"You're my only comfort," said Soames suddenly, "and you go on like this."
Fleur's heart began to beat.
"Like what, dear?"
Again Soames gave her a look which, but for the affection in it, might have been called furtive.
"You know what I told you," he said. "I don't choose to have anything to do with that branch of our family."
"Yes, ducky, but I don't know why I shouldn't."
Soames turned on his heel.
"I'm not going into the reasons," he said; "you ought to trust me, Fleur!"
The way he spoke those words affected Fleur, but she thought of Jon, and was silent, tapping her foot against the wainscot. Unconsciously she had assumed a modern attitude, with one leg twisted in and out of the other, with her chin on one bent wrist, her other arm across her chest, and its hand hugging her elbow; there was not a line of her that was not involuted, and yet—in spite of all—she retained a certain grace.
"You knew my wishes," Soames went on, "and yet you stayed on there four days. And I suppose that boy came with you to-day."