When he went into Timothy’s he had made up his mind what course to pursue on getting home.  He would go up to Irene and say: 

“Well, I’ve won my case, and there’s an end of it!  I don’t want to be hard on Bosinney; I’ll see if we can’t come to some arrangement; he shan’t be pressed.  And now let’s turn over a new leaf!  We’ll let the house, and get out of these fogs.  We’ll go down to Robin Hill at once.  I—­I never meant to be rough with you!  Let’s shake hands—­and—­” Perhaps she would let him kiss her, and forget!

When he came out of Timothy’s his intentions were no longer so simple.  The smouldering jealousy and suspicion of months blazed up within him.  He would put an end to that sort of thing once and for all; he would not have her drag his name in the dirt!  If she could not or would not love him, as was her duty and his right—­she should not play him tricks with anyone else!  He would tax her with it; threaten to divorce her!  That would make her behave; she would never face that.  But—­but—­what if she did?  He was staggered; this had not occurred to him.

What if she did?  What if she made him a confession?  How would he stand then?  He would have to bring a divorce!

A divorce!  Thus close, the word was paralyzing, so utterly at variance with all the principles that had hitherto guided his life.  Its lack of compromise appalled him; he felt—­like the captain of a ship, going to the side of his vessel, and, with his own hands throwing over the most precious of his bales.  This jettisoning of his property with his own hand seemed uncanny to Soames.  It would injure him in his profession:  He would have to get rid of the house at Robin Hill, on which he had spent so much money, so much anticipation—­and at a sacrifice.  And she!  She would no longer belong to him, not even in name!  She would pass out of his life, and he—­he should never see her again!

He traversed in the cab the length of a street without getting beyond the thought that he should never see her again!

But perhaps there was nothing to confess, even now very likely there was nothing to confess.  Was it wise to push things so far?  Was it wise to put himself into a position where he might have to eat his words?  The result of this case would ruin Bosinney; a ruined man was desperate, but—­what could he do?  He might go abroad, ruined men always went abroad.  What could they do—­if indeed it was ’they’—­without money?  It would be better to wait and see how things turned out.  If necessary, he could have her watched.  The agony of his jealousy (for all the world like the crisis of an aching tooth) came on again; and he almost cried out.  But he must decide, fix on some course of action before he got home.  When the cab drew up at the door, he had decided nothing.

He entered, pale, his hands moist with perspiration, dreading to meet her, burning to meet her, ignorant of what he was to say or do.