that he would see her regularly. She left the piano and came over to his
chair.

"I would like, very much; but there is--June. When are they coming
back?"

Old Jolyon frowned. "Not till the middle of next month. What does that
matter?"

"You said June had forgiven me; but she could never forget, Uncle
Jolyon."

Forget! She must forget, if he wanted her to.

But as if answering, Irene shook her head. "You know she couldn't; one
doesn't forget."

Always that wretched past! And he said with a sort of vexed finality:

"Well, we shall see."

He talked to her an hour or more, of the children, and a hundred little
things, till the carriage came round to take her home. And when she had
gone he went back to his chair, and sat there smoothing his face and
chin, dreaming over the day.

That evening after dinner he went to his study and took a sheet of
paper. He stayed for some minutes without writing, then rose and stood
under the masterpiece 'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.' He was not
thinking of that picture, but of his life. He was going to leave her