By John Galsworthy

Most people would consider such a marriage as that of Soames and Irene quite fairly successful; he had money, she had beauty; it was a case of compromise. There was no reason why they should not jog along, even if they hated each other. It would not matter if they went their own ways a little so long as the decen­cies were observed—the sanctity of the marriage tie, of the common home, respected. Half the marriages of the upper classes were conducted on these lines: do not offend the susceptibilities of Society; do not offend the susceptibilities of the Church. To avoid offending these is worth the sacrifice of any private feelings. The advantages of the stable home are visible, tangible, so many pieces of property; there is no risk in the status quo. To break up a home is at best a dangerous experi­ment, and selfish into the bargain....

Soames went straight to the city, but finding things slack, he left at there o'clock, glad of this chance to get home quietly. Irene did not expect. Not that he had any desire to spy on her actions, but there was no harm in thus unexpectedly surveying the scene.

After changing to Park clothes he went into the draw­ing-room. She was sitting idly in the corner of the sofa, her favourite seat; and there were circles under her eyes, as though she had not slept. He asked: "How is it you're in? Are you expecting somebody?"

"Yes—that is, not particularly."

"Who?"

"Mr. Bosinney' said he might come."

"Bosinney. He ought to be at work."

To this she made no answer.

"Well," said Soames, "I want you to come out to the stores with me, and after that we'll go to the Park."

"I don't want to go out; I have a headache."

Soames replied: "If ever I want you to do anything, you've always got a headache. It'll do you good to come and sit under the trees."

She did not answer.

Soames was silent for some minutes; at last he said:

"I don't know what you idea of a wife's duty is. I never have known!"

He had not expected her to reply, but she did.

"I have tried to do what you want; it's not my fault that I haven't been able to put my heart into it."

"Whose fault is it, then?" He watched her askance.

"Before we were married you promised to let me go if our marriage was not a success. Is it a success?"

Soames frowned.

"Success," he stammered—"it would be a success if you behaved yourself properly!"

"I have tried," said Irene. "Will you let me go?"

Soames turned away. Secretly alarmed, he took ref­uge in bluster.

"Let you go? You don't know what you're talking about. Let you go? How can I let you go? We're mar­ried, aren't we? Then, what are you talking about? For God's sake, don't let's have any of this sort of nonsense! Get your hat on, and come and sit in the Park."

"Then, you won't let me go?"

He felt her eyes resting on him with a strange, touch­ing look.

"Let you go!" he said; "And what on earth would you do with yourself if I did? You've got no money!"- "I could manage somehow."

He took a swift turn up and down the room; then came and stood before her.

"Understand," he said, "once and for all, I won't have you say this sort of thing. Go and get your hat on!" She did not move.

"I suppose," said Soames, "you don't want to miss Bosinney if he comes!"

Irene got up slowly and left the room. She came down with her hat on.

They went out. ...

"THE MAN OF PROPERTY"(2)