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"I chose the softest, Father." "H'm!" said Soames; "I only use those after a cold. Never mind!" That evening passed for Fleur in putting two and two together; recalling the look on her father's face in the confectioner's shop a look strange and coldly intimate, a queer look. He must have loved that woman very much to have kept her photograph all this time, in spite of having lost her.

Yes, there he was, tall, ponderous, neat, clean-shaven, with his smooth hair, hardly thinned, smelling, no doubt, of the best hair-wash, and a pink paper in his hand. Well, he didn't change! And for perhaps the first time in his life Soames felt a kind of sympathy tapping in his waistcoat for that sardonic kinsman.

In rude health and small omnibuses, with considerable colour in their cheeks, they arrived daily from the various termini. The following morning saw them back at their vocations. On the next Sunday Timothy's was thronged from lunch till dinner. Amongst other gossip, too numerous and interesting to relate, Mrs. Septimus Small mentioned that Soames and Irene had not been away.

But he guessed that if atomic war should ever burst on Earth, that rockets rising from this place and others like it would avenge the destruction done to America. Presently Gail and the children were installed in a remarkably ordinary small cottage, and Soames frowned.

Soames raised the corner of his lip in a smile, and looked across at Bosinney. The architect was grinning behind the fumes of his cigarette. Now, indeed, he looked more like a buccaneer. "There's a lot of work about it," remarked James hastily, who was really moved by the size of the group. "It'd sell well at Jobson's."

Soames looked steadily at that face, at the fire, at all the room with windows thrown open to the London night. "Good-bye!" he whispered, and went out. He had much to see to, that night and all next day.

Soames!" he said, speaking almost perfect English, but with the sing-song intonation of the Greek, and giving all his syllables an equal value "you are the man I am looking for; and I can make your fortune." This was entirely in accordance with Mr. Soames' own views, and he nodded, respectfully.

"No," he said; "only nations or profiteers can afford him, I suppose. I say, why shouldn't all the bankrupt nations sell their Velasquez and Titians and other swells to the profiteers by force, and then pass a law that any one who holds a picture by an Old Master see schedule must hang it in a public gallery? There seems something in that." "Shall we go down to tea?" said Soames.

"His daughter's an attractive small girl. Mr. Soames Forsyde is a bit old-fashioned. I want to see him have a pleasure some day." George Forsyte grinned. "Don't you worry; he's not so miserable as he looks. He'll never show he's enjoying anything they might try and take it from him. Old Soames! Once bit, twice shy!" "Well, Jon," said Val hastily, "if you've finished, we'll go and have coffee."

"Oh!" cried Fleur, "help me, Father; you can help me, you know." Soames made a startled movement of negation. "I?" he said bitterly. "Help? I am the impediment the just cause and impediment isn't that the jargon? You have my blood in your veins." He rose. "Well, the fat's in the fire. If you persist in your wilfulness you'll have yourself to blame. Come! Don't be foolish, my child my only child!"