to meet her at the Louvre.
It brought him up with a round turn. While he was lotus-eating here, his
boy, whose philosopher and guide he ought to be, had taken this great
step towards danger, hardship, perhaps even death. He felt disturbed
to the soul, realising suddenly how Irene had twined herself round the
roots of his being. Thus threatened with severance, the tie between
them--for it had become a kind of tie--no longer had impersonal quality.
The tranquil enjoyment of things in common, Jolyon perceived, was gone
for ever. He saw his feeling as it was, in the nature of an infatuation.
Ridiculous, perhaps, but so real that sooner or later it must disclose
itself. And now, as it seemed to him, he could not, must not, make any
such disclosure. The news of Jolly stood inexorably in the way. He was
proud of this enlistment; proud of his boy for going off to fight for
the country; for on Jolyon's pro-Boerism, too, Black Week had left its
mark. And so the end was reached before the beginning! Well, luckily he
had never made a sign!

When he came into the Gallery she was standing before the 'Virgin of the
Rocks,' graceful, absorbed, smiling and unconscious. 'Have I to give up
seeing that?' he thought. 'It's unnatural, so long as she's willing that
I should see her.' He stood, unnoticed, watching her, storing up the
image of her figure, envying the picture on which she was bending that
long scrutiny. Twice she turned her head towards the entrance, and he
thought: 'That's for me!' At last he went forward.

"Look!" he said.

She read the telegram, and he heard her sigh.

That sigh, too, was for him! His position was really cruel! To be
loyal to his son he must just shake her hand and go. To be loyal to the
feeling in his heart he must at least tell her what that feeling was.
Could she, would she understand the silence in which he was gazing at
that picture?

"I'm afraid I must go home at once," he said at last. "I shall miss all
this awfully."

"So shall I; but, of course, you must go."

"Well!" said Jolyon holding out his hand.

Meeting her eyes, a flood of feeling nearly mastered him.

"Such is life!" he said. "Take care of yourself, my dear!"

He had a stumbling sensation in his legs and feet, as if his brain
refused to steer him away from her. From the doorway, he saw her
lift her hand and touch its fingers with her lips. He raised his hat
solemnly, and did not look back again.

CHAPTER VII--DARTIE VERSU