rden near Mapledurham that Sunday morning.

With his own hands he put flowers about his little house-boat, and
equipped the punt, in which, after lunch, he proposed to take them on
the river. Placing those Chinese-looking cushions, he could not
tell whether or no he wished to take Annette alone. She was so very
pretty--could he trust himself not to say irrevocable words, passing
beyond the limits of discretion? Roses on the veranda were still in
bloom, and the hedges ever-green, so that there was almost nothing
of middle-aged autumn to chill the mood; yet was he nervous, fidgety,
strangely distrustful of his powers to steer just the right course. This
visit had been planned to produce in Annette and her mother a due sense
of his possessions, so that they should be ready to receive with respect
any overture he might later be disposed to make. He dressed with great
care, making himself neither too young nor too old, very thankful that
his hair was still thick and smooth and had no grey in it. Three times
he went up to his picture-gallery. If they had any knowledge at all,
they must see at once that his collection alone was worth at least
thirty thousand pounds. He minutely inspected, too, the pretty bedroom
overlooking the river where they would take off their hats. It would
be her bedroom if--if the matter went through, and she became his
wife. Going up to the dressing-table he passed his hand over the
lilac-coloured pincushion, into which were stuck all kinds of pins;
a bowl of pot-pourri exhaled a scent that made his head turn just a
little. His wife! If only the whole thing could be settled out of hand,
and there was not the nightmare of this divorce to be gone through
first; and with gloom puckered on his forehead, he looked out at the
river shining beyond the roses and the lawn. Madame Lamotte would never
resist this prospect for her child; Annette would never resist her
mother. If only he were free! He drove to the station to meet them. What
taste Frenchwomen had! Madame Lamotte was in black with touches of lilac
colour, Annette in greyish lilac linen, with cream coloured gloves and
hat. Rather pale she looked and Londony; and her blue eyes were demure.
Waiting for them to come down to lunch, Soames stood in the open
french-window of the diningroom moved by that sensuous delight in
sunshine and flowers and trees which only came to the full when youth
and beauty were there to share it with one. He had ordered the lun