he got hold of now?'

His father was sitting before the dressing-table sideways to the mirror,
while Emily slowly passed two silver-backed brushes through and through
his hair. She would do this several times a day, for it had on him
something of the effect produced on a cat by scratching between its
ears.

"There you are!" he said. "I've been waiting."

Soames stroked his shoulder, and, taking up a silver button-hook,
examined the mark on it.

"Well," he said, "you're looking better."

James shook his head.

"I want to say something. Your mother hasn't heard." He announced
Emily's ignorance of what he hadn't told her, as if it were a grievance.

"Your father's been in a great state all the evening. I'm sure I don't
know what about."

The faint 'whisk-whisk' of the brushes continued the soothing of her
voice.

"No! you know nothing," said James. "Soames can tell me." And, fixing
his grey eyes, in which there was a look of strain, uncomfortable to
watch, on his son, he muttered:

"I'm getting on, Soames. At my age I can't tell. I might die any time.
There'll be a lot of money. There's Rachel and Cicely got no children;
and Val's out there--that chap his father will get hold of all he can.
And somebody'll pick up Imogen, I shouldn't wonder."

Soames listened vaguely--he had heard all this before. Whish-whish! went
the brushes.

"If that's all!" said Emily.

"All!" cried James; "it's nothing. I'm coming to that." And again his
eyes strained pitifully at Soames.

"It's you, my boy," he said suddenly; "you ought to get a divorce."

That word, from those of all lips, was almost too much for Soames'
composure. His eyes reconcentrated themselves quickly on the buttonhook,
and as if in apology James hurried on:

"I don't know what's become of her--they say she's abroad. Your Uncle
Swithin used to admire her--he was a funny fellow." (So he always
alluded to his dead twin-'The Stout and the Lean of it,' they had been
called.) "She wouldn't be alone, I should say." And with that summing-up
of the effect of beauty on human nature, he was silent, watching his
son with eyes doubting as a bird's. Soames, too, was silent. Whish-whish
went the brushes.

"Come, James! Soames knows best. It's his 'business."

"Ah!" said James, and the word came from deep down; "but there's all
my money, and there's his--who's it to go to? And when he dies the name
goes out."

Soames replaced the button-hook on the lace and pink si