And he gave instructions that his Counsel should state that the money would be given to a Home for Fallen Women.  He was a long time hitting off exactly the right charity; but, having pitched on it, he used to wake up in the night and think:  ’It won’t do, too lurid; it’ll draw attention.  Something quieter—­better taste.’  He did not care for dogs, or he would have named them; and it was in desperation at last—­for his knowledge of charities was limited—­that he decided on the blind.  That could not be inappropriate, and it would make the Jury assess the damages high.

A good many suits were dropping out of the list, which happened to be exceptionally thin that summer, so that his case would be reached before August.  As the day grew nearer, Winifred was his only comfort.  She showed the fellow-feeling of one who had been through the mill, and was the ‘femme-sole’ in whom he confided, well knowing that she would not let Dartie into her confidence.  That ruffian would be only too rejoiced!  At the end of July, on the afternoon before the case, he went in to see her.  They had not yet been able to leave town, because Dartie had already spent their summer holiday, and Winifred dared not go to her father for more money while he was waiting not to be told anything about this affair of Soames.

Soames found her with a letter in her hand.

“That from Val,” he asked gloomily.  “What does he say?”

“He says he’s married,” said Winifred.

“Whom to, for Goodness’ sake?”

Winifred looked up at him.

“To Holly Forsyte, Jolyon’s daughter.”

“What?”

“He got leave and did it.  I didn’t even know he knew her.  Awkward, isn’t it?”

Soames uttered a short laugh at that characteristic minimisation.

“Awkward!  Well, I don’t suppose they’ll hear about this till they come back.  They’d better stay out there.  That fellow will give her money.”

“But I want Val back,” said Winifred almost piteously; “I miss him, he helps me to get on.”

“I know,” murmured Soames.  “How’s Dartie behaving now?”

“It might be worse; but it’s always money.  Would you like me to come down to the Court to-morrow, Soames?”

Soames stretched out his hand for hers.  The gesture so betrayed the loneliness in him that she pressed it between her two.

“Never mind, old boy.  You’ll feel ever so much better when it’s all over.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done,” said Soames huskily; “I never have.  It’s all upside down.  I was fond of her; I’ve always been.”

Winifred saw a drop of blood ooze out of his lip, and the sight stirred her profoundly.

“Of course,” she said, “it’s been too bad of her all along!  But what shall I do about this marriage of Val’s, Soames?  I don’t know how to write to him, with this coming on.  You’ve seen that child.  Is she pretty?”

“Yes, she’s pretty,” said Soames.  “Dark—­lady-like enough.”