been doing out there. And he was glad that he did not. Her
absence had been a relief. Out of sight was out of mind! And now she
was coming back. Another worry! And the Bolderby Old Crome was
gone--Dumetrius had got it--all because that anonymous letter had put it
out of his thoughts. He furtively remarked the strained look on his
daughter's face, as if she too were gazing at a picture that she couldn't
buy. He almost wished the War back. Worries didn't seem, then, quite so
worrying. From the caress in her voice, the look on her face, he became
certain that she wanted something from him, uncertain whether it would be
wise of him to give it her. He pushed his savoury away uneaten, and even
joined her in a cigarette.

After dinner she set the electric piano-player going. And he augured the
worst when she sat down on a cushion footstool at his knee, and put her
hand on his.

"Darling, be nice to me. I had to see Jon--he wrote to me. He's going
to try what he can do with his mother. But I've been thinking. It's
really in your hands, Father. If you'd persuade her that it doesn't mean
renewing the past in any way! That I shall stay yours, and Jon will stay
hers; that you need never see him or her, and she need never see you or
me! Only you could persuade her, dear, because only you could promise.
One can't promise for other people. Surely it wouldn't be too awkward
for you to see her just this once now that Jon's father is dead?"

"Too awkward?" Soames repeated. "The whole thing's preposterous."

"You know," said Fleur, without looking up, "you wouldn't mind seeing
her, really."

Soames was silent. Her words had expressed a truth too deep for him to
admit. She slipped her fingers between his own--hot, slim, eager, they
clung there. This child of his would corkscrew her way into a brick
wall!

"What am I to do if you won't, Father?" she said very softly.

"I'll do anything for your happiness," said Soanies; "but this isn't for
your happiness."

"Oh! it is; it is!"

"It'll only stir things up," he said grimly.

"But they are stirred up. The thing is to quiet them. To make her feel
that this is just our lives, and has nothing to do with yours or hers.
You can do it, Father, I know you can."

"You know a great deal, then," was Soames' glum answer.

"If you will, Jon and I will wait a year--two years if you like."

"It seems to me," murmured Soames, "that you care nothing about what I
feel."