"What was he?"

"A painter."

"That's quite jolly."

The words: "If you want to please me you'll put those people out of your
head," sprang to Soames' lips, but he choked them back--he must not let
her see his feelings.

"He once insulted me," he said.

Her quick eyes rested on his face.

"I see! You didn't avenge it, and it rankles. Poor Father! You let me
have a go!"

It was really like lying in the dark with a mosquito hovering above his
face. Such pertinacity in Fleur was new to him, and, as they reached the
hotel, he said grimly:

"I did my best. And that's enough about these people. I'm going up till
dinner."

"I shall sit here."

With a parting look at her extended in a chair--a look half-resentful,
half-adoring--Soames moved into the lift and was transported to their
suite on the fourth floor. He stood by the window of the sitting-room