Thoughts of Veronica in her incredible maturity, and of her eyes, shining in her dead white face, far back through deep crystal, and of the sense he got of her soul poised, steady and still, with wings vibrating.

He wondered where it would come down.

He thought:  “Of course, Veronica’s soul will come down like a wild pigeon into the ash-tree in our garden, and she will think that our ash-tree is a tree of Heaven.”

* * * * *

Presently he roused himself to talk to her.

“How is your singing getting on, Ronny?”

“My singing voice has gone.”

“It’ll come back again.”

“Not unless-”

But he couldn’t make her tell him what would bring it back.

* * * * *

When Michael came to his father and mother to have it out with them his face had a hard, stubborn look.  He was ready to fight them.  He was so certain that he would have to fight.  He had shown them Jules Reveillaud’s letter.

He said, “Look here, we’ve got to get it straight.  It isn’t any use going on like this.  I’m afraid I wasn’t very honest about Germany.”

“Weren’t you?” said Anthony.  “Let me see, I think you said you’d take it on your way to China and Japan.”

“Did I?  I tried to be straight about it.  I thought I was giving it a fair chance.  But that was before I’d seen Reveillaud.”

“Well,” said Anthony, “now that you have seen him, what is it exactly that you want to do?”

Michael told him.

“You can make it easy for me.  Or you can make it hard.  But you can’t stop me.”

“What makes you think I want to stop you?”

“Well—­you want me to go into the business, though I told you years ago there was only one thing I should ever be any good at.  And I see your point.  I can’t earn my living at it.  That’s where I’m had.  Still, I think Lawrence Stephen will give me work, and I can rub along somehow.”

“Without my help, you mean?”

“Well, yes.  Why should you help me?  You’ve wasted tons of money on me as it is.  Nicky’s earning his own living, and he’s got a wife, too.  Why not me?”

“Because you can’t do it, Michael.”

“I can.  I don’t mind roughing it.  I could live on a hundred a year—­or less, if I don’t marry.”

“Well, I don’t mean you to try.  You needn’t bother about what you can live on and what you can’t live on.  It was all settled last night.  Your mother and I talked it over.  We don’t want you to go into the business.  We don’t want you to take work from Mr. Stephen.  We want you to be absolutely free to do your own work, under the best possible conditions, whether it pays or not.  Nothing in the world matters to us but your happiness.  You’re to have a hundred and fifty a year when you’re living at home and two hundred and fifty when you’re living abroad.  I suppose you’ll want to go abroad sometimes.  I can’t give you a bigger allowance, because I have to help Nicky—­”