"You can have a room for the night," she said; "your things are still

here. Only Imogen is at home."

He leaned back against the bed-rail. "Well, it's in your hands," and his

own made a writhing movement. "I've been through it. You needn't hit too

hard--it isn't worth while. I've been frightened; I've been frightened,

Freddie."

That old pet name, disused for years and years, sent a shiver through

Winifred.

'What am I to do with him?' she thought. 'What in God's name am I to do

with him?'

"Got a cigarette?"

She gave him one from a little box she kept up there for when

she couldn't sleep at night, and lighted it. With that action the

matter-of-fact side of her nature came to life again.

"Go and have a hot bath. I'll put some clothes out for you in the

dressing-room. We can talk later."

He nodded, and fixed his eyes on her--they looked half-dead, or was it

that the folds in the lids had become heavier?

'He's not the same,' she thought. He would never be quite the same

again! But what would he be?

"All right!" he said, and went towards the door. He even moved

differently, like a man who has lost illusion and doubts whether it is

worth while to move at all.

When he was gone, and she heard the water in the bath running, she put

out a complete set of garments on the bed in his dressing-room, then

went downstairs and fetched up the biscuit box and whisky. Putting on

her coat again, and listening a moment at the bathroom door, she went

down and out. In the street she hesitated. Past seven o'clock! Would

Soames be at his Club or at Park Lane? She turned towards the latter.

Back!

Soames had always feared it--she had sometimes hoped it.... Back! So

like him--clown that he was--with this: 'Here we are again!' to make

fools of them all--of the Law, of Soames, of herself!

Yet to have done with the Law, not to have that murky cloud hanging over

her and the children! What a relief! Ah! but how to accept his return?

That 'woman' had ravaged him, taken from him passion such as he had

never bestowed on herself, such as she had not thought him capable of.

There was the sting! That selfish, blatant 'clown' of hers, whom she

herself had never really stirred, had been swept and ungarnished by

another woman! Insulting! Too insulting! Not right, not decent to take

him back! And yet she had asked for him; the Law perhaps would make

her now! He was as much her husband as ever--she had put herself out of

court! And all he wanted, no doubt, was money--to keep him in cigars and

lavender-water! That scent! 'After all, I'm not old,' she thought, 'not

old yet!' But that woman who had reduced him to those words: 'I've been

through it. I've been frightened--frightened, Freddie!' She neared her

father's house, driven this way and that, while all the time the Forsyte

undertow was drawing her to deep conclusion that after all he was her

property, to be held against a robbing world. And so she came to James'.




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