The God in the Car: A Novel

"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."