d take something out of his breast pocket.

"You don't?" he said. "Why?"

"Nothing," murmured Fleur; "just caprice!"

"No," said Soames; "not caprice!" And he tore what was in his hands
across. "You're right. I don't like him either!"

"Look!" said Fleur softly. "There he goes! I hate his shoes; they don't
make any noise."

Down in the failing light Prosper Profond moved, his hands in his side
pockets, whistling softly in his beard; he stopped, and glanced up at the
sky, as if saying: "I don't think much of that small moon."

Fleur drew back. "Isn't he a great cat?" she whispered; and the sharp
click of the billiard-balls rose, as if Jack Cardigan had capped the cat,
the moon, caprice, and tragedy with: "In off the red!"

Monsieur Profond had resumed his stroll, to a teasing little tune in his
beard. What was it? Oh! yes, from "Rigoletto": "Donna a mobile." Just
what he would think! She squeezed her father's arm.

"Prowling!" she muttered, as he turned the corner of the house. It was
past that disillusioned moment which divides the day and night-still and
lingering and warm, with hawthorn scent and lilac scent clinging on the
riverside air. A blackbird suddenly burst out. Jon would be in London
by now; in the Park perhaps, crossing the Serpentine, thinking of her! A
little sound beside her made her turn her eyes; her father was again
tearing the paper in his hands. Fleur saw it was a cheque.

"I shan't sell him my Gauguin," he said. "I don't know what your aunt
and Imogen see in him."

"Or Mother."

"Your mother!" said Soames.

'Poor Father!' she thought. 'He never looks happy--not really happy. I
don't want to make him worse, but of course I shall have to, when Jon
comes back. Oh! well, sufficient unto the night!'

"I'm going to dress," she said.

In her room she had a fancy to put on her "freak" dress. It was of gold
tissue with little trousers of the same, tightly drawn in at the ankles,
a page's cape slung from the shoulders, little gold shoes, and a
gold-winged Mercury helmet; and all over her were tiny gold bells,
especially on the helmet; so that if she shook her head she pealed. When
she was dressed she felt quite sick because Jon could not see her; it
even seemed a pity that the sprightly young man Michael Mont would not
have a view. But the gong had sounded, and she went down.

She made a sensation in the drawing-room. Winifred thought it "Most
amusing." Imogen was enra