Soames coughed:  the news was distasteful to him.  “What’s his wife like now?”

“Very quiet, but nice, I think.”

Soames coughed again.  “He’s a rackety chap, your Cousin Val.”

“Oh! no, Father; they’re awfully devoted.  I promised to go—­Saturday to Wednesday next.”

“Training race-horses!” said Soames.  It was extravagant, but not the reason for his distaste.  Why the deuce couldn’t his nephew have stayed out in South Africa?  His own divorce had been bad enough, without his nephew’s marriage to the daughter of the co-respondent; a half-sister too of June, and of that boy whom Fleur had just been looking at from under the pump-handle.  If he didn’t look out, she would come to know all about that old disgrace!  Unpleasant things!  They were round him this afternoon like a swarm of bees!

“I don’t like it!” he said.

“I want to see the race-horses,” murmured Fleur; “and they’ve promised I shall ride.  Cousin Val can’t walk much, you know; but he can ride perfectly.  He’s going to show me their gallops.”

“Racing!” said Soames.  “It’s a pity the War didn’t knock that on the head.  He’s taking after his father, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t know anything about his father.”

“No,” said Soames, grimly.  “He took an interest in horses and broke his neck in Paris, walking down-stairs.  Good riddance for your aunt.”  He frowned, recollecting the inquiry into those stairs which he had attended in Paris six years ago, because.  Montague Dartie could not attend it himself—­perfectly normal stairs in a house where they played baccarat.  Either his winnings or the way he had celebrated them had gone to his brother-in-law’s head.  The French procedure had been very loose; he had had a lot of trouble with it.

A sound from Fleur distracted his attention.  “Look!  The people who were in the Gallery with us.”

“What people?” muttered Soames, who knew perfectly well.

“I think that woman’s beautiful.”

“Come into this pastry-cook’s,” said Soames abruptly, and tightening his grip on her arm he turned into a confectioner’s.  It was—­for him—­a surprising thing to do, and he said rather anxiously:  “What will you have?”

“Oh!  I don’t want anything.  I had a cocktail and a tremendous lunch.”

“We must have something now we’re here,” muttered Soames, keeping hold of her arm.

“Two teas,” he said; “and two of those nougat things.”

But no sooner was his body seated than his soul sprang up.  Those three—­those three were coming in!  He heard Irene say something to her boy, and his answer: 

“Oh! no, Mum; this place is all right.  My stunt.”  And the three sat down.