well.

"I think that woman's beautiful."

"Come into this pastry-cook's," said Soames abruptly, and tightening
his grip on her arm he turned into a confectioner's. It was--for him--a
surprising thing to do, and he said rather anxiously: "What will you
have?"

"Oh! I don't want anything. I had a cocktail and a tremendous lunch."

"We must have something now we're here," muttered Soames, keeping hold
of her arm.

"Two teas," he said; "and two of those nougat things."

But no sooner was his body seated than his soul sprang up. Those
three--those three were coming in! He heard Irene say something to her
boy, and his answer:

"Oh! no, Mum; this place is all right. My stunt." And the three sat
down.

At that moment, most awkward of his existence, crowded with ghosts and
shadows from his past, in presence of the only two women he had ever
loved--his divorced wife and his daughter by her successor--Soames
was not so much afraid of them as of his cousin June. She might make
a scene--she might introduce those two children--she was capable of
anything. He bit too hastily at the nougat, and it stuck to his plate.
Working at it with his finger, he glanced at Fleur. She was masticating
dreamily, but her eyes were on the boy. The Forsyte in him said: "Think,
feel, and you're done for!" And he wiggled his finger desperately.
Plate! Did Jolyon wear a plate? Did that woman wear a plate? Time had
been when he had seen her wearing nothing! That was something, anyway,
which had never been stolen from him. And she knew it, though she might
sit there calm and self-possessed, as if she had never been his wife.
An acid humour stirred in his Forsyte blood; a subtle pain divided by
hair's breadth from pleasure. If only June did not suddenly bring her
hornets about his ears! The boy was talking.

"Of course, Auntie June"--so he called his half-sister "Auntie," did
he?--well, she must be fifty, if she was a day!--"it's jolly good of you
to encourage them. Only--hang it all!" Soames stole a glance. Irene's
startled eyes were bent watchfully on her boy. She--she had these
devotions--for Bosinney--for that boy's father--for this boy! He touched
Fleur's arm, and said:

"Well, have you had enough?"

"One more, Father, please."

She would be sick! He went to the counter to pay. When he turned round
again he saw Fleur standing near the door, holding a handkerchief which
the boy had evidently just handed to her.

"F. F.," he heard her say