ty. He even gathered that a little
soreness still remained from that generation-old struggle between them
over the body of Philip Bosinney, in which the passive had so signally
triumphed over the active principle.

According to June, it was foolish and even cowardly to hide the past from
Jon. Sheer opportunism, she called it.

"Which," Jolyon put in mildly, "is the working principle of real life, my
dear."

"Oh!" cried June, "you don't really defend her for not telling Jon, Dad.
If it were left to you, you would."

"I might, but simply because I know he must find out, which will be worse
than if we told him."

"Then why don't you tell him? It's just sleeping dogs again."

"My dear," said Jolyon, "I wouldn't for the world go against Irene's
instinct. He's her boy."

"Yours too," cried June.

"What is a man's instinct compared with a mother's?"

"Well, I think it's very weak of you."

"I dare say," said Jolyon, "I dare say."

And that was all she got from him; but the matter rankled in her brain.
She could not bear sleeping dogs. And there stirred in her a tortuous
impulse to push the matter toward decision. Jon ought to be told, so
that either his feeling might be nipped in the bud, or, flowering in
spite of the past, come to fruition. And she determined to see Fleur,
and judge for herself. When June determined on anything, delicacy became
a somewhat minor consideration. After all, she was Soames' cousin, and
they were both interested in pictures. She would go and tell him that he
ought to buy a Paul Post, or perhaps a piece of sculpture by Boris
Strumolowski, and of course she would say nothing to her father. She
went on the following Sunday, looking so determined that she had some
difficulty in getting a cab at Reading station. The river country was
lovely in those days of her own month, and June ached at its loveliness.
She who had passed through this life without knowing what union was had a
love of natural beauty which was almost madness. And when she came to
that choice spot where Soames had pitched his tent, she dismissed her
cab, because, business over, she wanted to revel in the bright water and
the woods. She appeared at his front door, therefore, as a mere
pedestrian, and sent in her card. It was in June's character to know
that when her nerves were fluttering she was doing something worth while.
If one's nerves did not flutter, she was taking the line of least
resistance, and knew