pride. That boy had given her
up, declared part and lot with the woman who so long ago had given her
father up! Soames clenched his hands. Given him up, and why? What had
been wrong with him? And once more he felt the malaise of one who
contemplates himself as seen by another--like a dog who chances on his
reflection in a mirror, and is intrigued and anxious at the unseizable
thing.

Not in a hurry to get home, he dined in town at the Connoisseurs. While
eating a pear it suddenly occurred to him that, if he had not gone down
to Robin Hill, the boy might not have so decided. He remembered the
expression on his face while his mother was refusing the hand he had
held out. A strange, an awkward thought! Had Fleur cooked her own goose
by trying to make too sure?

He reached home at half-past nine. While the car was passing in at one
drive gate he heard the grinding sputter of a motor-cycle passing out
by the other. Young Mont, no doubt, so Fleur had not been lonely. But
he went in with a sinking heart. In the cream-panelled drawing-room she
was sitting with her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her clasped
hands, in front of a white camellia plant which filled the fireplace.
That glance at her before she saw him renewed his dread. What was she
seeing among those white camellias?

"Well, Father!"

Soames shook his head. His tongue failed him. This was murderous work!
He saw her eyes dilate, her lips quivering.

"What? What? Quick, Father!"

"My dear," said Soames, "I--I did my best, but--" And again he shook
his head.

Fleur ran to him and put a hand on each of his shoulders.

"She?"

"No," muttered Soames; "he. I was to tell you that it was no use; he
must do what his father wished before he died." He caught her by the
waist. "Come, child, don't let them hurt you. They're not worth your
little finger."

Fleur tore herself from his grasp.

"You didn't--you couldn't have tried. You--you betrayed me, Father!"

Bitterly wounded, Soames gazed at her passionate figure writhing there
in front of him.

"You didn't try--you didn't--I was a fool--I won't believe he could--he
ever could! Only yesterday he--! Oh! why did I ask you?"

"Yes," said Soames quietly, "why did you? I swallowed my feelings; I
did my best for you, against my judgment--and this is my reward.
Good-night!"

With every nerve in his body twitching he went towards the door.

Fleur darted after him.

"He gives me up? You mean that? Father!"