to refuse her
heart. It seemed to him, fantastically, as he looked back, that all
this modern relaxation of marriage--though its forms and laws were the
same as when he married her--that all this modern looseness had come
out of her revolt; it seemed to him, fantastically, that she had
started it, till all decent ownership of anything had gone, or was on
the point of going. All came from her! And now--a pretty state of
things! Homes! How could you have them without mutual ownership? Not
that he had ever had a real home! But had that been his fault? He had
done his best. And his reward--those two sitting in that Stand! And
this affair of Fleur's!

And overcome by loneliness he thought: 'Shan't wait any longer! They
must find their own way back to the hotel--if they mean to come!'
Hailing a cab outside the ground, he said:

"Drive me to the Bayswater Road." His old aunts had never failed him.
To them he had meant an everwelcome visitor. Though they were gone,
there, still, was Timothy!

Smither was standing in the open doorway.

"Mr. Soames! I was just taking the air. Cook will be so pleased."

"How is Mr. Timothy?"

"Not himself at all these last few days, sir; he's been talking a great
deal. Only this morning he was saying: 'My brother James, he's getting
old.' His mind wanders, Mr. Soames, and then he will talk of them. He
troubles about their investments. The other day he said: 'There's my
brother Jolyon won't look at Consols'--he seemed quite down about it.
Come in, Mr. Soames, come in! It's such a pleasant change!"

"Well," said Soames, "just for a few minutes."

"No," murmured Smither in the hall, where the air had the singular
freshness of the outside day, "we haven't been very satisfied with him,
not all this week. He's always been one to leave a titbit to the end;
but ever since Monday he's been eating it first. If you notice a dog,
Mr. Soames, at its dinner, it eats the meat first. We've always thought
it such a good sign of Mr. Timothy at his age to leave it to the last,
but now he seems to have lost all his self-control; and, of course, it
makes him leave the rest. The doctor doesn't make anything of it,
but"--Smither shook her head--"he seems to think he's got to eat it
first, in case he shouldn't get to it. That and his talking makes us
anxious."

"Has he said anything important?"

"I shouldn't like to say that, Mr. Soames; but he's turned against his
Will. He gets quite pettish--and after hav