"I don't know anything about his father."

"No," said Soames grimly. "He took an interest in horses and broke
his neck in Paris, walking down-stairs. Good riddance for your
aunt." He frowned, recollecting the inquiry into those stairs
which he had attended in Paris six years ago, because Montague
Dartie could not attend it himself--perfectly normal stairs in a
house where they played baccarat. Either his winnings or the way
he had celebrated them had gone to his brother-in-law's head. The
French procedure had been very loose; he had had a lot of trouble
with it.

A sound from Fleur distracted his attention. "Look! The people who
were in the Gallery with us."

"What people?" muttered Soames, who knew perfectly well.

"I think that woman's beautiful."

"Come into this pastry-cook's," said Soames abruptly, and
tightening his grip on her arm, he turned into a confectioner's.
It was--for him--a surprising thing to do, and he said rather
anxiously: "What will you have?"

"Oh! I don't want anything. I had a cocktail and a tremendous
lunch."

"We MUST have something now we're here," muttered Soames, keeping
hold of her arm.