The God in the Car: A Novel

"It will make him independent of your husband," said the Baron.

Mrs. Dennison dropped her eyes and raised them again in a swift, questioning glance.

"Yes, and of you. He need not look to you now."

He paused and added, slowly, punctuating every word,

"You will not be necessary to him now."

Mrs. Dennison met his gaze full and straight; the Baron stretched out his hand.

"Ah, forgive me!" he exclaimed.

"There is nothing to forgive," said she.

"I saw; I knew; I have felt it. Now he will go away; he will not lean on you now. I have set him where he can stand alone."

A smile, half scornful and half sad, came on her face.

"You hate me," said the Baron. "But I am right."

"I was – we were never necessary to him," said she. "Ah, Baron, this is no news you give me. I know him better than that."

He raised himself higher still, panting as he rested on his elbow. His head craned forward towards her as he whispered,

"I'm a dying man. You can tell me."

"If you were a dead man – " she burst out passionately. Then she suddenly recovered herself.

"My dear Baron," she went on, "I'm very glad you've done this for Mr. Ruston."

He sank down on his pillows with a weary sigh.

"Let him alone, let him alone," he moaned. "You thought yourself strong."

"I suppose you mean kindly," she said, speaking very coldly. "Indeed, that you should think of me at all just now shows it. But, Baron, you are disquieting yourself without cause."

"I'm an old man, and a sick man," he pleaded, "and you, my dear – "

"Ah, suppose I have been – whatever you like – indiscreet? Well – ?"

She paused, for he made a feebly impatient gesture. Mrs. Dennison kept silence for a moment; then in a low tone she said,

"Baron, why do you speak to a woman about such things, unless you want her to lie to you?"

The Baron, after a moment, gave his answer, that was no answer.

"He is gone," he said.

"Yes, he is gone – to look after his railway."

"It is finished then?" he half asked, half implored, and just caught her low-toned reply.

"Finished? Who for?" Then she suddenly raised her voice, crying, "What is it to you? Why can't I be let alone? How dare you make me talk about it?"

"I have done," said he, and, laying his thin yellow hand in hers, he went on, "If you meet him again – and I think you will – tell him that I longed to see him, as a man who is dying longs for his son. He would be a breath of life to me in this room, where everything seems dead. He is full of life – full as a tiger. And you can tell him – " He stopped a moment and smiled. "You can tell him why I was a buyer of Omofagas. What will he say?"

"What will he say?" she echoed, with wide-opened eyes, that watched the old man's slow-moving lips.

"Will he weep?" asked the Baron.

"In God's name, don't!" she stammered.

"He will say, 'Behold, the Baron von Geltschmidt was a good man – he was of use in the world – may he sleep in peace!' And now – how goes the railway?"

The old man lay silent, with a grim smile on his face. The woman sat by, with lips set tight in an agony of repression. At last she spoke.

"If I'd known you were going to tell me this, I wouldn't have come."

"It's hard, hard, hard, but – "

"Oh, not that. But – I knew it."

She rose to her feet.

"Good-bye," said the Baron. "I shan't see you again. God make it light for you, my dear."

She would not seem to hear him. She smoothed his pillows and his scanty straggling hair; then she kissed his forehead.

"Good-bye," she said. "I will tell Willie when I see him. I shall see him soon."

The old man moaned softly and miserably.

"It would be better if you lay here," he said.

"Yes, I suppose so," she answered, almost listlessly. "Good-bye."

Suddenly he detained her, catching her hand.

"Do you believe in people meeting again anywhere?" he asked.

"Oh, I suppose so. No, I don't know, I'm sure."

"They've been telling me to have a priest. I call myself a Catholic, you know. What can I say to a priest? I have done nothing but make money. If that is a sin, it's too simple to need confession, and I've done too much of it for absolution. How can I talk to a priest? I shall have no priest."

She did not speak, but let him hold her hand.

"If," he went on, with a little smile, "I'm asked anywhere what I've done, I must say, 'I've made money.' That's all I shall have to say."