d and
unmarried." And again he grunted. What was it, in fact, but his own
accursed position, legalised! No, he would not put her into that!

"It must be divorce," he said decisively; "failing cruelty, there's
desertion. There's a way of shortening the two years, now. We get the
Court to give us restitution of conjugal rights. Then if he doesn't
obey, we can bring a suit for divorce in six months' time. Of course you
don't want him back. But they won't know that. Still, there's the risk
that he might come. I'd rather try cruelty."

Winifred shook her head. "It's so beastly."

"Well," Soames murmured, "perhaps there isn't much risk so long as he's
infatuated and got money. Don't say anything to anybody, and don't pay
any of his debts."

Winifred sighed. In spite of all she had been through, the sense of loss
was heavy on her. And this idea of not paying his debts any more brought
it home to her as nothing else yet had. Some richness seemed to have
gone out of life. Without her husband, without her pearls, without that
intimate sense that she made a brave show above the domestic whirlpool,
she would now have to face the world. She felt bereaved indeed.

And into the chilly kiss he placed on her forehead, Soames put more than
his usual warmth.

"I have to go down to Robin Hill to-morrow," he said, "to see young
Jolyon on business. He's got a boy at Oxford. I'd like to take Val with
me and introduce him. Come down to 'The Shelter' for the week-end and
bring the children. Oh! by the way, no, that won't do; I've got some
other people coming." So saying, he left her and turned towards Soho.

CHAPTER IV

SOHO

Of all quarters in the queer adventurous amalgam called London, Soho is
perhaps least suited to the Forsyte spirit. 'So-ho, my wild one!'
George would have said if he had seen his cousin going there. Untidy,
full of Greeks, Ishmaelites, cats, Italians, tomatoes, restaurants,
organs, coloured stuffs, queer names, people looking out of upper
windows, it dwells remote from the British Body Politic. Yet has it
haphazard proprietary instincts of its own, and a certain possessive
prosperity which keeps its rents up when those of other quarters go down.
For long years Soames' acquaintanceship with Soho had been confined to
its Western bastion, Wardour Street. Many bargains had he picked up
there. Even during those seven years at Brighton after Bosinney's death
and Irene's flight, he had bo