“Surely,” he said gently, “it lies with yourself. A man can always put these things through if he’ll take it on himself.”

Soames turned square to him, with a sound which seemed to come from somewhere very deep.

“Why should I suffer more than I’ve suffered already? Why should I?”

Jolyon could only shrug his shoulders. His reason agreed, his instinct rebelled; he could not have said why.

“Your father,” went on Soames, “took an interest in her⁠—why, goodness knows! And I suppose you do too?” he gave Jolyon a sharp look. “It seems to me that one only has to do another person a wrong to get all the sympathy. I don’t know in what way I was to blame⁠—I’ve never known. I always treated her well. I gave her everything she could wish for. I wanted her.”