"Have enlisted in Imperial Yeomanry.
JOLLY."
Jolyon received it just as he was setting out to meet her at the Louvre.It brought him up with a round turn.While he was lotus-eating here,his boy,whose philosopher and guide he ought to be,had taken this great step towards danger,hardship,perhaps even death.He felt disturbed to the soul,realising suddenly how Irene had twined herself round the roots of his being.Thus threatened with severance,the tie between them--for it had become a kind of tie--no longer had impersonal quality.The tranquil enjoyment of things in common,Jolyon perceived,was gone for ever.He saw his feeling as it was,in the nature of an infatuation.Ridiculous,perhaps,but so real that sooner or later it must disclose itself.
And now,as it seemed to him,he could not,must not,make any such disclosure.The news of Jolly stood inexorably in the way.He was proud of this enlistment;proud of his boy for going off to fight for the country;for on Jolyon's pro-Boerism,too,Black Week had left its mark.And so the end was reached before the beginning!