The God in the Car: A Novel

"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.