It was, on the whole, not very surprising, she thought, that few people liked William Roger Ruston – nor that many believed in him.
"Don't you agree with me?" asked Heather.
"Not in the least," said Adela at random.
The odds that he had been saying something foolish were very large.
"I thought you were such friends!" exclaimed Heather in surprise.
"Well, to confess, I was thinking of something else. Who do you mean?"
"Why, Mrs. Dennison. I was saying that her calm queenly manner – "
"Good gracious, Mr. Heather, don't call women 'queenly.' You're like – what is it? – a 'dime novel.'"
If this comparison were meant to relieve her from the genius' conversation for the rest of dinner, it was admirably conceived. He turned his shoulder on her in undisguised dudgeon.
"And how's the great scheme?" asked somebody of Ruston.
"We hope to get the money," he said, turning for a moment from his hostess. "And if we do that, we're all right."
"Everything's going on very well," called Semingham from the foot of the table. "They've killed a missionary."
"How dreadful!" lisped his wife.
"Regrettable in itself, but the first step towards empire," explained Semingham with a smile.
"It's to stop things of that kind that we are going there," Mr. Belford pronounced; the speech was evidently meant to be repeated, and to rank as authoritative.
"Of course," chuckled Semingham.
If he had been a shopman, he could not have resisted showing his customers how the adulteration was done.
In spite of herself – for she strongly objected to being one of an admiring crowd, and liked a personal cachet on her emotions – Adela felt pleasure when, after dinner, Ruston came straight to her and, displacing Evan Haselden, sat down by her side. He assumed the position with a business-like air, as though he meant to stay. She often, indeed habitually, had two or three men round her, but to-night none contested Ruston's exclusive possession; she fancied that the business-like air had something to do with it. She had been taken possession of, she said to herself, with a little impatience and yet a little pleasure also.
"You know everybody here, I suppose?" he asked. His tone cast a doubt on the value of the knowledge.
"It's my tenth season," said Adela, with a laugh. "I stopped counting them once, but there comes a time when one has to begin again."
He looked at her – critically, she thought – as he said,
"The ravages of time no longer to be ignored?"
"Well, the exaggerations of friends to be checked. Yes, I suppose I know most of – "
She paused for a word.
"The gang," he suggested, leaning back and crossing his legs.
"Yes, we are a gang, and all on one chain. You're a recent captive, though."
"Yes," he assented, "it's pretty new to me. A year ago I hadn't a dress coat."
"The gods are giving you a second youth then."
"Well, I take it. I don't know that I have much to thank the gods for."
"They've been mostly against you, haven't they? However, what does that matter, if you beat them?"
He did not disdain her compliment, but neither did he accept it. He ignored it, and Adela, who paid very few compliments, was amused and vexed.
"Perhaps," she added, "you think your victory still incomplete?"
This gained no better attention. Mr. Ruston seemed to be following his own thoughts.
"It must be a curious thing," he remarked, "to be born to a place like Semingham's."
"And to use it – or not to use it – like Lord Semingham?"
"Yes, I was thinking of that," he admitted.
"To be eminent requires some self-deception, doesn't it? Without that, it would seem too absurd. I think Lord Semingham is overweighted with humour." She paused and then – to show that she was not in awe of him – she added, – "Now, I should say, you have very little."
"Very little, indeed, I should think," he agreed composedly.
"You're the only man I ever heard admit that of himself; we all say it of one another."
"I know what I have and haven't got pretty well."
Adela was beginning to be more sure that she disliked him, but the topic had its interest for her and she went on,
"Now I like to think I've got everything."
To her annoyance, the topic seemed to lose interest for him, just in proportion as it gained interest for her. In fact, Mr. Ruston did not apparently care to talk about what she liked or didn't like.
"Who's that pretty girl over there," he asked, "talking to young Haselden?"
"Marjory Valentine," said Adela curtly.
"Oh! I think I should like to talk to her."
"Pray, don't let me prevent you," said Adela in very distant tones.
The man seemed to have no manners.
Mr. Ruston said nothing, but gave a short laugh. Adela was not accustomed to be laughed at openly. Yet she felt defenceless; this pachydermatous animal would be impervious to the pricks of her rapier.
"You're amused?" she asked sharply.
"Why were you in such a hurry to take offence? I didn't say I wanted to go and talk to her now."
"It sounded like it."
"Oh, well, I'm very sorry," he conceded, still smiling, and obviously thinking her very absurd.
She rose from her seat.
"Please do, though. She'll be going soon, and you mayn't get another chance."
"Well, I will then," he answered simply, accompanying the remark with a nod of approval for her sensible reminder. And he went at once.
She saw him touch Haselden on the shoulder, and make the young man present him to Marjory. Ruston sat down and Haselden drifted, aimless and forlorn, on a solitary passage along the length of the room.
Adela joined Lady Semingham.
"That's a dreadful man, Bessie," she said; "he's a regular Juggernaut."
She disturbed Lady Semingham in a moment of happiness; everybody had been provided with conversation, and the hostess could sit in peaceful silence, looking, and knowing that she looked, very dainty and pretty; she liked that much better than talking.
"Who's what, dear?" she murmured.
"That
