The God in the Car: A Novel

THE BARON'S CONTRIBUTION

It may be that the Baron thought he had sucked the orange of life very dry – at least, when the cold winds and the fog had done their work, he accepted without passionate disinclination the hint that he must soon take his lips from the fruit. He went to bed and made a codicil to his will, having it executed and witnessed with every requisite formality. Then he announced to Lord Semingham, who came to see him, that, according to his doctor's opinion and his own, he might manage to breathe a week longer; and Semingham, looking upon him, fancied, without saying, that the opinion was a sanguine one. This happened five days before Harry Dennison's arrival at Dieppe.

"I am very fortunate," said the Baron, "to have found such kind friends for the last stage;" and he looked from Lady Semingham's flowers to Adela's grapes. "I could have bought them, of course," he added. "I've always been able to buy – everything."

The old man smiled as he spoke, and Semingham smiled also.

"This," continued the Baron, "is the third time I have been laid up like this."

"There's luck in odd numbers," observed Semingham.

"But which would be luck?" asked the Baron.

"Ah, there you gravel me," admitted Semingham.

"I came here against orders, because I must needs poke my old nose into this concern of yours – "

"Not of mine."

"Of yours and others. Well, I poked it in – and the frost has caught the end of it."

"I don't take any particular pleasure in the concern myself," said Semingham, "and I wish you'd kept your nose out, and yourself in a more balmy climate."

"My dear Lord, the market is rising."

"I know," smiled Semingham. "Tom Loring can't make out who the fools are who are buying. He said so this morning."

The Baron began to laugh, but a cough choked his mirth.

"He's an honest and an able man, your Loring; but he doesn't see clear in everything. I've been buying, myself."

"Oh, you have?"

"Yes, and someone has been selling – selling largely – or the price would have been driven higher. It is you, perhaps, my friend?"

"Not a share. I have the vices of an aristocracy. I am stubborn."

"Who, then?"

"It might be – Dennison."

The Baron nodded.

"But what did you want with 'em, Baron? Will they pay?"

"Oh, I doubt that. But I wanted them. Why should Dennison sell?"

"I suppose he doubts, like you."

"Perhaps it is that."

"Perhaps," said Semingham.

In the course of the next three days they had many conversations; the talks did the Baron no good nor, as his doctor significantly said, any harm; and when he could not talk, Semingham sat by him and told stories. He spoke too, frequently, of Willie Ruston, and of the Company – that interested the Baron. And at last, on the third day, they began to speak of Maggie Dennison; but neither of them connected the two names in talk. Indeed Semingham, according to his custom, had rushed at the possibility of ignoring such connection. Ruston's disappearance had shown him a way; and he embraced the happy chance. He was always ready to think that any "fuss" was a mistake; and, as he told the Baron, Mrs. Dennison had been in great spirits lately, cheered up, it seemed, by the prospect of her husband's immediate arrival. The Baron smiled to hear him; then he asked,

"Do you think she would come to see me?"

Semingham promised to ask her; and, although the Baron was fit to see nobody the next day – for he had moved swiftly towards his journey's end in those twenty-four hours – yet Mrs. Dennison came and was admitted; and, at sight of the Baron, who lay yellow and gasping, forgot both her acting and, for an instant, the reality which it hid.

"Oh!" she cried before she could stop herself, "how ill you look! Let me make you comfortable!"

The Baron did not deny her. He had something to say to her.

"When does your husband come?" he asked.

"To-morrow," said she briefly.

She did all she could for his comfort, and then sat down by his bedside. He had an interval of some freedom from oppression and his mind was clear and concentrated.

"I want to tell you," he began, "something that I have done." He paused, and added a question, "Ruston does not come back to Dieppe, I suppose?"

"I think not. He is detained on business," she answered, "and he will be more tied when my husband leaves."

"Your husband will not long be concerned in the Omofaga," said he.

She started; the Baron told her what he had told Semingham.

"He will soon resign his place on the Board, you will see," he ended.

She sat silent.

"He will have nothing more to do with it, you will see;" and, turning to her, he asked with a sudden spurt of vigour, "Do you know why?"

"How should I?" she answered steadily.

"And I – I have done my part too. I have left him some money (she knew that the Baron did not mean her husband) and all the shares I held."

"You've done that?" she cried, with a sudden light in her eyes.

"You do not want to know why?"

"Oh, I know you admired him. You told me so."

"Yes, that in part. I did admire him. He was what I have never been. I wish he was here now. I should like to look at that face of his before I die. But it was not for his sake that I left him the money. Why, he could get it without me if he needed it! You don't ask me why?"

In his excitement he had painfully pulled himself higher up on his pillows, and his head was on the level with hers now. He looked right into her eyes. She was very pale, but calm and self-controlled.

"I don't know," she said. "Why have you?"