"What's it all about, now?"

Winifred recited the story of the pearls calmly.

"Do you think he's really gone, Soames? You see the state he was in when

he wrote that."

Soames who, when he desired a thing, placated Providence by pretending

that he did not think it likely to happen, answered:

"I shouldn't think so. I might find out at his Club."

"If George is there," said Winifred, "he would know."

"George?" said Soames; "I saw him at his father's funeral."

"Then he's sure to be there."

Soames, whose good sense applauded his sister's acumen, said grudgingly:

"Well, I'll go round. Have you said anything in Park Lane?"

"I've told Emily," returned Winifred, who retained that 'chic' way of

describing her mother. "Father would have a fit."

Indeed, anything untoward was now sedulously kept from James. With

another look round at the furniture, as if to gauge his sister's exact

position, Soames went out towards Piccadilly. The evening was drawing

in--a touch of chill in the October haze. He walked quickly, with his

close and concentrated air. He must get through, for he wished to dine

in Soho. On hearing from the hall porter at the Iseeum that Mr. Dartie

had not been in to-day, he looked at the trusty fellow and decided only

to ask if Mr. George Forsyte was in the Club. He was. Soames, who always

looked askance at his cousin George, as one inclined to jest at his

expense, followed the pageboy, slightly reassured by the thought that

George had just lost his father. He must have come in for about thirty

thousand, besides what he had under that settlement of Roger's, which

had avoided death duty. He found George in a bow-window, staring out

across a half-eaten plate of muffins. His tall, bulky, black-clothed

figure loomed almost threatening, though preserving still the

supernatural neatness of the racing man. With a faint grin on his fleshy

face, he said:

"Hallo, Soames! Have a muffin?"

"No, thanks," murmured Soames; and, nursing his hat, with the desire to

say something suitable and sympathetic, added:

"How's your mother?"

"Thanks," said George; "so-so. Haven't seen you for ages. You never go

racing. How's the City?"

Soames, scenting the approach of a jest, closed up, and answered:

"I wanted to ask you about Dartie. I hear he's...."

"Flitted, made a bolt to Buenos Aires with the fair Lola. Good for

Winifred and the little Darties. He's a treat."

Soames nodded. Naturally inimical as these cousins were, Dartie made

them kin.

"Uncle James'll sleep in his bed now," resumed George; "I suppose he's

had a lot off you, too."

Soames smiled.




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