He woke at half-past two, an hour which long experience had taught him

brings panic intensity to all awkward thoughts. Experience had also

taught him that a further waking at the proper hour of eight showed

the folly of such panic. On this particular morning the thought which

gathered rapid momentum was that if he became ill, at his age not

improbable, he would not see her. From this it was but a step to

realisation that he would be cut off, too, when his son and June

returned from Spain. How could he justify desire for the company of one

who had stolen--early morning does not mince words--June's lover? That

lover was dead; but June was a stubborn little thing; warm-hearted, but

stubborn as wood, and--quite true--not one who forgot! By the middle of

next month they would be back. He had barely five weeks left to enjoy

the new interest which had come into what remained of his life. Darkness

showed up to him absurdly clear the nature of his feeling. Admiration

for beauty--a craving to see that which delighted his eyes.

Preposterous, at his age! And yet--what other reason was there for

asking June to undergo such painful reminder, and how prevent his son

and his son's wife from thinking him very queer? He would be reduced

to sneaking up to London, which tired him; and the least indisposition

would cut him off even from that. He lay with eyes open, setting his jaw

against the prospect, and calling himself an old fool, while his heart

beat loudly, and then seemed to stop beating altogether. He had seen the

dawn lighting the window chinks, heard the birds chirp and twitter, and

the cocks crow, before he fell asleep again, and awoke tired but sane.

Five weeks before he need bother, at his age an eternity! But that early

morning panic had left its mark, had slightly fevered the will of one

who had always had his own way. He would see her as often as he wished!

Why not go up to town and make that codicil at his solicitor's instead

of writing about it; she might like to go to the opera! But, by train,

for he would not have that fat chap Beacon grinning behind his back.

Servants were such fools; and, as likely as not, they had known all the

past history of Irene and young Bosinney--servants knew everything, and

suspected the rest. He wrote to her that morning:

"MY DEAR IRENE,--I have to be up in town to-morrow. If you would like to

have a look in at the opera, come and dine with me quietly ...."




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