sight of her face — a side view — in the row in front, had been literally the only reminder these three years that she wasstill alive. No one ever spoke of her. And yet Jo had told him something once — something which had upset him completely.The boy had got it from George Forsyte, he believed, who had seen Bosinney in the fog the day he was run over — somethingwhich explained the young fellow’s distress — an act of Soames towards his wife — a shocking act. Jo had seen her, too, thatafternoon, after the news was out, seen her for a moment, and his description had always lingered in old Jolyon’s mind—‘wild and lost’ he had called her. And next day June had gone there — bottled up her feelings and gone there, and the maidhad cried and told her how her mistress had slipped out in the night and vanished. A tragic business altogether! One thingwas certain — Soames had never been able to lay hands on her again. And he was living at Brighton, and journeying up anddown — a fitting fate, the man of property! For when he once took a dislike to anyone — as he had to his nephew — old Jolyonnever got over it. He remembered still the sense of relief with which he had heard the news of Irene’s disappearance. It hadbeen shocking to think of her a prisoner in that house to which she must have wandered back, when Jo saw her, wandered backfor a moment — like a wounded animal to its hole after seeing that news, ‘Tragic death of an Architect,’ in the street. Herface had struck him very much the other night — more beautiful than he had remembered, but like a mask, with something goingon beneath it. A young woman still — twenty-eight perhaps. Ah, well! Very likely she had another lover by now. But at thissubversive thought — for married women should never love: once, even, had been too much — his instep rose, and with it thedog Balthasar’s head. The sagacious animal stood up and looked into old Jolyon’s face. ‘Walk?’ he seemed to say; and oldJolyon answered: “Come on, old chap!”