And soon only one of the diners at James' was awake--Soames, in his

bedroom above his father's.

So that fellow Jolyon was in Paris--what was he doing there? Hanging

round Irene! The last report from Polteed had hinted that there might

be something soon. Could it be this? That fellow, with his beard and his

cursed amused way of speaking--son of the old man who had given him the

nickname 'Man of Property,' and bought the fatal house from him. Soames

had ever resented having had to sell the house at Robin Hill; never

forgiven his uncle for having bought it, or his cousin for living in it.

Reckless of the cold, he threw his window up and gazed out across the

Park. Bleak and dark the January night; little sound of traffic; a frost

coming; bare trees; a star or two. 'I'll see Polteed to-morrow,' he

thought. 'By God! I'm mad, I think, to want her still. That fellow!

If...? Um! No!'




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