"I know there was a superstition to that effect," he muttered.
"One must do him justice now he's dead."
"I should like to have done him justice before," said Soames; "but I
never had the chance. Have you got a 'Baronetage' here?"
"Yes; in that bottom row."
Soames took out a fat red book, and ran over the leaves.
"Mont-Sir Lawrence, 9th Bt., cr. 1620, e. s. of Geoffrey, 8th Bt., and
Lavinia, daur. of Sir Charles Muskham, Bt., of Muskham Hall, Shrops:
marr. 1890 Emily, daur. of Conway Charwell, Esq., of Condaford Grange,
co. Oxon; 1 son, heir Michael Conway, b. 1895, 2 daurs. Residence:
Lippinghall Manor, Folwell, Bucks. Clubs: Snooks': Coffee House:
Aeroplane. See Bidicott."
"H'm!" he said. "Did you ever know a publisher?"
"Uncle Timothy."
"Alive, I mean."
"Monty knew one at his Club. He brought him here to dinner once. Monty
was always thinking of writing a book, you know, about how to make money
on the turf. He tried to interest that man."
"Well?"
"He put him on to a horse--for the Two Thousand. We didn't see him
again. He was rather smart, if I remember."
"Did it win?"
"No; it ran last, I think. You know Monty really was quite clever in his
way."
"Was he?" said Soames. "Can you see any connection between a sucking
baronet and publishing?"
"People do all sorts of things nowadays," replied Winifred. "The great
stunt seems not to be idle--so different from our time. To do nothing
was the thing then. But I suppose it'll come again."
"This young Mont that I'm speaking of is very sweet on Fleur. If it
would put an end to that other affair I might encourage it."
"Has he got style?" asked Winifred.
"He's no beauty; pleasant enough, with some scattered brains. There's a
good deal of land, I believe. He seems genuinely attached. But I don't
know."
"No," murmured Winifred; "it's--very difficult. I always found it best
to do nothing. It is such a bore about Jack; now we shan't get away till
after Bank Holiday. Well, the people are always amusing, I shall go into
the Park and watch them."
"If I were you," said Soames, "I should have a country cottage, and be
out of the way of holidays and strikes when you want."
"The country bores me," answered Winifred, "and I found the railway
strike quite exciting."
Winifred had always been noted for sang-froid.
Soames took his leave. All the way down to Reading he debated whether
he should tell Fleur of that boy's father's death. It did not alter the
situation except that he would be independent now, and only have his
mother's opposition to encounter. He would come into a lot of money, no
doubt, and perhaps the house--the house built for Irene and
himself--the house whose architect had wrought his domestic ruin. His
daughter--mistress of that house! That would be poetic justice!
Soames uttered a little mirthless laugh. He had designed that house
to re-establish his failing union, meant it for the seat of his
descendants, if he could have induced Irene to give him one! Her son
and Fleur! Their children would be, in some sort, offspring of the union
between himself and her!