'I've never known Uncle Nicholas other than "very poorly,"' mused

Soames, 'or seen him look other than everlasting. What a family! Judging

by him, I've got thirty-eight years of health before me. Well, I'm not

going to waste them.' And going over to a mirror he stood looking at

his face. Except for a line or two, and three or four grey hairs in his

little dark moustache, had he aged any more than Irene? The prime of

life--he and she in the very prime of life! And a fantastic thought shot

into his mind. Absurd! Idiotic! But again it came. And genuinely alarmed

by the recurrence, as one is by the second fit of shivering which

presages a feverish cold, he sat down on the weighing machine. Eleven

stone! He had not varied two pounds in twenty years. What age was

she? Nearly thirty-seven--not too old to have a child--not at all!

Thirty-seven on the ninth of next month. He remembered her birthday

well--he had always observed it religiously, even that last birthday so

soon before she left him, when he was almost certain she was faithless.

Four birthdays in his house. He had looked forward to them, because his

gifts had meant a semblance of gratitude, a certain attempt at warmth.

Except, indeed, that last birthday--which had tempted him to be too

religious! And he shied away in thought. Memory heaps dead leaves on

corpse-like deeds, from under which they do but vaguely offend the

sense. And then he thought suddenly: 'I could send her a present for her

birthday. After all, we're Christians! Couldn't!--couldn't we join

up again!' And he uttered a deep sigh sitting there. Annette! Ah! but

between him and Annette was the need for that wretched divorce suit! And

how?

"A man can always work these things, if he'll take it on himself,"

Jolyon had said.

But why should he take the scandal on himself with his whole career as

a pillar of the law at stake? It was not fair! It was quixotic! Twelve

years' separation in which he had taken no steps to free himself put out

of court the possibility of using her conduct with Bosinney as a ground

for divorcing her. By doing nothing to secure relief he had acquiesced,

even if the evidence could now be gathered, which was more than

doubtful. Besides, his own pride would never let him use that old

incident, he had suffered from it too much. No! Nothing but fresh

misconduct on her part--but she had denied it; and--almost--he had

believed her. Hung up! Utterly hung up!

He rose from the scooped-out red velvet seat with a feeling of

constriction about his vitals. He would never sleep with this going on

in him! And, taking coat and hat again, he went out, moving eastward.

In Trafalgar Square he became aware of some special commotion travelling

towards him out of the mouth of the Strand. It materialised in newspaper

men calling out so loudly that no words whatever could be heard. He

stopped to listen, and one came by.




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