"If George is there," said Winifred, "he would know." "George?" said Soames; "I saw him at his father's funeral." "Then he's sure to be there." Soames, whose good sense applauded his sister's acumen, said grudgingly: "Well, I'll go round. Have you said anything in Park Lane?" "I've told Emily," returned Winifred, who retained that 'chic' way of describing her mother. "Father would have a fit." Indeed, anything untoward was now sedulously kept from James. With another look round at the furniture, as if to gauge his sister's exact position, Soames went out towards Piccadilly. The evening was drawing in--a touch of chill in the October haze. He walked quickly, with his close and concentrated air. He must get through, for he wished to dine in Soho. On hearing from the hall porter at the Iseeum that Mr. Dartie had not been in to-day, he looked at the trusty fellow and decided only to ask if Mr. George Forsyte was in the Club. He was. Soames, who always looked askance at his cousin George, as one inclined to jest at his expense, followed the pageboy, slightly reassured by the thought that George had just lost his father. He must have come in for about thirty thousand, besides what he had under that settlement of Roger's, which had avoided death duty. He found George in a bow-window, staring out across a half-eaten plate of muffins. His tall, bulky, black-clothed figure loomed almost threatening, though preserving still the supernatural neatness of the racing man. With a faint grin on his fleshy face, he said: "Hallo, Soames! Have a muffin?" "No, thanks," murmured Soames; and, nursing his hat, with the desire to say something suitable and sympathetic, added: "How's your mother?" "Thanks," said George; "so-so. Haven't seen you for ages. You never go racing. How's the City?" Soames, scenting the approach of a jest, closed up, and answered: "I wanted to ask you about Dartie. I hear he's...." "Flitted, made a bolt to Buenos Aires with the fair Lola. Good for Winifred and the little Darties. He's a treat." Soames nodded. Naturally inimical as these cousins were, Dartie made them kin. "Uncle James'll sleep in his bed now," resumed George; "I suppose he's had a lot off you, too." Soames smiled. "Ah! You saw him further," said George amicably. "He's a real rouser. Young Val will want a bit of looking after. I was always sorry for Winifred. She's a plucky woman." Again Soames nodded. "I must be getting back to her," he said; "she just wanted to know for certain. We may have to take steps. I suppose there's no mistake?" "It's quite O.K.," said George--it was he who invented so many of those quaint sayings which have been assigned to other sources. "He was drunk as a lord last night; but he went off all right this morning. His ship's the Tuscarora;" and, fishing out a card, he read mockingly: