The cab turned in at the drive which might have been his own, and the sound of music met him.  He had forgotten the fellow’s daughters.

“I may be out again directly,” he said to the driver, “or I may be kept some time”; and he rang the bell.

Following the maid through the curtains into the inner hall, he felt relieved that the impact of this meeting would be broken by June or Holly, whichever was playing in there, so that with complete surprise he saw Irene at the piano, and Jolyon sitting in an armchair listening.  They both stood up.  Blood surged into Soames’ brain, and all his resolution to be guided by this or that left him utterly.  The look of his farmer forbears—­dogged Forsytes down by the sea, from ’Superior Dosset’ back—­grinned out of his face.

“Very pretty!” he said.

He heard the fellow murmur: 

“This is hardly the place—­we’ll go to the study, if you don’t mind.”  And they both passed him through the curtain opening.  In the little room to which he followed them, Irene stood by the open window, and the ‘fellow’ close to her by a big chair.  Soames pulled the door to behind him with a slam; the sound carried him back all those years to the day when he had shut out Jolyon—­shut him out for meddling with his affairs.

“Well,” he said, “what have you to say for yourselves?”

The fellow had the effrontery to smile.

“What we have received to-day has taken away your right to ask.  I should imagine you will be glad to have your neck out of chancery.”

“Oh!” said Soames; “you think so!  I came to tell you that I’ll divorce her with every circumstance of disgrace to you both, unless you swear to keep clear of each other from now on.”

He was astonished at his fluency, because his mind was stammering and his hands twitching.  Neither of them answered; but their faces seemed to him as if contemptuous.

“Well,” he said; “you—­Irene?”

Her lips moved, but Jolyon laid his hand on her arm.

“Let her alone!” said Soames furiously.  “Irene, will you swear it?”

“No.”

“Oh! and you?”

“Still less.”

“So then you’re guilty, are you?”

“Yes, guilty.”  It was Irene speaking in that serene voice, with that unreached air which had maddened him so often; and, carried beyond himself, he cried: 

“You are a devil”

“Go out!  Leave this house, or I’ll do you an injury.”

That fellow to talk of injuries!  Did he know how near his throat was to being scragged?

“A trustee,” he said, “embezzling trust property!  A thief, stealing his cousin’s wife.”

“Call me what you like.  You have chosen your part, we have chosen ours.  Go out!”

If he had brought a weapon Soames might have used it at that moment.

“I’ll make you pay!” he said.

“I shall be very happy.”