"Don't understand him!" James humied out: "Why not?--you can see he's one of these artistic chaps. They say he's clever--they all think they're clever. You know more about him than I do," he added; and again his suspicious glance rested on her.
"He is designing a house for Soames," she said softly, evidently trying to smooth things over.
"That brings me to what I was going to say," continued James; "I don't know what Soames wants with a young man like that; why doesn't he go to a first-rate man?"
"Perhaps Mr. Bosinney is first-rate!"
James rose, and took a turn with bent head.
"That's it'," he said, "you young people, you all stick together; you all think you know best!"
Halting his tall, lank figure before her, he raised a finger, and levelled it at her bosom, as though bringing an indictment against her beauty:
"All I can say is, these artistic people, or whatever they call themselves, they're as unreliable as they can be; and my advice to you is, don't you have too much to do with him!"
Irene smiled; and in the curve of her lips was a strange provocation. She seemed to have lost her deference. Her breast rose and fell as though with secret anger; she drew her hands inwards from their rest on the arms of her chair until the tips of her fingers met, and her dark eyes looked unfathomably at James.
The latter gloomily scrutinized the floor.
"I tell you my opinion," he said, "it's a pity you haven't got a child to think about, and occupy you!
A brooding look came instantly on Irene's face, and even James became conscious of the rigidity that took possession of her whole figure beneath the softness of its silk and lace clothing.
He was frightened by the effect he had produced, and like most men with but little courage, he sought at once to justify himself by bullying.
"You don't seem to care about going about. Why don't you drive down to Hurlingham with us? And go to the theatre now and then.
At your time of life you ought to take an interest in things.
You're a young woman!"
The brooding look darkened on her face; he grew nervous.
"Well, I know nothing about it," he said; "nobody tells me anything. Soames ought to be able to take care of himself. If he can't take care of himself he mustn't look to me--that's all."
Biting the corner of his forefinger he stole a cold, sharp look at his daughter-in-law.
He encountered her eyes fixed on his own, so dark and deep, that he stopped, and broke into a gentle perspiration.
"Well, I must be going," he said after a short pause, and a minute later rose, with a slight appearance of surprise, as though he had expected to be asked to stop. Giving his hand to Irene, he allowed himself to be conducted to the door, and let out into the street. He would not have a cab, he would walk, Irene was to say good-night to Soames for him, and if she wanted a little gaiety, well, he would drive her down to Richmond any day.
He walked home, and going upstairs, woke Emily out of the first sleep she had had for four and twenty hours, to tell her that it was his impression things were in a bad way at Soames's; on this theme he descanted for half an hour, until at last, saying that he would not sleep a wink, he turned on his side and instantly began to snore.
In Montpellier Square Soames, who had come from the picture room, stood invisible at the top of the stairs, watching Irene sort the letters brought by the last post. She turned back into the drawing-room; but in a minute came out, and stood as if listening. Then she came stealing up the stairs, with a kitten in her arms. He could see her face bent over the little beast, which was purring against her neck. Why couldn't she look at him like that?
Suddenly she saw him, and her face changed.
"Any letters for me?" he said.
"Three."
He stood aside, and without another word she passed on into the bedroom.