In leaving the Court Soames did not go straight home. He felt
disinclined for the City, and drawn by need for sympathy in his triumph,
he, too, made his way, but slowly and on foot, to Timothy's in the
Bayswater Road.
His father had just left; Mrs. Small and Aunt Hester, in possession of
the whole story, greeted him warmly. They were sure he was hungry after
all that evidence. Smither should toast him some more muffins, his dear
father had eaten them all. He must put his legs up on the sofa; and he
must have a glass of prune brandy too. It was so strengthening.
Swithin was still present, having lingered later than his wont, for he
felt in want of exercise. On hearing this suggestion, he 'pished.' A
pretty pass young men were coming to! His own liver was out of order,
and he could not bear the thought of anyone else drinking prune brandy.
He went away almost immediately, saying to Soames: "And how's your wife?
You tell her from me that if she's dull, and likes to come and dine with
me quietly, I'll give her such a bottle of champagne as she doesn't get
every day." Staring down from his height on Soames he contracted his
thick, puffy, yellow hand as though squeezing within it all this small
fry, and throwing out his chest he waddled slowly away.
Mrs. Small and Aunt Hester were left horrified. Swithin was so droll!
They themselves were longing to ask Soames how Irene would take the
result, yet knew that they must not; he would perhaps say something
of his own accord, to throw some light on this, the present burning
question in their lives, the question that from necessity of silence
tortured them almost beyond bearing; for even Timothy had now been told,
and the effect on his health was little short of alarming. And what,
too, would June do? This, also, was a most exciting, if dangerous
speculation!
They had never forgotten old Jolyon's visit, since when he had not once
been to see them; they had never forgotten the feeling it gave all who
were present, that the family was no longer what it had been--that the
family was breaking up.
But Soames gave them no help, sitting with his knees crossed, talking of
the Barbizon school of painters, whom he had just discovered. These were
the coming men, he said; he should not wonder if a lot of money were
made over them; he had his eye on two pictures by a man called Corot,
charming things; if he could get them at a reasonable price he was going
to buy them--they would, he thought, fetch a big price some day.