r cousin Jolyon is a widower now. He is her trustee; you knew that,
of course?"

Soames shook his head. He did know, but wished to show no interest.
Young Jolyon and he had not met since the day of Bosinney's death.

"He must be quite middle-aged by now," went on Aunt Juley dreamily. "Let
me see, he was born when your dear uncle lived in Mount Street; long
before they went to Stanhope Gate in December. Just before that dreadful
Commune. Over fifty! Fancy that! Such a pretty baby, and we were all so
proud of him; the very first of you all." Aunt Juley sighed, and a lock
of not quite her own hair came loose and straggled, so that Aunt Hester
gave a little shiver. Soames rose, he was experiencing a curious piece
of self-discovery. That old wound to his pride and self-esteem was not
yet closed. He had come thinking he could talk of it, even wanting to
talk of his fettered condition, and--behold! he was shrinking away from
this reminder by Aunt Juley, renowned for her Malapropisms.

Oh, Soames was not going already!

Soames smiled a little vindictively, and said:

"Yes. Good-bye. Remember me to Uncle Timothy!" And, leaving a cold kiss
on each forehead, whose wrinkles seemed to try and cling to his lips
as if longing to be kissed away, he left them looking brightly after
him--dear Soames, it had been so good of him to come to-day, when they
were not feeling very...!

With compunction tweaking at his chest Soames descended the stairs,
where was always that rather pleasant smell of camphor and port wine,
and house where draughts are not permitted. The poor old things--he
had not meant to be unkind! And in the street he instantly forgot them,
repossessed by the image of Annette and the thought of the cursed coil
around him. Why had he not pushed the thing through and obtained divorce
when that wretched Bosinney was run over, and there was evidence galore
for the asking! And he turned towards his sister Winifred Dartie's
residence in Green Street, Mayfair.

CHAPTER II--EXIT A MAN OF THE WORLD

That a man of the world so subject to the vicissitudes of fortunes
as Montague Dartie should still be living in a house he had inhabited
twenty years at least would have been more noticeable if the rent,
rates, taxes, and repairs of that house had not been defrayed by his
father-in-law. By that simple if wholesale device James Forsyte had
secured a certain stability in the lives of his daughter and his
grandchildren. After al