The God in the Car Part 16

"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 Omof.a.ga."

"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 Omof.a.ga: 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 gla.s.s 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 Omof.a.ga. "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 Omof.a.ga."

"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 Omof.a.ga! 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."