The God in the Car: A Novel

"Oh, yes, she will," he laughed. "It's for Omofaga, you know. Good-bye. Good-bye. I'm awfully sorry to go. Good-bye."

He was gone. It was difficult to realise at first. His presence, the fact of him, had filled so large a space; it had been the feature of the place from the day he had joined them. It had been their interest and their incubus.

For a moment the three stood staring at one another; then Semingham, with a curious laugh, turned on his heel and went into the house. His wife unfolded yesterday's Morning Post and began to read.

"Come for a stroll," said Tom Loring to Adela.

She accompanied him in silence, and they walked a hundred yards or more before she spoke.

"What a blessing!" she said then. "I wonder if your coming sent him away?"

"No, it was genuine," declared Tom, with conviction.

"Then I was very wrong, or he's a most extraordinary man. I can't talk to you about it, Mr. Loring, but you told me I might send. And I did think it – desirable – when I wrote. I did, indeed. I hope you're not very much annoyed?"

"Annoyed! No; I was delighted to come. And I am still more delighted that it looks as if I wasn't wanted."

"Oh, you're wanted, anyhow," said Adela.

She was very happy in his coming, and could not help showing it a little. Fortunately, it was tolerably certain (as she felt sometimes, intolerably certain) that Tom Loring would not notice anything. He never seemed to consider it possible that people might be particularly glad to see him.

"And you can stay, can't you?" she added.

"Oh, yes; I can stay a bit. I should like to. What made you send?"

"You know. I can't possibly describe it."

"Did Semingham notice it too?"

"Yes, he did, Mr. Loring. I distrust that man – Mr. Ruston I mean – utterly. And Maggie – "

"She's wrapped up in him?"

"Terribly. I tried to think it was his wretched Omofaga; but it's not; it's him."

"Well, he's disposed of."

"Yes, indeed," she sighed, in complacent ignorance.

"I must go and see her, you know," said Tom, wrinkling his brow.

Adela laughed.

"What'll she say to me?" asked Tom anxiously.

"Oh, she'll be very pleasant."

"I shan't," said Tom with sudden decision.

Adela looked at him curiously.

"You mean to – to give her 'a bit of your mind?'"

"Well, yes," he answered, smiling. "I think so; don't you?"

"I should like to, if I dared."

"Why, you dare anything!" exclaimed Tom.

"Oh, no, I don't. I splash about a good deal, but I am a coward, really."

They relapsed into silence. Presently Tom began,

"It's been awfully dull in town; nobody to speak to, except Mrs. Cormack."

"Mrs. Cormack!" cried Adela. "I thought you hated her?"

"Well, I've thought a little better of her lately."

"To think of your making friends with Mrs. Cormack!"

"I haven't made friends with her. She's not such a bad woman as you'd think, though."

"I think she's horrible," said Adela.

Tom gave it up.

"There was no one else," he pleaded.

"Well," retorted Adela, "when there is anyone else, you never come near them."

The grammar was confused, but Adela could not improve it, without being landed in unbearable plainness of speech.

"Don't I?" he asked. "Why, I come and see you."

"Oh, for twenty minutes once a month; just to keep the acquaintance open, I suppose. It's like shutting all the gates on Ascension Day (isn't it Ascension Day?), only the other way round, you know."

"You so often quarrel with me," said Tom.

"What nonsense!" said Adela. "Anyhow, I won't quarrel here."

Tom glanced at her. She was looking bright and happy and young. He liked her even better here in Dieppe than in a London drawing-room. Her conversation was not so elaborate, but it was more spontaneous and, to his mind, pleasanter. Moreover, the sea air had put colour in her cheeks and painted her complexion afresh. The thought strayed through Tom's mind that she was looking quite handsome. It was the one good thing that he did not always think about her. He went on studying her till she suddenly turned and caught him.

"Well," she asked, with a laugh and a blush, "do I wear well?"

"You always talk as if you were seventy," said Tom reprovingly.

Adela laughed merrily. The going of Ruston and the coming of Tom were almost too much good-fortune for one day. And Tom had come in a pleasant mood.