Having sealed and posted this letter, he went into the dining-room.  Three mouthfuls of soup convinced him that he could not eat; and, causing a cab to be summoned, he drove to Paddington Station and took the first train to Reading.  He reached his house just as the sun went down, and wandered out on to the lawn.  The air was drenched with the scent of pinks and picotees in his flower-borders.  A stealing coolness came off the river.

Rest-peace!  Let a poor fellow rest!  Let not worry and shame and anger chase like evil night-birds in his head!  Like those doves perched half-sleeping on their dovecot, like the furry creatures in the woods on the far side, and the simple folk in their cottages, like the trees and the river itself, whitening fast in twilight, like the darkening cornflower-blue sky where stars were coming up—­let him cease from himself, and rest!

CHAPTER X

PASSING OF AN AGE

The marriage of Soames with Annette took place in Paris on the last day of January, 1901, with such privacy that not even Emily was told until it was accomplished.

The day after the wedding he brought her to one of those quiet hotels in London where greater expense can be incurred for less result than anywhere else under heaven.  Her beauty in the best Parisian frocks was giving him more satisfaction than if he had collected a perfect bit of china, or a jewel of a picture; he looked forward to the moment when he would exhibit her in Park Lane, in Green Street, and at Timothy’s.

If some one had asked him in those days, “In confidence—­are you in love with this girl?” he would have replied:  “In love?  What is love?  If you mean do I feel to her as I did towards Irene in those old days when I first met her and she would not have me; when I sighed and starved after her and couldn’t rest a minute until she yielded—­no!  If you mean do I admire her youth and prettiness, do my senses ache a little when I see her moving about—­yes!  Do I think she will keep me straight, make me a creditable wife and a good mother for my children?—­again, yes!”

“What more do I need? and what more do three-quarters of the women who are married get from the men who marry them?” And if the enquirer had pursued his query, “And do you think it was fair to have tempted this girl to give herself to you for life unless you have really touched her heart?” he would have answered:  “The French see these things differently from us.  They look at marriage from the point of view of establishments and children; and, from my own experience, I am not at all sure that theirs is not the sensible view.  I shall not expect this time more than I can get, or she can give.  Years hence I shouldn’t be surprised if I have trouble with her; but I shall be getting old, I shall have children by then.  I shall shut my eyes.  I have had my great passion; hers is perhaps to come—­I don’t suppose it will be for me.  I offer her a great deal, and I don’t expect much in return, except children, or at least a son.  But one thing I am sure of—­she has very good sense!”