s son and June returned
from Spain. How could he justify desire for the company of one who had
stolen--early morning does not mince words--June's lover? That lover
was dead; but June was a stubborn little thing; warm-hearted, but
stubborn as wood, and--quite true--not one who forgot! By the middle of
next month they would be back. He had barely five weeks left to enjoy
the new interest which had come into what remained of his life. Darkness
showed up to him absurdly clear the nature of his feeling. Admiration
for beauty--a craving to see that which delighted his eyes.

Preposterous, at his age! And yet--what other reason was there for asking
June to undergo such painful reminder, and how prevent his son and his
son's wife from thinking him very queer? He would be reduced to sneaking
up to London, which tired him; and the least indisposition would cut him
off even from that. He lay with eyes open, setting his jaw against the
prospect, and calling himself an old fool, while his heart beat loudly,
and then seemed to stop beating altogether. He had seen the dawn
lighting the window chinks, heard the birds chirp and twitter, and the
cocks crow, before he fell asleep again, and awoke tired but sane. Five
weeks before he need bother, at his age an eternity! But that early
morning panic had left its mark, had slightly fevered the will of one who
had always had his own way. He would see her as often as he wished! Why
not go up to town and make that codicil at his solicitor's instead of
writing about it; she might like to go to the opera! But, by train, for
he would not have that fat chap Beacon grinning behind his back.
Servants were such fools; and, as likely as not, they had known all the
past history of Irene and young Bosinney--servants knew everything, and
suspected the rest. He wrote to her that morning:

"MY DEAR IRENE,--I have to be up in town to-morrow. If you would like to
have a look in at the opera, come and dine with me quietly ...."

But where? It was decades since he had dined anywhere in London save at
his Club or at a private house. Ah! that new-fangled place close to
Covent Garden....

"Let me have a line to-morrow morning to the Piedmont Hotel whether to
expect you there at 7 o'clock."
"Yours affectionately,
"JOLYON FORSYTE."

She would understand that he just wanted to give her a little pleasure;
for the idea that she should guess he had this itch to see her was
instinctively unpleasant