Maggie. - -"We're talking business," added Willie Ruston, 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 Ruston'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 suffer in going? I've never had such a wrench in my life. Won't -you forgive me, Maggie?" - -"Forgive! What's the use of talking like that? What's the use of my -'forgiving' you for being what you are?" - -"You talk as if you'd found me out in something." - -She turned to him, saying very low, - -"And haven't you found me out, too? We are face to face now, Willie." - -He did not fully understand her. Half in justification, half in apology, -he said doggedly, - -"I simply had to go." - -"Yes, you simply had to go. There was the railway. 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 living?" - -"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, whispering, - -"We must arrange----" - -"No, no," she replied, passionately. "Don't you see?" - -"What?" he asked, puzzled. - -"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, everything, 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. "Everybody 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?" - -He 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, 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 intention 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 emotion. - -"Yes," said he, "I'm going." - -She stretched out her hand towards him imploringly. - -"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 table. Behind them he heard merry -voices; Semingham's was loud among them. The voices were coming near -them. - -"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 something." - -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 disinterested 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 Ruston. - -"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?" - -Ruston could have killed the man for his _malapropos_ jesting. Maggie -Dennison seemed unable to answer it. Semingham broke in lightly, - -"It would be a fine chance for proving the quality--and the equality--of -women," said he. "I always told Mrs. Dennison 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 -Ruston'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 Semingham. "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 enemies!" 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 deference, the -acknowledgment of power in the man she loved. For a brief moment she -tasted the troubled joy which she had paid so high to win. For a moment -her eyes rested on Willie Ruston 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 Willie Ruston, 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 Ruston spoke in -cool deliberate 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 Maggie 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 Semingham. - -"Yes; I heard it," said Detchmore, "about the telegram, wasn't it?" - -"Yes, and of course, you see, it explains the toast." - -"That sounds like a question, Semingham." - -"Oh, no. The note of interrogation was--a printer'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 cheerfully. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - THE CUTTING OF THE KNOT. - - -"You can manage it for me?" asked Willie Ruston. - -"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 inquired. - -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 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. Removed 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 inevitable 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, 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, crushing their romance into crime, their passion to the -vulgarity 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 himself. 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. - -He began to pace up and down the room. She 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. "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 on 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. - -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 -burden 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. - -"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 looking at him with a wistful -longing for a word of comfort. 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 answered in low tones. - -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 he 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. But 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. - -"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. Willie, 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." - -"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. And--does -Marjory?" - -"It is nothing. He won't believe. Marjory will not say a word." - -"You'll persuade him that there was nothing----?" - -"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." - -He 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. 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 moment, 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 Ruston'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. - -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 before 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 his 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, looking 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 Ruston as he named Omofaga. - -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 Ruston 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 mighty 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 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 gladness 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. Presently 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 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, apologetic, 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, perhaps, 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 Omofaga is quite gone, and I want him to -come back, and if he'll come here, I'll go on my knees to him.'" - -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 refuse her?" "Could anyone -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 always hinting something--some lie or -other, you know." - -"Don't be too hard on little Mrs. Cormack," said Tom. - -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 Ruston to-day. He was very kind about my -cutting the Omofaga. I wonder if I've been unjust to him!" - -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. So 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 question. - -"Well, I could hardly refuse, could I?" - -"No; I suppose not--at least not if you're Maggie 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 scornfully. - -"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 you to-day?" he asked. - -"Has anything upset me!" echoed Adela, throwing her eyes up to the -ceiling. - -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." - -"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 recesses of the arm-chair, -and holding up the screen again, "like being there better than anywhere -else? I suppose Maggie is very charming?" - -"You know just what she is." - -"I'm sure I don't. I'm a woman." - -There was a long pause. Tom felt absurd, standing 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 happiness?" - -"I don't suppose you ever did anything for happiness," said Adela, as -though she were advancing a heinous charge. "Really, nothing makes me so -impatient 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 and said "good-bye." Tom -took the hand and held it. - -"You see," he said, "I didn't think I had anywhere else to go. I did -know a charming lady who was very witty and--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. Ruston 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 Curzon 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 Dennison's study with a radiant face, crying, - -"Harry, I'm not coming to you after all, old fellow." - -Harry started up in dismay, but a short explanation 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 forgetting 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 under sad eyes. And he -muttered some confused words about "all that" not mattering "tuppence." -And indeed 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, - -"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 on, "she's never been to see me lately, but for -your sake I'll be humble and go and see her to-morrow." - -Harry, as though suddenly remembering, exclaimed that he must tell the -children; in fact, he had an idea that a man liked to talk about his -engagement 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. - -"Do you think he's happy, or is he worrying? He talks to you, you know." - -"I think he'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 -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." - -Mrs. 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 moment 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 that he did not know -what he 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 Semingham 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 -suffer considerably by such a narrow escape from defeat, and by Lord -Detchmore's ill-advised championship of Mr. Ruston's speculative -schemes. Why is the British Government to pull the chestnuts out of the -fire for Mr. Ruston? That is what we ask." - -Lord Semingham paused and added, - -"They may well ask. I don't know. Do you?" - -"Yesterday," observed Adela, "I received a communication 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 been -hoped, and that for the present it was considered advisable 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 circular." - -They both laughed; then both grew grave, and sat silent side by side. - -The drawing-room window was thrown open, and Lady Semingham looked out. -She held a letter in her hand. - -"Oh, fancy, 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 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 burlesque -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 meadows. - -Bessie Semingham looked at the pair for an instant, vaguely dissatisfied -with their want of demonstrativeness. 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. - -"He was a bright boy, with the makings of a man in him," said Semingham. - -Adela nodded, and for a long while neither spoke 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 insatiable 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----?" - -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. Her eyes were fixed on the sky, and she seemed -hardly to hear. Yet Adela, stealing a glance at her, saw her clenched -hand quiver. - -"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 Dennison. - -"Well, the omen is fulfilled now," said Tom Loring. "Ruston need not -fear for himself." - -Harry Dennison turned a sudden uneasy glance upon his wife. She looked -up and 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, glancing 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 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 -Ruston's company had carried over seas from the grave of 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, Ruston 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. Treading heavily on the -floor--there was no lightness 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. - - - - - Transcriber Notes: - -Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. - -Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. - -Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe". - -Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of -the speakers. Those words were retained as-is. - -Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected -unless otherwise noted. - -On page 57, a period was added after "Mr". - -On page 67, "Omafaga" was replaced with "Omofaga". - -On page 109, "thats" was replaced with "that's". - -On page 238, "wathc" was replaced with "watch". - -On page 244, a single quotation mark was replaced with a double -quotation mark. - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The God in the Car, by Anthony Hope - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOD IN THE CAR *** - -***** This file should be named 40583-8.txt or 40583-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/5/8/40583/ - -Produced by Suzanne Shell, Ernest Schaal, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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