The God in the Car: A Novel

"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!"