of next month. He remembered her birthday well--he had always
observed it religiously, even that last birthday so soon before she left
him, when he was almost certain she was faithless. Four birthdays in his
house. He had looked forward to them, because his gifts had meant a
semblance of gratitude, a certain attempt at warmth. Except, indeed,
that last birthday--which had tempted him to be too religious! And he
shied away in thought. Memory heaps dead leaves on corpse-like deeds,
from under which they do but vaguely offend the sense. And then he
thought suddenly: 'I could send her a present for her birthday. After
all, we're Christians! Couldn't!--couldn't we join up again!' And he
uttered a deep sigh sitting there. Annette! Ah! but between him and
Annette was the need for that wretched divorce suit! And how?

"A man can always work these things, if he'll take it on himself," Jolyon
had said.

But why should he take the scandal on himself with his whole career as a
pillar of the law at stake? It was not fair! It was quixotic! Twelve
years' separation in which he had taken no steps to free himself put out
of court the possibility of using her conduct with Bosinney as a ground
for divorcing her. By doing nothing to secure relief he had acquiesced,
even if the evidence could now be gathered, which was more than doubtful.
Besides, his own pride would never let him use that old incident, he had
suffered from it too much. No! Nothing but fresh misconduct on her
part--but she had denied it; and--almost--he had believed her. Hung up!
Utterly hung up!

He rose from the scooped-out red velvet seat with a feeling of
constriction about his vitals. He would never sleep with this going on
in him! And, taking coat and hat again, he went out, moving eastward.
In Trafalgar Square he became aware of some special commotion travelling
towards him out of the mouth of the Strand. It materialised in newspaper
men calling out so loudly that no words whatever could be heard. He
stopped to listen, and one came by.

"Payper! Special! Ultimatium by Krooger! Declaration of war!" Soames
bought the paper. There it was in the stop press....! His first thought
was: 'The Boers are committing suicide.' His second: 'Is there anything
still I ought to sell?' If so he had missed the chance--there would
certainly be a slump in the city to-morrow. He swallowed this thought
with a nod of defiance. That ultimatum was insolent--