nd your mother," he said suddenly, "to come for the
afternoon next Sunday. My house is on the river, it's not too late in
this weather; and I can show you some good pictures. What do you say?"

Annette clasped her hands.

"It will be lovelee. The river is so beautiful"

"That's understood, then. I'll ask Madame."

He need say no more to her this evening, and risk giving himself away.
But had he not already said too much? Did one ask restaurant proprietors
with pretty daughters down to one's country house without design? Madame
Lamotte would see, if Annette didn't. Well! there was not much that
Madame did not see. Besides, this was the second time he had stayed to
supper with them; he owed them hospitality.

Walking home towards Park Lane--for he was staying at his father's--with
the impression of Annette's soft clever hand within his own, his
thoughts were pleasant, slightly sensual, rather puzzled. Take steps!
What steps? How? Dirty linen washed in public? Pah! With his reputation
for sagacity, for far-sightedness and the clever extrication of others,
he, who stood for proprietary interests, to become the plaything of
that Law of which he was a pillar! There was something revolting in
the thought! Winifred's affair was bad enough! To have a double dose
of publicity in the family! Would not a liaison be better than that--a
liaison, and a son he could adopt? But dark, solid, watchful, Madame
Lamotte blocked the avenue of that vision. No! that would not work. It
was not as if Annette could have a real passion for him; one could not
expect that at his age. If her mother wished, if the worldly advantage
were manifestly great--perhaps! If not, refusal would be certain.
Besides, he thought: 'I'm not a villain. I don't want to hurt her; and
I don't want anything underhand. But I do want her, and I want a son!
There's nothing for it but divorce--somehow--anyhow--divorce!' Under the
shadow of the plane-trees, in the lamplight, he passed slowly along
the railings of the Green Park. Mist clung there among the bluish tree
shapes, beyond range of the lamps. How many hundred times he had walked
past those trees from his father's house in Park Lane, when he was quite
a young man; or from his own house in Montpellier Square in those four
years of married life! And, to-night, making up his mind to free himself
if he could of that long useless marriage tie, he took a fancy to walk
on, in at Hyde Park Corner, out at Knightsbridge Gate