I won't do it
again."
They were on excellent terms once more. Irene felt a singular
pleasure in his having apologised; it was one of the very rare
occasions of his yielding to her on any point whatever. Never had
she felt so kindly disposed to him.
Arnold was going to Paris, and on business; he hinted at something
pending between his Company and a French Syndicate.
"You are a sort of informal diplomatist," said Irene, her interest
keen.
"Now and then, yes. And"--he added with the frankness which was
one of his more amiable points--"I rather like it."
"One sees that you do. Better, I suppose, than the thought of going
into Parliament."
"That may come some day," he answered, glancing at a gull that
hovered above the ship. "Not whilst my father sits there."
"You would be on different sides, I suppose."
Arnold smiled, and went on to say that he was uneasy about his
father's health. John Jacks had fallen of late into a habit of worry
about things great and small, as though age were suddenly telling
upon him. He fretted over public affairs; he suffered from the death
of old friends, especially that of John Bright, whom he had held in
affectionate regard for a lifetime. Irene was glad to hear this
expression of anxiety. For it sometimes seemed to her that Arnold
Jacks had little, if any, domestic feeling.
She wished they could have travelled further together.
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