ain! He said with
vehemence:

"She isn't--she isn't. It's only because I can't bear to make you
unhappy, Mother, now that Father--" He thrust his fists against his
forehead.

Irene got up.

"I told you that night, dear, not to mind me. I meant it. Think of
yourself and your own happiness! I can stand what's left--I've brought
it on myself."

Again the word: "Mother!" burst from Jon's lips.

She came over to him and put her hands over his.

"Do you feel your head, darling?"

Jon shook it. What he felt was in his chest--a sort of tearing asunder
of the tissue there, by the two loves.

"I shall always love you the same, Jon, whatever you do. You won't lose
anything." She smoothed his hair gently, and walked away.

He heard the door shut; and, rolling over on the bed, lay, stifling his
breath, with an awful held-up feeling within him.

VII

EMBASSY

Enquiring for her at tea time Soames learned that Fleur had been out in
the car since two. Three hours! Where had she gone? Up to London
without a word to him? He had never become quite reconciled with cars.
He had embraced them in principle--like the born empiricist, or
Forsyte, that he was--adopting each symptom of progress as it came
along with: "Well, we couldn't do without them now." But in fact he
found them tearing, great, smelly things. Obliged by Annette to have
one--a Rollhard with pearl-grey cushions, electric light, little
mirrors, trays for the ashes of cigarettes, flower vases--all smelling
of petrol and stephanotis--he regarded it much as he used to regard his
brother-in-law, Montague Dartie. The thing typified all that was fast,
insecure, and subcutaneously oily in modern life. As modern life became
faster, looser, younger, Soames was becoming older, slower, tighter,
more and more in thought and language like his father James before him.
He was almost aware of it himself. Pace and progress pleased him less
and less; there was an ostentation, too, about a car which he
considered provocative in the prevailing mood of Labour. On one
occasion that fellow Sims had driven over the only vested interest of a
working man. Soames had not forgotten the behaviour of its master, when
not many people would have stopped to put up with it. He had been sorry
for the dog, and quite prepared to take its part against the car, if
that ruffian hadn't been so outrageous. With four hours fast becoming
five, and still no Fleur, all the old car-wise feelings he ha