f not to say irrevocable words, passing beyond the limits of
discretion? Roses on the veranda were still in bloom, and the hedges
ever-green, so that there was almost nothing of middle-aged autumn to
chill the mood; yet was he nervous, fidgety, strangely distrustful of his
powers to steer just the right course. This visit had been planned to
produce in Annette and her mother a due sense of his possessions, so that
they should be ready to receive with respect any overture he might later
be disposed to make. He dressed with great care, making himself neither
too young nor too old, very thankful that his hair was still thick and
smooth and had no grey in it. Three times he went up to his
picture-gallery. If they had any knowledge at all, they must see at once
that his collection alone was worth at least thirty thousand pounds. He
minutely inspected, too, the pretty bedroom overlooking the river where
they would take off their hats. It would be her bedroom if--if the matter
went through, and she became his wife. Going up to the dressing-table he
passed his hand over the lilac-coloured pincushion, into which were stuck
all kinds of pins; a bowl of pot-pourri exhaled a scent that made his
head turn just a little. His wife! If only the whole thing could be
settled out of hand, and there was not the nightmare of this divorce to
be gone through first; and with gloom puckered on his forehead, he looked
out at the river shining beyond the roses and the lawn. Madame Lamotte
would never resist this prospect for her child; Annette would never
resist her mother. If only he were free! He drove to the station to
meet them. What taste Frenchwomen had! Madame Lamotte was in black with
touches of lilac colour, Annette in greyish lilac linen, with cream
coloured gloves and hat. Rather pale she looked and Londony; and her
blue eyes were demure. Waiting for them to come down to lunch, Soames
stood in the open french-window of the diningroom moved by that sensuous
delight in sunshine and flowers and trees which only came to the full
when youth and beauty were there to share it with one. He had ordered
the lunch with intense consideration; the wine was a very special
Sauterne, the whole appointments of the meal perfect, the coffee served
on the veranda super-excellent. Madame Lamotte accepted creme de menthe;
Annette refused. Her manners were charming, with just a suspicion of
'the conscious beauty' creeping into them. 'Yes,' t