'OLD FORSYTE' AND 'OLD MONT'
MOVING away, in the confusion of her mood, Fleur almost trod on the toes of a too familiar figure standing before an Alma Tadema with a sort of grey anxiety, as if lost in the mutability of market values.
"Father! You up in town? Come along to lunch, I have to get home quick."
Hooking his arm and keeping between him and Eve, she guided him thence, thinking: 'Did he see us? Could he have seen us?'
"Have you got enough on?" Soames muttered.
"That's what you women always say. East wind, and your neck like that! Well, I don't know."
"No, dear, but I do."
The grey eyes appraised her from head to foot.
"What are you doing here?" he said. And Fleur thought: 'Thank God he didn't see. He'd never have asked if he had.' And she answered:
"I take an interest in art, darling, as well as you."
"Well, I'm staying with your aunt in Green Street. This East wind has touched my liver. How's your--how's Michael?"
"Oh! he's all right--a little cheap. We had a dinner last night."
Anniversary! The realism of a Forsyte stirred in him, and he looked under her eyes. Thrusting his hand into his overcoat pocket, he said:
"I was bringing you this."
Fleur saw a flat substance wrapped in pink tissuepaper.