“You’ve been in Paris, I hear,” said Soames at last.

“Yes; just back.”

“Young Val told me; he and your boy are going off, then?” Jolyon nodded.

“You didn’t happen to see Irene, I suppose.  It appears she’s abroad somewhere.”

Jolyon wreathed himself in smoke before he answered:  “Yes, I saw her.”

“How was she?”

“Very well.”

There was another silence; then Soames roused himself in his chair.

“When I saw you last,” he said, “I was in two minds.  We talked, and you expressed your opinion.  I don’t wish to reopen that discussion.  I only wanted to say this:  My position with her is extremely difficult.  I don’t want you to go using your influence against me.  What happened is a very long time ago.  I’m going to ask her to let bygones be bygones.”

“You have asked her, you know,” murmured Jolyon.

“The idea was new to her then; it came as a shock.  But the more she thinks of it, the more she must see that it’s the only way out for both of us.”

“That’s not my impression of her state of mind,” said Jolyon with particular calm.  “And, forgive my saying, you misconceive the matter if you think reason comes into it at all.”

He saw his cousin’s pale face grow paler—­he had used, without knowing it, Irene’s own words.

“Thanks,” muttered Soames, “but I see things perhaps more plainly than you think.  I only want to be sure that you won’t try to influence her against me.”

“I don’t know what makes you think I have any influence,” said Jolyon; “but if I have I’m bound to use it in the direction of what I think is her happiness.  I am what they call a ‘feminist,’ I believe.”

“Feminist!” repeated Soames, as if seeking to gain time.  “Does that mean that you’re against me?”

“Bluntly,” said Jolyon, “I’m against any woman living with any man whom she definitely dislikes.  It appears to me rotten.”

“And I suppose each time you see her you put your opinions into her mind.”

“I am not likely to be seeing her.”

“Not going back to Paris?”

“Not so far as I know,” said Jolyon, conscious of the intent watchfulness in Soames’ face.

“Well, that’s all I had to say.  Anyone who comes between man and wife, you know, incurs heavy responsibility.”

Jolyon rose and made him a slight bow.

“Good-bye,” he said, and, without offering to shake hands, moved away, leaving Soames staring after him.  ‘We Forsytes,’ thought Jolyon, hailing a cab, ’are very civilised.  With simpler folk that might have come to a row.  If it weren’t for my boy going to the war....’  The war!  A gust of his old doubt swept over him.  A precious war!  Domination of peoples or of women!  Attempts to master and possess those who did not want you!  The negation of gentle decency!  Possession, vested rights; and anyone ‘agin’ ’em—­outcast!