Jolyon wreathed himself in smoke before he answered: "Yes, I saw her."
"How was she?"
"Very well."
There was another silence; then Soames roused himself in his chair.
"When I saw you last," he said, "I was in two minds. We talked, and you
expressed your opinion. I don't wish to reopen that discussion. I only
wanted to say this: My position with her is extremely difficult. I don't
want you to go using your influence against me. What happened is a very
long time ago. I'm going to ask her to let bygones be bygones."
"You have asked her, you know," murmured Jolyon.
"The idea was new to her then; it came as a shock. But the more she
thinks of it, the more she must see that it's the only way out for both
of us."
"That's not my impression of her state of mind," said Jolyon with
particular calm. "And, forgive my saying, you misconceive the matter if
you think reason comes into it at all."
He saw his cousin's pale face grow paler--he had used, without knowing
it, Irene's own words.
"Thanks," muttered Soames, "but I see things perhaps more plainly than
you think. I only want to be sure that you won't try to influence her
against me."
"I don't know what makes you think I have any influence," said Jolyon;
"but if I have I'm bound to use it in the direction of what I think is
her happiness. I am what they call a 'feminist,' I believe."
"Feminist!" repeated Soames, as if seeking to gain time. "Does that mean
that you're against me?"
"Bluntly," said Jolyon, "I'm against any woman living with any man whom
she definitely dislikes. It appears to me rotten."
"And I suppose each time you see her you put your opinions into her
mind."
"I am not likely to be seeing her."
"Not going back to Paris?"
"Not so far as I know," said Jolyon, conscious of the intent
watchfulness in Soames' face.
"Well, that's all I had to say. Anyone who comes between man and wife,
you know, incurs heavy responsibility."
Jolyon rose and made him a slight bow.
"Good-bye," he said, and, without offering to shake hands, moved away,
leaving Soames staring after him. 'We Forsytes,' thought Jolyon, hailing
a cab, 'are very civilised. With simpler folk that might have come to a
row. If it weren't for my boy going to the war....' The war! A gust of
his old doubt swept over him. A precious war! Domination of peoples or
of women! Attempts to master and possess those who did not want you! The
negation of gentle decency! Possession, vested rights; and anyone 'agin'
'em--outcast! 'Thank Heaven!' he thought, 'I always felt "agin" 'em,
anyway!' Yes! Even before his first disastrous marriage he could
remember fuming over the bludgeoning of Ireland, or the matrimonial
suits of women trying to be free of men they loathed. Parsons would have
it that freedom of soul and body were quite different things! Pernicious
doctrine! Body and soul could not thus be separated. Free will was
the strength of any tie, and not its weakness. 'I ought to have told
Soames,' he thought, 'that I think him comic. Ah! but he's tragic, too!'
Was there anything, indeed, more tragic in the world than a man enslaved
by his own possessive instinct, who couldn't see the sky for it, or even
enter fully into what another person felt! 'I must write and warn her,'
he thought; 'he's going to have another try.' And all the way home to
Robin Hill he rebelled at the strength of that duty to his son which
prevented him from posting back to Paris....