ButthedogBalthasarwentontowardsthevisitor，whoputherhanddownandstrokedhishead。OldJolyonsaidquickly：”Isawyouattheoperatheothernight；youdidn’tnoticeme。””Oh，yes！Idid。”
Hefeltasubtleflatteryinthat，asthoughshehadadded：’Doyouthinkonecouldmissseeingyou?’”They’reallinSpain，”heremarkedabruptly。”I’malone；Idroveupfortheopera。TheRavogli’sgood。Haveyouseenthecow-
houses?”
Inasituationsochargedwithmysteryandsomethingverylikeemotionhemovedinstinctivelytowardsthatbitofproperty，andshemovedbesidehim。Herfigureswayedfaintly，likethebestkindofFrenchfigures；herdress，too，wasasortofFrenchgrey。
Henoticedtwoorthreesilverthreadsinheramber-colouredhair，strangehairwiththosedarkeyesofhers，andthatcreamy-paleface。Asuddensidelonglookfromthevelvetybrowneyesdisturbedhim。Itseemedtocomefromdeepandfar，fromanotherworldalmost，oratalleventsfromsomeonenotlivingverymuchinthis。Andhesaidmechanically”Whereareyoulivingnow?””IhavealittleflatinChelsea。”
Hedidnotwanttohearwhatshewasdoing，didnotwanttohearanything；buttheperversewordcameout：”Alone?”
Shenodded。Itwasarelieftoknowthat。Anditcameintohismindthat，butforatwistoffate，shewouldhavebeenmistressofthiscoppice，showingthesecow-housestohim，avisitor。”AllAlderneys，”hemuttered；”theygivethebestmilk。Thisone’saprettycreature。Woa，Myrtle！”
Thefawn-colouredcow，witheyesassoftandbrownasIrene’sown，wasstandingabsolutelystill，nothavinglongbeenmilked。Shelookedroundatthemoutofthecornerofthoselustrous，mild，cynicaleyes，andfromhergreylipsalittledribbleofsalivathreadeditswaytowardsthestraw。Thescentofhayandvanillaandammoniaroseinthedimlightofthecoolcow-house；andoldJolyonsaid：”Youmustcomeupandhavesomedinnerwithme。I’llsendyouhomeinthecarriage。”
Heperceivedastrugglegoingonwithinher；natural，nodoubt，withhermemories。Buthewantedhercompany；aprettyface，acharmingfigure，beauty！Hehadbeenalonealltheafternoon。
Perhapshiseyeswerewistful，forsheanswered：”Thankyou，UncleJolyon。Ishouldliketo。”
Herubbedhishands，andsaid：”Capital！Let’sgoup，then！”And，precededbythedogBalthasar，theyascendedthroughthefield。Thesunwasalmostlevelintheirfacesnow，andhecouldsee，notonlythosesilverthreads，butlittlelines，justdeepenoughtostampherbeautywithacoin-likefineness——thespeciallookoflifeunsharedwithothers。”I’lltakeherinbytheterrace，”hethought：”Iwon’tmakeacommonvisitorofher。””Whatdoyoudoallday?”hesaid。”Teachmusic；Ihaveanotherinterest，too。””Work！”saidoldJolyon，pickingupthedollfromofftheswing，andsmoothingitsblackpetticoat。”Nothinglikeit，isthere?I
don’tdoanynow。I’mgettingon。Whatinterestisthat?””Tryingtohelpwomenwho’vecometogrief。”OldJolyondidnotquiteunderstand。”Togrief?”herepeated；thenrealisedwithashockthatshemeantexactlywhathewouldhavemeanthimselfifhehadusedthatexpression。AssistingtheMagdalenesofLondon！
Whataweirdandterrifyinginterest！And，curiosityovercominghisnaturalshrinking，heasked：”Why?Whatdoyoudoforthem?””Notmuch。I’venomoneytospare。Icanonlygivesympathyandfoodsometimes。”
InvoluntarilyoldJolyon’shandsoughthispurse。Hesaidhastily：”Howd’yougetholdofthem?””Igotoahospital。””Ahospital！Phew！””Whathurtsmemostisthatoncetheynearlyallhadsomesortofbeauty。”
OldJolyonstraightenedthedoll。”Beauty！”heejaculated：”Ha！
Yes！Asadbusiness！”andhemovedtowardsthehouse。ThroughaFrenchwindow，undersun-blindsnotyetdrawnup，heprecededherintotheroomwherehewaswonttostudy’TheTimes’andthesheetsofanagriculturalmagazine，withhugeillustrationsofmangoldwurzels，andthelike，whichprovidedHollywithmaterialforherpaintbrush。”Dinner’sinhalfanhour。You’dliketowashyourhands！I’lltakeyoutoJune’sroom。”
Hesawherlookingroundeagerly；whatchangessinceshehadlastvisitedthishousewithherhusband，orherlover，orbothperhaps——
hedidnotknow，couldnotsay！Allthatwasdark，andhewishedtoleaveitso。Butwhatchanges！Andinthehallhesaid：”MyboyJo’sapainter，youknow。He’sgotalotoftaste。Itisn’tmine，ofcourse，butI’velethimhavehisway。”
Shewasstandingverystill，hereyesroamingthroughthehallandmusicroom，asitnowwas——allthrownintoone，underthegreatskylight。OldJolyonhadanoddimpressionofher。Wasshetryingtoconjuresomebodyfromtheshadesofthatspacewherethecolouringwasallpearl-greyandsilver?Hewouldhavehadgoldhimself；morelivelyandsolid。ButJohadFrenchtastes，andithadcomeoutshadowylikethat，withaneffectasofthefumeofcigarettesthechapwasalwayssmoking，brokenhereandtherebyalittleblazeofblueorcrimsoncolour。Itwasnothisdream！
Mentallyhehadhungthisspacewiththosegold-framedmasterpiecesofstillandstillerlifewhichhehadboughtindayswhenquantitywasprecious。Andnowwherewerethey?Soldforasong！Thatsomethingwhichmadehim，aloneamongForsytes，movewiththetimeshadwarnedhimagainstthestruggletoretainthem。Butinhisstudyhestillhad’DutchFishingBoatsatSunset。’
Hebegantomountthestairswithher，slowly，forhefelthisside。”Thesearethebathrooms，”hesaid，”andotherarrangements。I’vehadthemtiled。Thenurseriesarealongthere。AndthisisJo’sandhiswife’s。Theyallcommunicate。Butyouremember，I
expect。”
Irenenodded。Theypassedon，upthegalleryandenteredalargeroomwithasmallbed，andseveralwindows。”Thisismine，”hesaid。Thewallswerecoveredwiththephotographsofchildrenandwatercoloursketches，andheaddeddoubtfully：”TheseareJo’s。Theview’sfirst-rate。YoucanseetheGrandStandatEpsominclearweather。”
Thesunwasdownnow，behindthehouse，andoverthe’prospect’aluminoushazehadsettled，emanationofthelongandprosperousday。Fewhousesshowed，butfieldsandtreesfaintlyglistened，awaytoaloomofdowns。”Thecountry’schanging，”hesaidabruptly，”butthereit’llbewhenwe’reallgone。Lookatthosethrushes——thebirdsaresweethereinthemornings。I’mgladtohavewashedmyhandsofLondon。”
Herfacewasclosetothewindowpane，andhewasstruckbyitsmournfullook。’WishIcouldmakeherlookhappy！’hethought。’A
prettyface，butsad！’Andtakinguphiscanofhotwaterhewentoutintothegallery。”ThisisJune’sroom，”hesaid，openingthenextdoorandputtingthecandown；”Ithinkyou’llfindeverything。”Andclosingthedoorbehindherhewentbacktohisownroom。Brushinghishairwithhisgreatebonybrushes，anddabbinghisforeheadwitheaudeCologne，hemused。Shehadcomesostrangely——asortofvisit-
ation；mysterious，evenromantic，asifhisdesireforcompany，forbeauty，hadbeenfulfilledbywhateveritwaswhichfulfilledthatsortofthing。Andbeforethemirrorhestraightenedhisstilluprightfigure，passedthebrushesoverhisgreatwhitemoustache，toucheduphiseyebrowswitheaudeCologne，andrangthebell。”IforgottoletthemknowthatIhavealadytodinnerwithme。