〃Play　me　some　Chopin。〃
  By　the　cigars　they　smoke；　and　the　composers　they　love；　ye　shall　know　the　texture　of　men's　souls。　　Old　Jolyon　could　not　beara　strong　cigar　or　Wagner's　music。　　He　loved　Beethoven　and　Mozart；　Handel　and　Gluck；　and　Schumann；　and；　for　some　occult　reason；　the　operas　of　Meyerbeer；　but　of　late　years　he　had　been　seduced　by　Chopin；　just　as　in　painting　he　had　succumbed　to　Botticelli。　　In　yielding　to　these　tastes　he　had　been　conscious　of　divergence　from　the　standard　of　the　Golden　Age。　　Their　poetry　was　not　that　of　Milton　and　Byron　and　Tennyson；　of　Raphael　and　Titian；　Mozart　and　Beethoven。　　It　was；　as　it　were；　behind　a　veil；　their　poetry　hit　no　one　in　the　face；　but　slipped　its　fingers　under　the　ribs　and　turned　and　twisted；　and　melted　up　the　heart。　　And；　never　certain　that　this　was　healthy；　he　did　not　care　a　rap　so　long　as　he　could　see　the　pictures　of　the　one　or　hear　the　music　of　the　other。
  Irene　sat　down　at　the　piano　under　the　electric　lamp　festooned　with　pearl…grey；　and　old　Jolyon；　in　an　armchair；　whence　he　could　see　her；　crossed　his　legs　and　drew　slowly　at　his　cigar。　　She　sat　a　few　moments　with　her　hands　on　the　keys；　evidently　searching　her　mind　for　what　to　give　him。　　Then　she　began　and　within　old　Jolyon　there　arose　a　sorrowful　pleasure；　not　quite　like　anything　else　in　the　world。　　He　fell　slowly　into　a　trance；　interrupted　only　by　the　movements　of　taking　the　cigar　out　of　his　mouth　at　long　intervals；　and　replacing　it。　　She　was　there；　and　the　hock　within　him；　and　the　scent　of　tobacco；　but　there；　too；　was　a　world　of　sunshine　lingering　into　moonlight；　and　pools　with　storks　upon　them；　and　bluish　trees　above；　glowing　with　blurs　of　wine…red　roses；　and　fields　of　lavender　where　milk…white　cows　were　grazing；　and　a　woman　all　shadowy；　with　dark　eyes　and　a　white　neck；　smiled；　holding　out　her　arms；　and　through　air　which　was　like　music　a　star　dropped　and　was　caught　on　a　cow's　horn。　　He　opened　his　eyes。　　Beautiful　piece；　she　played　wellthe　touch　of　an　angel！　　And　he　closed　them　again。　　He　felt　mirac…ulously　sad　and　happy；　as　one　does；　standing　under　a　lime…tree　in　full　honey　flower。　Not　live　one's　own　life　again；　but　just　stand　there　and　bask　in　the　smile　of　a　woman's　eyes；　and　enjoy　the　bouquet！　　And　he　jerked　his　hand；　the　dog　Balthasar　had　reached　up　and　licked　it。
  〃Beautiful！〃　He　said：　〃Go　onmore　Chopin！〃
  She　began　to　play　again。　　This　time　the　resemblance　between　her　and　'Chopin'　struck　him。　　The　swaying　he　had　noticed　in　her　walk　was　in　her　playing　too；　and　the　Nocturne　she　had　chosen　and　the　soft　darkness　of　her　eyes；　the　light　on　her　hair；　as　of　moonlight　from　a　golden　moon。　　Seductive；　yes；　but　nothing　of　Delilah　in　her　or　in　that　music。　　A　long　blue　spiral　from　his　cigar　ascended　and　dispersed。　　'So　we　go　out！'　he　thought。　　'No　more　beauty！　Nothing？'
  Again　Irene　stopped。
  〃Would　you　like　some　Gluck？　　He　used　to　write　his　music　in　a　sunlit　garden；　with　a　bottle　of　Rhine　wine　beside　him。〃
  〃Ah！；　yes。　　Let's　have　'Orfeo。〃'　Round　about　him　now　were　fields　of　gold　and　silver　flowers；　white　forms　swaying　in　the　sunlight；　bright　birds　flying　to　and　fro。　　All　was　summer。　　Lingering　waves　of　sweetness　and　regret　flooded　his　soul。　　Some　cigar　ash　dropped；　and　taking　out　a　silk　handkerchief　to　brush　it　off；　he　inhaled　a　mingled　scent　as　of　snuff　and　eau　de　Cologne。　　'Ah！'　he　thought；　'Indian　summerthat's　all！'　and　he　said：　〃You　haven't　played　me　'Che　faro。'〃
  She　did　not　answer；　did　not　move。　　He　was　conscious　of　something　some　strange　upset。　　Suddenly　he　saw　her　rise　and　turn　away；　and　a　pang　of　remorse　shot　through　him。　　What　a　clumsy　chap！　　Like　Orpheus；　she　of　courseshe　too　was　looking　for　her　lost　one　in　the　hall　of　memory！　　And　disturbed　to　the　heart；　he　got　up　from　his　chair。　　She　had　gone　to　the　great　window　at　the　far　end。　　Gingerly　he　followed。　Her　hands　were　folded　over　her　breast；　he　could　just　see　her　cheek；　very　white。　　And；　quite　emotionalized；　he　said：
  〃There；　there；　my　love！〃　　The　words　had　escaped　him　mechanically；　for　they　were　those　he　used　to　Holly　when　she　had　a　pain；　but　their　effect　was　instantaneously　distressing。　　She　raised　her　arms；　covered　her　face　with　them；　and　wept。
  Old　Jolyon　stood　gazing　at　her　with　eyes　very　deep　from　age。　　The　passionate　shame　she　seemed　feeling　at　her　abandonment；　so　unlike　the　control　and　quietude　of　her　whole　presence　was　as　if　she　had　never　before　broken　down　in　the　presence　of　another　being。
  〃There；　therethere；　there！〃　he　murmured；　and　putting　his　hand　out　reverently；　touched　her。　　She　turned；　and　leaned　the　arms　which　covered　her　face　against　him。　　Old　Jolyon　stood　very　still；　keeping　one　thin　hand　on　her　shoulder。　　Let　her　cry　her　heart　outit　would　do　her　good。
  And　the　dog　Balthasar；　puzzled；　sat　down　on　his　stern　to　examine　them。
  The　window　was　still　open；　the　curtains　had　not　been　drawn；　the　last　of　daylight　from　without　mingled　with　faint　intrusion　from　the　lamp　within；　there　was　a　scent　of　new…mown　grass。　　With　the　wisdom　of　a　long　life　old　Jolyon　did　not　speak。　　Even　grief　sobbed　itself　out　in　time；　only　Time　was　good　for　sorrowTime　who　saw　the　passing　of　each　mood；　each　emotion　in　turn；　Time　the　layer…to…rest。　　There　came　into　his　mind　the　words：　'As　panteth　the　hart　after　cooling　streams'but　they　were　of　no　use　to　him。　　Then；　conscious　of　a　scent　of　violets；　he　knew　she　was　drying　her　eyes。　　He　put　his　chin　forward；　pressed　his　moustache　against　her　forehead；　and　felt　her　shake　with　a　quivering　of　her　whole　body；　as　of　a　tree　which　shakes　itself　free　of　raindrops。　　She　put　his　hand　to　her　lips；　as　if　saying：　〃All　over　now！　　Forgive　me！〃
  The　kiss　filled　him　with　a　strange　comfort；　he　led　her　back　to　where　she　had　been　so　upset。　　And　the　dog　Balthasar；　following；　laid　the　bone　of　one　of　the　cutlets　they　had　eaten　at　their　feet。
  Anxious　to　obliterate　the　memory　of　that　emotion；　he　could　think　of　nothing　better　than　china；　and　moving　with　her　slowly　from　cabinet　to　cabinet；　he　kept　taking　up　bits　of　Dresden　and　Lowestoft　and　Chelsea；　turning　them　round　and　round　with　his　thin；　veined　hands；　whose　skin；　faintly　freckled；　had　such　an　aged　look。
  〃I　bought　this　at　Jobson's；〃　he　would　say；　〃cost　me　thirty　pounds。　It's　very　old。　　That　dog　leaves　his　bones　all　over　the　place。　　This　old　'ship…bowl'　I　picked　up　at　the　sale　when　that　precious　rip；　the　Marquis；　came　to　grief。　　But　you　don't　remember。　　Here's　a　nice　piece　of　Chelsea。　　Now；　what　would　you　say　this　was？〃　　And　he　was　comforted；　feeling　that；　with　her　taste；　she　was　taking　a　real　interest　in　these　things；　for；　after　all；　nothing　better　composes　the　nerves　than　a　doubtful　piece　of　china。
  When　the　crunch　of　the　carriage　wheels　was　heard　at　last；　he　said
  〃You　must　come　again；　you　must　come　to　lunch；　then　I　can　show　you　these　by　daylight；　and　my　little　sweetshe's　a　dear　little　thing。　This　dog　seems　to　have　taken　a　fancy　to　you。〃
  For　Balthasar；　feeling　that　she　was　about　to　leave；　was　rubbing　his　side　against　her　leg。　　Going　out　under　the　porch　with　her；　he　said：
  〃He'll　get　you　up　in　an　hour　and　a　quarter。　　Take　this　for　your　protegees；〃　and　he　slipped　a　cheque　for　fifty　pounds　into　her　hand。　He　saw　her　brightened　eyes；　and　heard　her　murmur：　〃Oh　Uncle　Jolyon！〃　and　a　real　throb　of　pleasure　went　through　him。　　That　meant　one　or　two　poor　creatures　helped　a　little；　and　it　meant　that　she　would　come　again。　　He　put　his　hand　in　at　the　window　and　grasped　hers　once　more。　The　carriage　rolled　away。　　He　stood　looking　at　the　moon　and　the　shadows　of　the　trees；　and　thought：　'A　sweet　night！　She　。。。！'
  II
  Two　days　of　rain；　and　summer　set　in　bland　and　sunny。　　Old　Jolyon　walked　and　talked　with　Holly。　　At　first　he　felt　taller　and　full　of　a　new　vigour；　then　he　felt　restless。　　Almost　every　afternoon　they　would　enter　the　coppice；　and　walk　as　far　as　the　log。　　'Well；　she's　not　there！'　he　would　think；　'of　course　not！'　　And　he　would　feel　a　little　shorter；　and　drag　his　feet　walking　up　the　hill　home；　with　his　hand　clapped　to　his　left　side。　　Now　and　then　the　thought　would　move　in　him：　'Did　she　comeor　did　I　dream　it？'　and　he　would　stare　at　space；　while　the　dog　Balthasar　stared　at　him。　　Of　course　she　would　not　come　again！　　He　opened　the　letters　from　Spain　with　less　excitement。　　They　were　not　returning　till　July；　he　felt；　oddly；　that　he　could　bear　it。　Every　day　at　dinner　he　screwed　up　his　eyes　and　looked　at　where　she　had　sat。　　She　was　not　there；　so　he　unscrewed　his　eyes　again。
  On　the　seventh　afternoon　he　thought：　'I　must　go　up　and　get　some　boots。'　　He　ordered　Beacon；　and　set　out。　　Passing　from　Putney　towards　Hyde　Park　he　reflected：　'I　might　as　well　go　to　Chelsea　and　see　her。'　And　he　called　out：　〃Just　drive　me　to　where　you　took　that　lady　the　other　night。〃　　The　coachman　turned　his　broad　red　face；　and　his　juicy　lips　answered：　〃The　lady　in　grey；　sir？〃
  〃Yes；　the　lady　in　grey。〃　　What　other　ladies　were　there！　　Stodgy　chap！
  The　carriage　stopped　before　a　small　three…storied　block　of　flats；　standing　a　little　back　from　the　river。　　With　a　practised　eye　old　Jolyon　saw　that　they　were　cheap。　　'I　should　think　about　sixty　pound　a　year；'　　he　mused；　and　entering；　he　looked　at　the　name…board。　　The　name　'Forsyte'　was　not　on　it；　but　against　'First　Floor；　Flat　C'　were　the　words：　'Mrs。　Irene　Heron。'　　Ah！　She　had　ta