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.