‘By the way, I suppose that Mr Stainford never came here again?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Soames; he called yesterday to see Mr Val; but Mr Val was gone.’
‘He did – did he?’ said Soames, round-eyed. ‘What did he take this time?’
‘Oh! Of course I knew better than to let him in.’
‘You didn’t give him Mr Val’s address in the country?’
‘Oh, no, sir; he knew it.’
‘Deuce he did!’
‘Shall I tell the mistress you’re here, Mr Soames? She must be nearly down by now.’
‘No; don’t disturb her.’
‘I’m that sorry, sir; it’s always such a pleasure to see you.’
Old Smither bridling! A good soul! No such domestics nowadays! And, putting on his hat, Soames touched its brim, murmuring:
‘Well, good-bye, Smither. Give her my love!’ and went out.
‘So!’ he thought, ‘Fleur’s seen that boy!’ The whole thing would begin over again! He had known it! And, very slowly, with his hat rather over his eyes, he made for Hyde Park Corner. This was for him a moment in deep waters, when the heart must be hardened to this dangerous decision or to that. With the tendency for riding past the hounds inherited from his father James in all matters which threatened the main securities of life, Soames rushed on in thought to the ruin of his daughter’s future, wherein so sacredly was embalmed his own.
‘Such a colour she ’ad this morning!’ When she waved those papers at him, she was pale enough – too pale! A confounded chancel Breakfast time, too – worst time in the day – most intimate! His naturally realistic nature apprehended all the suggestions that lay in breakfast. Those who breakfasted alone together slept together as often as not. Putting things into her head! Yes; and they were not boy and girl now! Well, it all depended on what their feelings were, if they still had any. And who was to know? Who, in heaven’s name, was to know? Automatically he had begun to encompass the Artillery Memorial. A great white thing which he had never yet taken in properly, and didn’t know that, he wanted to. Yet somehow it was very real, and suited to his mood – faced things; nothing high-flown about that gun – short, barking brute of a thing; or those dark men – drawn and devoted under their steel hats! Nothing pretty-pretty about that memorial – no angels’ wings there! No Georges and no dragons, nor horses on the prance; no panoply, and no panache! There it ‘sot’ – as they used to say – squatted like a great white toad on the nation’s life. Concreted thunder. Not an illusion about it! Good thing to look at once a day, and see what you’d got to avoid. ‘I’d like to rub the noses of those Crown Princes and military cocks-o’-the-walk on it,’ thought Soames, ‘with their – what was it? – “fresh and merry wars!” ’ And, crossing the road in the sunshine, he passed into the Park, moving towards Knightsbridge.
But about Fleur? Was he going to take the bull by the horns, or to lie low? Must be one thing or the other. He walked rapidly now, concentrated in face and movement, stalking as it were his own thoughts with a view to finality. He passed at Knightsbridge, and after unseeing scrutiny of two or three small shops where in his time he had picked up many a bargain, for himself or shopman, he edged past Tattcrsall’s. That hung on – they still sold horses there, he believed! Horses had never been in his line, but he had not lived in Montpelier Square without knowing the habitués of Tattersall’s by sight. Like everything else that was crusted, they’d be pulling it down before long, he shouldn’t wonder, and putting up some motor place or cinema!
Suppose he talked to Michael? No! Worse than useless. Besides he couldn’t talk about Fleur and that boy to anyone – thereby hung too long a tale; and the tale was his own. Montpelier Square! He had turned into the very place, whether by design he hardly knew. It hadn’t changed – but was all slicked up since he was last there, soon after the war. Builders and decorators must have done well lately – about the only people who had. He walked along the right side of the narrow square, where he had known turbulence and tragedy. There the house was, looking much as it used to, not quite so neat, and a little more florid. Why had he ever married that woman? What had made him so set on it? Well! She had done her best to deter him. But – God! – how he had wanted her! To this day he could recognize that. And at first – at first, he had thought, and perhaps she had thought – but who could tell? – he never could! And then slowly – or was it quickly? – the end; a ghastly business! He stood still by the square railings, and stared at the doorway that had been his own, as if from its green paint and its brass number he might receive inspiration how to choke love in his own daughter for the son of his own wife – yes, how to choke it before it spread and choked her!