He heard his father's voice, as though there were a pin in his mouth, saying: "Who's that? Who's there? What d'you want?" His mother's: "Here, Felice, come and hook this; your master'll never get done." He put his hand up to his throat, and said hoarsely: "It's I--Soames!" He noticed gratefully the affectionate surprise in Emily's: "Well, my dear boy?" and James', as he dropped the hook: "What, Soames! What's brought you up? Aren't you well?" He answered mechanically: "I'm all right," and looked at them, and it seemed impossible to bring out his news. James, quick to take alarm, began: "You don't look well. I expect you've taken a chill--it's liver, I shouldn't wonder. Your mother'll give you...." But Emily broke in quietly: "Have you brought Irene?" Soames shook his head. "No," he stammered, "she--she's left me!" Emily deserted the mirror before which she was standing. Her tall, full figure lost its majesty and became very human as she came running over to Soames. "My dear boy! My dear boy!" She put her lips to his forehead, and stroked his hand. James, too, had turned full towards his son; his face looked older. "Left you?" he said. "What d'you mean--left you? You never told me she was going to leave you." Soames answered surlily: "How could I tell? What's to be done?" James began walking up and down; he looked strange and stork-like without a coat. "What's to be done!" he muttered. "How should I know what's to be done? What's the good of asking me? Nobody tells me anything, and then they come and ask me what's to be done; and I should like to know how I'm to tell them! Here's your mother, there she stands; she doesn't say anything. What I should say you've got to do is to follow her.." Soames smiled; his peculiar, supercilious smile had never before looked pitiable. "I don't know where she's gone," he said. "Don't know where she's gone!" said James. "How d'you mean, don't know where she's gone? Where d'you suppose she's gone? She's gone after that young Bosinney, that's where she's gone. I knew how it would be." Soames, in the long silence that followed, felt his mother pressing his hand. And all that passed seemed to pass as though his own power of thinking or doing had gone to sleep. His father's face, dusky red, twitching as if he were going to cry, and words breaking out that seemed rent from him by some spasm in his soul. "There'll be a scandal; I always said so." Then, no one saying anything: "And there you stand, you and your mother!" And Emily's voice, calm, rather contemptuous: "Come, now, James! Soames will do all that he can." And James, staring at the floor, a little brokenly: "Well, I can't help you; I'm getting old. Don't you be in too great a hurry, my boy." And his mother's voice again: "Soames will do all he can to get her back. We won't talk of it. It'll all come right, I dare say."