he had had a lot of trouble with it.

A sound from Fleur distracted his attention. "Look! The people who were
in the Gallery with us."

"What people?" muttered Soames, who knew perfectly 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 humor 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