, just as he used
to when going home to Irene in the old days. What could she be like
now?--how had she passed the years since he last saw her, twelve years
in all, seven already since Uncle Jolyon left her that money? Was she
still beautiful? Would he know her if he saw her? 'I've not changed
much,' he thought; 'I expect she has. She made me suffer.' He remembered
suddenly one night, the first on which he went out to dinner alone--an
old Malburian dinner--the first year of their marriage. With what
eagerness he had hurried back; and, entering softly as a cat, had heard
her playing. Opening the drawing-room door noiselessly, he had stood
watching the expression on her face, different from any he knew, so much
more open, so confiding, as though to her music she was giving a heart
he had never seen. And he remembered how she stopped and looked round,
how her face changed back to that which he did know, and what an
icy shiver had gone through him, for all that the next moment he was
fondling her shoulders. Yes, she had made him suffer! Divorce! It seemed
ridiculous, after all these years of utter separation! But it would have
to be. No other way! 'The question,' he thought with sudden realism,
'is--which of us? She or me? She deserted me. She ought to pay for
it. There'll be someone, I suppose.' Involuntarily he uttered a little
snarling sound, and, turning, made his way back to Park Lane.

CHAPTER V--JAMES SEES VISIONS

The butler himself opened the door, and closing it softly, detained
Soames on the inner mat.

"The master's poorly, sir," he murmured. "He wouldn't go to bed till you
came in. He's still in the diningroom."

Soames responded in the hushed tone to which the house was now
accustomed.

"What's the matter with him, Warmson?"

"Nervous, sir, I think. Might be the funeral; might be Mrs. Dartie's
comin' round this afternoon. I think he overheard something. I've took
him in a negus. The mistress has just gone up."

Soames hung his hat on a mahogany stag's-horn.

"All right, Warmson, you can go to bed; I'll take him up myself." And he
passed into the dining-room.

James was sitting before the fire, in a big armchair, with a camel-hair
shawl, very light and warm, over his frock-coated shoulders, on to which
his long white whiskers drooped. His white hair, still fairly thick,
glistened in the lamplight; a little moisture from his fixed, light-grey
eyes stained the cheeks, still quite well coloured, a