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.

"Ah! You saw him further," said George amicably. "He's a real rouser.
Young Val will want a bit of looking after. I was always sorry for
Winifred. She's a plucky woman."

Again Soames nodded. "I must be getting back to her," he said; "she just
wanted to know for certain. We may have to