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Nicholas, who in her turn had asked Winifred Dartie for confirmation, supposing, of course, that, being Soames's sister, she would know all about it. Through her it had in due course come round to the ears of James. He had been a good deal agitated. "Nobody," he said, "told him anything."
"I wouldn't mind having it myself," he added; "you can always get your price for old lacquer." "You're so clever with all those things," said Aunt Ann. "And how is dear Irene?" Soames's smile died. "Pretty well," he said. "Complains she can't sleep; she sleeps a great deal better than I do," and he looked at his wife, who was talking to Bosinney by the door. Aunt Ann sighed.
I knowed him for what he is directly I saw him. Ferreting about, that's his game; to see if there's anything to be got." "But what is he ferreting here for?" said Mr John Stringer. "I'm ferreting for Mr Soames's cheque for twenty pounds," said Mr Toogood. "That's the cheque that the parson stole," said Dan Stringer. "He's to be tried for it at the 'sizes."
He walked home, and going upstairs, woke Emily out of the first sleep she had had for four and twenty hours, to tell her that it was his impression things were in a bad way at Soames's; on this theme he descanted for half an hour, until at last, saying that he would not sleep a wink, he turned on his side and instantly began to snore.
The gong sounded, and, putting her white arm within his, Irene took him into the dining-room. She seated him in Soames's usual place, round the corner on her left. The light fell softly there, so that he would not be worried by the gradual dying of the day; and she began to talk to him about himself.
"Well, sir, since this cursed gout has been so bad, it's hard enough to pay it at all sometimes. You ain't sent here to look for it, sir, are you?" "Not I," said Toogood. "It was only a chance question." He felt that he had nothing more to do with Mr Stringer, the landlord. Mr Stringer, the landlord, knew nothing about Mr Soames's cheque. "What's the name of your clerk?" said he.
"He seems to me a queer fish for a friend of our family. In fact, our family is in pretty queer waters, with Uncle Soames marrying a Frenchwoman, and your Dad marrying Soames's first. Our grandfathers would have had fits!" "So would anybody's, my dear." "This car," Val said suddenly, "wants rousing; she doesn't get her hind legs under her uphill.
He must be your first cousin, if your fathers were brothers." "Dead, for all I know," said Soames, with sudden vehemence. "I haven't seen him for twenty years." "What was he?" "A painter." "That's quite jolly." The words: "If you want to please me you'll put those people out of your head," sprang to Soames's lips, but he choked them back he must NOT let her see his feelings.
Soames's composure gave way. "You're a pretty wife!" he said. But secretly he wondered at the heat of her reply; it was unlike her. "You're cracked about June! I can tell you one thing: now that she has the Buccaneer in tow, she doesn't care twopence about you, and, you'll find it out. But you won't see so much of her in future; we're going to live in the country."
Whether it was worth a coat of paint, at Timothy's age, he was not sure. The room had always been the most modern in the house; and only a faint smile curled Soames's lips and nostrils. Walls of a rich green surmounted the oak dado; a heavy metal chandelier hung by a chain from a ceiling divided by imitation beams.
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