"Anybody will be able to see through it," said Jon gloomily.
"Well, do your best. Look! There they are! Wave your hat! Oh! you haven't got one. Well, I'll cooee! Get a little away from me, and look sulky."
Five minutes later, entering the house and, doing his utmost to look sulky, Jon heard her clear voice in the dining-room:
"Oh! I'm simply RAVENOUS! He's going to be a farmer—and he loses his way! The boy's an idiot!"
IX
GOYA
Lunch was over and Soames mounted to the picture-gallery in his house near Mapledurham. He had what Annette called "a grief." Fleur was not yet home. She had been expected on Wednesday; had wired that it would be Friday; and again on Friday that it would be Sunday afternoon; and here were her aunt, and her cousins the Cardigans, and this fellow Profond, and everything flat as a pancake for the want of her. He stood before his Gauguin—sorest point of his collection. He had bought the ugly great thing with two early Matisses before the war, because there was such a fuss about those Post-Impressionist chaps. He was wondering whether Profond would take them off his hands—the fellow seemed not to know what to do with his money—when he heard his sister's voice say: "I think that's a horrid thing, Soames." and saw that Winifred had followed him up.
"Oh! you DO?" he said dryly; "I gave five hundred for it."
"Fancy! Women aren't made like that even if they are black."