The God in the Car Part 49

"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 t.i.tle 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 att.i.tude 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 st.u.r.dily, 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."