Irene herself!He waited till she was too far away to recognise him,then set out after her.She was strolling as though she had no particular objective;moving,if he remembered rightly,toward the Bois de Boulogne.For half an hour at least he kept his distance on the far side of the way till she had passed into the Bois itself.Was she going to meet someone after all?Some confounded Frenchman--one of those 'Bel Ami'chaps,perhaps,who had nothing to do but hang about women--for he had read that book with difficulty and a sort of disgusted fascination.He followed doggedly along a shady alley,losing sight of her now and then when the path curved.And it came back to him how,long ago,one night in Hyde Park he had slid and sneaked from tree to tree,from seat to seat,hunting blindly,ridiculously,in burning jealousy for her and young Bosinney.The path bent sharply,and,hurrying,he came on her sitting in front of a small fountain--a little green-bronze Niobe veiled in hair to her slender hips,gazing at the pool she had wept:He came on her so suddenly that he was past before he could turn and take off his hat.She did not start up.She had always had great self-command--it was one of the things he most admired in her,one of his greatest grievances against her,because he had never been able to tell what she was thinking.Had she realised that he was following?Her self-possession made him angry;and,disdaining to explain his presence,he pointed to the mournful little Niobe,and said:
"That's rather a good thing."
He could see,then,that she was struggling to preserve her composure.
"I didn't want to startle you;is this one of your haunts?""Yes."
"A little lonely."As he spoke,a lady,strolling by,paused to look at the fountain and passed on.
Irene's eyes followed her.
"No,"she said,prodding the ground with her parasol,"never lonely.One has always one's shadow."Soames understood;and,looking at her hard,he exclaimed:
"Well,it's your own fault.You can be free of it at any moment.
Irene,come back to me,and be free."
Irene laughed.
"Don't!"cried Soames,stamping his foot;"it's inhuman.Listen!
Is there any condition I can make which will bring you back to me?
If I promise you a separate house--and just a visit now and then?"Irene rose,something wild suddenly in her face and figure.
"None!None!None!You may hunt me to the grave.I will not come."Outraged and on edge,Soames recoiled.
"Don't make a scene!"he said sharply.And they both stood motionless,staring at the little Niobe,whose greenish flesh the sunlight was burnishing.
"That's your last word,then,"muttered Soames,clenching his hands;"you condemn us both."Irene bent her head."I can't come back.Good-bye!"A feeling of monstrous injustice flared up in Soames.
"Stop!"he said,"and listen to me a moment.You gave me a sacred vow--you came to me without a penny.You had all I could give you.
You broke that vow without cause,you made me a by-word;you refused me a child;you've left me in prison;you--you still move me so that I want you--I want you.Well,what do you think of yourself?"Irene turned,her face was deadly pale,her eyes burning dark.
"God made me as I am,"she said;"wicked if you like--but not so wicked that I'll give myself again to a man I hate."The sunlight gleamed on her hair as she moved away,and seemed to lay a caress all down her clinging cream-coloured frock.
Soames could neither speak nor move.That word 'hate'--so extreme,so primitive--made all the Forsyte in him tremble.With a deep imprecation he strode away from where she had vanished,and ran almost into the arms of the lady sauntering back--the fool,the shadowing fool!
He was soon dripping with perspiration,in the depths of the Bois.
