When they were seated at right angles to each other in the little room,
he said abruptly:

"I want a talk with you, Madame."

The quick lift of her clear brown eyes told him that she had long
expected such words.

"I have to ask you something first: That young doctor--what's his name?
Is there anything between him and Annette?"

Her whole personality had become, as it were, like jet--clear-cut, black,
hard, shining.

"Annette is young," she said; "so is monsieur le docteur. Between young
people things move quickly; but Annette is a good daughter. Ah! what a
jewel of a nature!"

The least little smile twisted Soames' lips.

"Nothing definite, then?"

"But definite--no, indeed! The young man is veree nice, but--what would
you? There is no money at present."

She raised her willow-patterned tea-cup; Soames did the same. Their eyes
met.

"I am a married man," he said, "living apart from my wife for many years.
I am seeking to divorce her."

Madame Lamotte put down her cup. Indeed! What tragic things there were!
The entire absence of sentiment in her inspired a queer species of
contempt in Soames.

"I am a rich man," he added, fully conscious that the remark was not in
good taste. "It is useless to say more at present, but I think you
understand."

Madame's eyes, so open that the whites showed above them, looked at him
very straight.

"Ah! ca--mais nous avons le temps!" was all she said. "Another little
cup?" Soames refused, and, taking his leave, walked westward.

He had got that off his mind; she would not let Annette commit herself
with that cheerful young ass until....! But what chance of his ever
being able to say: 'I'm free.' What chance? The future had lost all
semblance of reality. He felt like a fly, entangled in cobweb filaments,
watching the desirable freedom of the air with pitiful eyes.

He was short of exercise, and wandered on to Kensington Gardens, and down
Queen's Gate towards Chelsea. Perhaps she had gone back to her flat.
That at all events he could find out. For since that last and most
ignominious repulse his wounded self-respect had taken refuge again in
the feeling that she must have a lover. He arrived before the little
Mansions at the dinner-hour. No need to enquire! A grey-haired lady was
watering the flower-boxes in her window. It was evidently let. And he
walked slowly past again, along the river--an evening of clear, quiet
beauty, all harmony and comfort,