He was unable, however, to long keep silence.

“I suppose that young Bosinney,” he said, “will be getting married to June now?”

Irene’s face changed.  “I don’t know,” she said; “you should ask her.”

“Does she write to you?” No.

“How’s that?” said James.  “I thought you and she were such great friends.”

Irene turned on him.  “Again,” she said, “you should ask her!”

“Well,” flustered James, frightened by her look, “it’s very odd that I can’t get a plain answer to a plain question, but there it is.”

He sat ruminating over his rebuff, and burst out at last: 

“Well, I’ve warned you.  You won’t look ahead.  Soames he doesn’t say much, but I can see he won’t stand a great deal more of this sort of thing.  You’ll have nobody but yourself to blame, and, what’s more, you’ll get no sympathy from anybody.”

Irene bent her head with a little smiling bow.  “I am very much obliged to you.”

James did not know what on earth to answer.

The bright hot morning had changed slowly to a grey, oppressive afternoon; a heavy bank of clouds, with the yellow tinge of coming thunder, had risen in the south, and was creeping up.

The branches of the trees dropped motionless across the road without the smallest stir of foliage.  A faint odour of glue from the heated horses clung in the thick air; the coachman and groom, rigid and unbending, exchanged stealthy murmurs on the box, without ever turning their heads.

To James’ great relief they reached the house at last; the silence and impenetrability of this woman by his side, whom he had always thought so soft and mild, alarmed him.

The carriage put them down at the door, and they entered.

The hall was cool, and so still that it was like passing into a tomb; a shudder ran down James’s spine.  He quickly lifted the heavy leather curtains between the columns into the inner court.

He could not restrain an exclamation of approval.

The decoration was really in excellent taste.  The dull ruby tiles that extended from the foot of the walls to the verge of a circular clump of tall iris plants, surrounding in turn a sunken basin of white marble filled with water, were obviously of the best quality.  He admired extremely the purple leather curtains drawn along one entire side, framing a huge white-tiled stove.  The central partitions of the skylight had been slid back, and the warm air from outside penetrated into the very heart of the house.

He stood, his hands behind him, his head bent back on his high, narrow shoulders, spying the tracery on the columns and the pattern of the frieze which ran round the ivory-coloured walls under the gallery.  Evidently, no pains had been spared.  It was quite the house of a gentleman.  He went up to the curtains, and, having discovered how they were worked, drew them asunder and disclosed the picture-gallery, ending in a great window taking up the whole end of the room.  It had a black oak floor, and its walls, again, were of ivory white.  He went on throwing open doors, and peeping in.  Everything was in apple-pie order, ready for immediate occupation.