That brings me to what I was going to say," continued James; "I don't
know what Soames wants with a young man like that; why doesn't he go to a
first-rate man?"

"Perhaps Mr. Bosinney is first-rate!"

James rose, and took a turn with bent head.

"That's it'," he said, "you young people, you all stick together; you all
think you know best!"

Halting his tall, lank figure before her, he raised a finger, and
levelled it at her bosom, as though bringing an indictment against her
beauty:

"All I can say is, these artistic people, or whatever they call
themselves, they're as unreliable as they can be; and my advice to you
is, don't you have too much to do with him!"

Irene smiled; and in the curve of her lips was a strange provocation.
She seemed to have lost her deference. Her breast rose and fell as
though with secret anger; she drew her hands inwards from their rest on
the arms of her chair until the tips of her fingers met, and her dark
eyes looked unfathomably at James.

The latter gloomily scrutinized the floor.

"I tell you my opinion," he said, "it's a pity you haven't got a child to
think about, and occupy you!"

A brooding look came instantly on Irene's face, and even James became
conscious of the rigidity that took possession of her whole figure
beneath the softness of its silk and lace clothing.

He was frightened by the effect he had produced, and like most men with
but little courage, he sought at once to justify himself by bullying.

"You don't seem to care about going about. Why don't you drive down to
Hurlingham with us? And go to the theatre now and then. At your time of
life you ought to take an interest in things. You're a young woman!"

The brooding look darkened on her face; he grew nervous.

"Well, I know nothing about it," he said; "nobody tells me anything.
Soames ought to be able to take care of himself. If he can't take care
of himself he mustn't look to me--that's all."

Biting the corner of his forefinger he stole a cold, sharp look at his
daughter-in-law.

He encountered her eyes fixed on his own, so dark and deep, that he
stopped, and broke into a gentle perspiration.

"Well, I must be going," he said after a short pause, and a minute later
rose, with a slight appearance of surprise, as though he had expected to
be asked to stop. Giving his hand to Irene, he allowed himself to be
conducted to the door, and let out into the street. He would not have a
cab, he would walk,