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diff --git a/2559-h/2559-h.htm b/2559-h/2559-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d691da0 --- /dev/null +++ b/2559-h/2559-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16829 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Forsyte Saga, The Man Of Property, by John Galsworthy</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; + background:#faebd7; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Forsyte Saga, The Man Of Property, by John Galsworthy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + +Title: The Forsyte Saga, The Man Of Property + +Author: John Galsworthy + +Release Date: March, 2001 [EBook #2559] +[Most recently updated: May 11, 2020] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORSYTE SAGA, THE MAN OF PROPERTY *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="spines (203K)" src="images/spines.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="subscription (12K)" src="images/subscription.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="editon (10K)" src="images/editon.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="titlepage1 (38K)" src="images/titlepage1.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="frontis1 (60K)" src="images/frontis1.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + FORSYTE SAGA + </h1> + <h3> + THE MAN OF PROPERTY + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Galsworthy + </h2> + + <hr /> + + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE: </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <big><b>THE MAN OF PROPERTY</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PARTa1"> <b>PART I</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I—“AT HOME” AT OLD + JOLYON’S </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II—OLD JOLYON GOES TO THE OPERA + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III—DINNER AT SWITHIN’S + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV—PROJECTION OF THE HOUSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V—A FORSYTE MÉNAGE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI—JAMES AT LARGE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII—OLD JOLYON’S PECCADILLO + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII—PLANS OF THE HOUSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX—DEATH OF AUNT ANN </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PARTa2"> <b>PART II</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER I—PROGRESS OF THE HOUSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER II—JUNE’S TREAT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER III—DRIVE WITH SWITHIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER IV—JAMES GOES TO SEE FOR HIMSELF + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER V—SOAMES AND BOSINNEY CORRESPOND + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER VI—OLD JOLYON AT THE ZOO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER VII—AFTERNOON AT TIMOTHY’S + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER VIII—DANCE AT ROGER’S </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER IX—EVENING AT RICHMOND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER X—DIAGNOSIS OF A FORSYTE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XI—BOSINNEY ON PAROLE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XII—JUNE PAYS SOME CALLS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XIII—PERFECTION OF THE HOUSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XIV—SOAMES SITS ON THE STAIRS + </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PARTa3"> <b>PART III</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER I—MRS. MACANDER’S EVIDENCE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER II—NIGHT IN THE PARK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER III—MEETING AT THE BOTANICAL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER IV—VOYAGE INTO THE INFERNO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER V—THE TRIAL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER VI—SOAMES BREAKS THE NEWS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER VII—JUNE’S VICTORY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER VIII—BOSINNEY’S DEPARTURE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER IX—IRENE’S RETURN </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + + <hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h1><a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"></a> + THE MAN OF PROPERTY + </h1> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + TO MY WIFE:<br /> <br /> I DEDICATE THE FORSYTE SAGA IN ITS ENTIRETY, + <br /> BELIEVING IT TO BE OF ALL MY WORKS THE LEAST <br /> UNWORTHY OF ONE + WITHOUT WHOSE ENCOURAGEMENT, <br /> SYMPATHY AND CRITICISM I COULD NEVER + HAVE <br /> BECOME EVEN SUCH A WRITER AS I AM. + </p> + </blockquote> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"></a> + PREFACE: + </h2> + <p> + “The Forsyte Saga” was the title originally destined for that + part of it which is called “The Man of Property”; and to adopt + it for the collected chronicles of the Forsyte family has indulged the + Forsytean tenacity that is in all of us. The word Saga might be objected + to on the ground that it connotes the heroic and that there is little + heroism in these pages. But it is used with a suitable irony; and, after + all, this long tale, though it may deal with folk in frock coats, + furbelows, and a gilt-edged period, is not devoid of the essential heat of + conflict. Discounting for the gigantic stature and blood-thirstiness of + old days, as they have come down to us in fairy-tale and legend, the folk + of the old Sagas were Forsytes, assuredly, in their possessive instincts, + and as little proof against the inroads of beauty and passion as Swithin, + Soames, or even Young Jolyon. And if heroic figures, in days that never + were, seem to startle out from their surroundings in fashion unbecoming to + a Forsyte of the Victorian era, we may be sure that tribal instinct was + even then the prime force, and that “family” and the sense of + home and property counted as they do to this day, for all the recent + efforts to “talk them out.” + </p> + <p> + So many people have written and claimed that their families were the + originals of the Forsytes that one has been almost encouraged to believe + in the typicality of an imagined species. Manners change and modes evolve, + and “Timothy’s on the Bayswater Road” becomes a nest of + the unbelievable in all except essentials; we shall not look upon its like + again, nor perhaps on such a one as James or Old Jolyon. And yet the + figures of Insurance Societies and the utterances of Judges reassure us + daily that our earthly paradise is still a rich preserve, where the wild + raiders, Beauty and Passion, come stealing in, filching security from + beneath our noses. As surely as a dog will bark at a brass band, so will + the essential Soames in human nature ever rise up uneasily against the + dissolution which hovers round the folds of ownership. + </p> + <p> + “Let the dead Past bury its dead” would be a better saying if + the Past ever died. The persistence of the Past is one of those + tragi-comic blessings which each new age denies, coming cocksure on to the + stage to mouth its claim to a perfect novelty. + </p> + <p> + But no Age is so new as that! Human Nature, under its changing pretensions + and clothes, is and ever will be very much of a Forsyte, and might, after + all, be a much worse animal. + </p> + <p> + Looking back on the Victorian era, whose ripeness, decline, and “fall-of” + is in some sort pictured in “The Forsyte Saga,” we see now + that we have but jumped out of a frying-pan into a fire. It would be + difficult to substantiate a claim that the case of England was better in + 1913 than it was in 1886, when the Forsytes assembled at Old Jolyon’s + to celebrate the engagement of June to Philip Bosinney. And in 1920, when + again the clan gathered to bless the marriage of Fleur with Michael Mont, + the state of England is as surely too molten and bankrupt as in the + eighties it was too congealed and low-percented. If these chronicles had + been a really scientific study of transition one would have dwelt probably + on such factors as the invention of bicycle, motor-car, and + flying-machine; the arrival of a cheap Press; the decline of country life + and increase of the towns; the birth of the Cinema. Men are, in fact, + quite unable to control their own inventions; they at best develop + adaptability to the new conditions those inventions create. + </p> + <p> + But this long tale is no scientific study of a period; it is rather an + intimate incarnation of the disturbance that Beauty effects in the lives + of men. + </p> + <p> + The figure of Irene, never, as the reader may possibly have observed, + present, except through the senses of other characters, is a concretion of + disturbing Beauty impinging on a possessive world. + </p> + <p> + One has noticed that readers, as they wade on through the salt waters of + the Saga, are inclined more and more to pity Soames, and to think that in + doing so they are in revolt against the mood of his creator. Far from it! + He, too, pities Soames, the tragedy of whose life is the very simple, + uncontrollable tragedy of being unlovable, without quite a thick enough + skin to be thoroughly unconscious of the fact. Not even Fleur loves Soames + as he feels he ought to be loved. But in pitying Soames, readers incline, + perhaps, to animus against Irene: After all, they think, he wasn’t a + bad fellow, it wasn’t his fault; she ought to have forgiven him, and + so on! + </p> + <p> + And, taking sides, they lose perception of the simple truth, which + underlies the whole story, that where sex attraction is utterly and + definitely lacking in one partner to a union, no amount of pity, or + reason, or duty, or what not, can overcome a repulsion implicit in Nature. + Whether it ought to, or no, is beside the point; because in fact it never + does. And where Irene seems hard and cruel, as in the Bois de Boulogne, or + the Goupenor Gallery, she is but wisely realistic—knowing that the + least concession is the inch which precedes the impossible, the repulsive + ell. + </p> + <p> + A criticism one might pass on the last phase of the Saga is the complaint + that Irene and Jolyon those rebels against property—claim spiritual + property in their son Jon. But it would be hypercriticism, as the tale is + told. No father and mother could have let the boy marry Fleur without + knowledge of the facts; and the facts determine Jon, not the persuasion of + his parents. Moreover, Jolyon’s persuasion is not on his own + account, but on Irene’s, and Irene’s persuasion becomes a + reiterated: “Don’t think of me, think of yourself!” That + Jon, knowing the facts, can realise his mother’s feelings, will + hardly with justice be held proof that she is, after all, a Forsyte. + </p> + <p> + But though the impingement of Beauty and the claims of Freedom on a + possessive world are the main prepossessions of the Forsyte Saga, it + cannot be absolved from the charge of embalming the upper-middle class. As + the old Egyptians placed around their mummies the necessaries of a future + existence, so I have endeavoured to lay beside the figures of Aunts Ann + and Juley and Hester, of Timothy and Swithin, of Old Jolyon and James, and + of their sons, that which shall guarantee them a little life here-after, a + little balm in the hurried Gilead of a dissolving “Progress.” + </p> + <p> + If the upper-middle class, with other classes, is destined to “move + on” into amorphism, here, pickled in these pages, it lies under + glass for strollers in the wide and ill-arranged museum of Letters. Here + it rests, preserved in its own juice: The Sense of Property. 1922. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h1> + THE MAN OF PROPERTY<a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"></a> + </h1> + <h2> + by JOHN GALSWORTHY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “........You will answer + The slaves are ours.....” + + —Merchant of Venice. +</pre> + <h3> + TO EDWARD GARNETT + </h3> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_PARTa1" id="link2H_PARTa1"></a> + PART I + </h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"></a> + CHAPTER I<br/>“AT HOME” AT OLD JOLYON’S + </h2> + <p> + Those privileged to be present at a family festival of the Forsytes have + seen that charming and instructive sight—an upper middle-class + family in full plumage. But whosoever of these favoured persons has + possessed the gift of psychological analysis (a talent without monetary + value and properly ignored by the Forsytes), has witnessed a spectacle, + not only delightful in itself, but illustrative of an obscure human + problem. In plainer words, he has gleaned from a gathering of this family—no + branch of which had a liking for the other, between no three members of + whom existed anything worthy of the name of sympathy—evidence of + that mysterious concrete tenacity which renders a family so formidable a + unit of society, so clear a reproduction of society in miniature. He has + been admitted to a vision of the dim roads of social progress, has + understood something of patriarchal life, of the swarmings of savage + hordes, of the rise and fall of nations. He is like one who, having + watched a tree grow from its planting—a paragon of tenacity, + insulation, and success, amidst the deaths of a hundred other plants less + fibrous, sappy, and persistent—one day will see it flourishing with + bland, full foliage, in an almost repugnant prosperity, at the summit of + its efflorescence. + </p> + <p> + On June 15, eighteen eighty-six, about four of the afternoon, the observer + who chanced to be present at the house of old Jolyon Forsyte in Stanhope + Gate, might have seen the highest efflorescence of the Forsytes. + </p> + <p> + This was the occasion of an “at home” to celebrate the + engagement of Miss June Forsyte, old Jolyon’s granddaughter, to Mr. + Philip Bosinney. In the bravery of light gloves, buff waistcoats, feathers + and frocks, the family were present, even Aunt Ann, who now but seldom + left the corner of her brother Timothy’s green drawing-room, where, + under the aegis of a plume of dyed pampas grass in a light blue vase, she + sat all day reading and knitting, surrounded by the effigies of three + generations of Forsytes. Even Aunt Ann was there; her inflexible back, and + the dignity of her calm old face personifying the rigid possessiveness of + the family idea. + </p> + <p> + When a Forsyte was engaged, married, or born, the Forsytes were present; + when a Forsyte died—but no Forsyte had as yet died; they did not + die; death being contrary to their principles, they took precautions + against it, the instinctive precautions of highly vitalized persons who + resent encroachments on their property. + </p> + <p> + About the Forsytes mingling that day with the crowd of other guests, there + was a more than ordinarily groomed look, an alert, inquisitive assurance, + a brilliant respectability, as though they were attired in defiance of + something. The habitual sniff on the face of Soames Forsyte had spread + through their ranks; they were on their guard. + </p> + <p> + The subconscious offensiveness of their attitude has constituted old + Jolyon’s “home” the psychological moment of the family + history, made it the prelude of their drama. + </p> + <p> + The Forsytes were resentful of something, not individually, but as a + family; this resentment expressed itself in an added perfection of + raiment, an exuberance of family cordiality, an exaggeration of family + importance, and—the sniff. Danger—so indispensable in bringing + out the fundamental quality of any society, group, or individual—was + what the Forsytes scented; the premonition of danger put a burnish on + their armour. For the first time, as a family, they appeared to have an + instinct of being in contact, with some strange and unsafe thing. + </p> + <p> + Over against the piano a man of bulk and stature was wearing two + waistcoats on his wide chest, two waistcoats and a ruby pin, instead of + the single satin waistcoat and diamond pin of more usual occasions, and + his shaven, square, old face, the colour of pale leather, with pale eyes, + had its most dignified look, above his satin stock. This was Swithin + Forsyte. Close to the window, where he could get more than his fair share + of fresh air, the other twin, James—the fat and the lean of it, old + Jolyon called these brothers—like the bulky Swithin, over six feet + in height, but very lean, as though destined from his birth to strike a + balance and maintain an average, brooded over the scene with his permanent + stoop; his grey eyes had an air of fixed absorption in some secret worry, + broken at intervals by a rapid, shifting scrutiny of surrounding facts; + his cheeks, thinned by two parallel folds, and a long, clean-shaven upper + lip, were framed within Dundreary whiskers. In his hands he turned and + turned a piece of china. Not far off, listening to a lady in brown, his + only son Soames, pale and well-shaved, dark-haired, rather bald, had poked + his chin up sideways, carrying his nose with that aforesaid appearance of + “sniff,” as though despising an egg which he knew he could not + digest. Behind him his cousin, the tall George, son of the fifth Forsyte, + Roger, had a Quilpish look on his fleshy face, pondering one of his + sardonic jests. Something inherent to the occasion had affected them all. + </p> + <p> + Seated in a row close to one another were three ladies—Aunts Ann, + Hester (the two Forsyte maids), and Juley (short for Julia), who not in + first youth had so far forgotten herself as to marry Septimus Small, a man + of poor constitution. She had survived him for many years. With her elder + and younger sister she lived now in the house of Timothy, her sixth and + youngest brother, on the Bayswater Road. Each of these ladies held fans in + their hands, and each with some touch of colour, some emphatic feather or + brooch, testified to the solemnity of the opportunity. + </p> + <p> + In the centre of the room, under the chandelier, as became a host, stood + the head of the family, old Jolyon himself. Eighty years of age, with his + fine, white hair, his dome-like forehead, his little, dark grey eyes, and + an immense white moustache, which drooped and spread below the level of + his strong jaw, he had a patriarchal look, and in spite of lean cheeks and + hollows at his temples, seemed master of perennial youth. He held himself + extremely upright, and his shrewd, steady eyes had lost none of their + clear shining. Thus he gave an impression of superiority to the doubts and + dislikes of smaller men. Having had his own way for innumerable years, he + had earned a prescriptive right to it. It would never have occurred to old + Jolyon that it was necessary to wear a look of doubt or of defiance. + </p> + <p> + Between him and the four other brothers who were present, James, Swithin, + Nicholas, and Roger, there was much difference, much similarity. In turn, + each of these four brothers was very different from the other, yet they, + too, were alike. + </p> + <p> + Through the varying features and expression of those five faces could be + marked a certain steadfastness of chin, underlying surface distinctions, + marking a racial stamp, too prehistoric to trace, too remote and permanent + to discuss—the very hall-mark and guarantee of the family fortunes. + </p> + <p> + Among the younger generation, in the tall, bull-like George, in pallid + strenuous Archibald, in young Nicholas with his sweet and tentative + obstinacy, in the grave and foppishly determined Eustace, there was this + same stamp—less meaningful perhaps, but unmistakable—a sign of + something ineradicable in the family soul. At one time or another during + the afternoon, all these faces, so dissimilar and so alike, had worn an + expression of distrust, the object of which was undoubtedly the man whose + acquaintance they were thus assembled to make. Philip Bosinney was known + to be a young man without fortune, but Forsyte girls had become engaged to + such before, and had actually married them. It was not altogether for this + reason, therefore, that the minds of the Forsytes misgave them. They could + not have explained the origin of a misgiving obscured by the mist of + family gossip. A story was undoubtedly told that he had paid his duty call + to Aunts Ann, Juley, and Hester, in a soft grey hat—a soft grey hat, + not even a new one—a dusty thing with a shapeless crown. “So, + extraordinary, my dear—so odd,” Aunt Hester, passing through + the little, dark hall (she was rather short-sighted), had tried to “shoo” + it off a chair, taking it for a strange, disreputable cat—Tommy had + such disgraceful friends! She was disturbed when it did not move. + </p> + <p> + Like an artist for ever seeking to discover the significant trifle which + embodies the whole character of a scene, or place, or person, so those + unconscious artists—the Forsytes had fastened by intuition on this + hat; it was their significant trifle, the detail in which was embedded the + meaning of the whole matter; for each had asked himself: “Come, now, + should <i>I</i> have paid that visit in that hat?” and each had answered + “No!” and some, with more imagination than others, had added: + “It would never have come into my head!” + </p> + <p> + George, on hearing the story, grinned. The hat had obviously been worn as + a practical joke! He himself was a connoisseur of such. “Very + haughty!” he said, “the wild Buccaneer.” + </p> + <p> + And this mot, the “Buccaneer,” was bandied from mouth to + mouth, till it became the favourite mode of alluding to Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + Her aunts reproached June afterwards about the hat. + </p> + <p> + “We don’t think you ought to let him, dear!” they had + said. + </p> + <p> + June had answered in her imperious brisk way, like the little embodiment + of will she was: “Oh! what does it matter? Phil never knows what he’s + got on!” + </p> + <p> + No one had credited an answer so outrageous. A man not to know what he had + on? No, no! What indeed was this young man, who, in becoming engaged to + June, old Jolyon’s acknowledged heiress, had done so well for + himself? He was an architect, not in itself a sufficient reason for + wearing such a hat. None of the Forsytes happened to be architects, but + one of them knew two architects who would never have worn such a hat upon + a call of ceremony in the London season. + </p> + <p> + Dangerous—ah, dangerous! June, of course, had not seen this, but, + though not yet nineteen, she was notorious. Had she not said to Mrs. + Soames—who was always so beautifully dressed—that feathers + were vulgar? Mrs. Soames had actually given up wearing feathers, so + dreadfully downright was dear June! + </p> + <p> + These misgivings, this disapproval, and perfectly genuine distrust, did + not prevent the Forsytes from gathering to old Jolyon’s invitation. + An “At Home” at Stanhope Gate was a great rarity; none had + been held for twelve years, not indeed, since old Mrs. Jolyon had died. + </p> + <p> + Never had there been so full an assembly, for, mysteriously united in + spite of all their differences, they had taken arms against a common + peril. Like cattle when a dog comes into the field, they stood head to + head and shoulder to shoulder, prepared to run upon and trample the + invader to death. They had come, too, no doubt, to get some notion of what + sort of presents they would ultimately be expected to give; for though the + question of wedding gifts was usually graduated in this way: “What + are <i>you</i> givin’. Nicholas is givin’ spoons!”—so + very much depended on the bridegroom. If he were sleek, well-brushed, + prosperous-looking, it was more necessary to give him nice things; he + would expect them. In the end each gave exactly what was right and proper, + by a species of family adjustment arrived at as prices are arrived at on + the Stock Exchange—the exact niceties being regulated at Timothy’s + commodious, red-brick residence in Bayswater, overlooking the Park, where + dwelt Aunts Ann, Juley, and Hester. + </p> + <p> + The uneasiness of the Forsyte family has been justified by the simple + mention of the hat. How impossible and wrong would it have been for any + family, with the regard for appearances which should ever characterize the + great upper middle-class, to feel otherwise than uneasy! + </p> + <p> + The author of the uneasiness stood talking to June by the further door; + his curly hair had a rumpled appearance, as though he found what was going + on around him unusual. He had an air, too, of having a joke all to + himself. George, speaking aside to his brother, Eustace, said: + </p> + <p> + “Looks as if he might make a bolt of it—the dashing Buccaneer!” + </p> + <p> + This “very singular-looking man,” as Mrs. Small afterwards + called him, was of medium height and strong build, with a pale, brown + face, a dust-coloured moustache, very prominent cheek-bones, and hollow + checks. His forehead sloped back towards the crown of his head, and bulged + out in bumps over the eyes, like foreheads seen in the Lion-house at the + Zoo. He had sherry-coloured eyes, disconcertingly inattentive at times. + Old Jolyon’s coachman, after driving June and Bosinney to the + theatre, had remarked to the butler: + </p> + <p> + “I dunno what to make of ’im. Looks to me for all the world + like an ’alf-tame leopard.” And every now and then a Forsyte + would come up, sidle round, and take a look at him. + </p> + <p> + June stood in front, fending off this idle curiosity—a little bit of + a thing, as somebody once said, “all hair and spirit,” with + fearless blue eyes, a firm jaw, and a bright colour, whose face and body + seemed too slender for her crown of red-gold hair. + </p> + <p> + A tall woman, with a beautiful figure, which some member of the family had + once compared to a heathen goddess, stood looking at these two with a + shadowy smile. + </p> + <p> + Her hands, gloved in French grey, were crossed one over the other, her + grave, charming face held to one side, and the eyes of all men near were + fastened on it. Her figure swayed, so balanced that the very air seemed to + set it moving. There was warmth, but little colour, in her cheeks; her + large, dark eyes were soft. + </p> + <p> + But it was at her lips—asking a question, giving an answer, with + that shadowy smile—that men looked; they were sensitive lips, + sensuous and sweet, and through them seemed to come warmth and perfume + like the warmth and perfume of a flower. + </p> + <p> + The engaged couple thus scrutinized were unconscious of this passive + goddess. It was Bosinney who first noticed her, and asked her name. + </p> + <p> + June took her lover up to the woman with the beautiful figure. + </p> + <p> + “Irene is my greatest chum,” she said: “Please be good + friends, you two!” + </p> + <p> + At the little lady’s command they all three smiled; and while they + were smiling, Soames Forsyte, silently appearing from behind the woman + with the beautiful figure, who was his wife, said: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! introduce me too!” + </p> + <p> + He was seldom, indeed, far from Irene’s side at public functions, + and even when separated by the exigencies of social intercourse, could be + seen following her about with his eyes, in which were strange expressions + of watchfulness and longing. + </p> + <p> + At the window his father, James, was still scrutinizing the marks on the + piece of china. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder at Jolyon’s allowing this engagement,” he said + to Aunt Ann. “They tell me there’s no chance of their getting + married for years. This young Bosinney” (he made the word a dactyl + in opposition to general usage of a short o) “has got nothing. When + Winifred married Dartie, I made him bring every penny into settlement—lucky + thing, too—they’d ha’ had nothing by this time!” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Ann looked up from her velvet chair. Grey curls banded her forehead, + curls that, unchanged for decades, had extinguished in the family all + sense of time. She made no reply, for she rarely spoke, husbanding her + aged voice; but to James, uneasy of conscience, her look was as good as an + answer. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “I couldn’t help Irene’s + having no money. Soames was in such a hurry; he got quite thin dancing + attendance on her.” + </p> + <p> + Putting the bowl pettishly down on the piano, he let his eyes wander to + the group by the door. + </p> + <p> + “It’s my opinion,” he said unexpectedly, “that it’s + just as well as it is.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Ann did not ask him to explain this strange utterance. She knew what + he was thinking. If Irene had no money she would not be so foolish as to + do anything wrong; for they said—they said—she had been asking + for a separate room; but, of course, Soames had not.... + </p> + <p> + James interrupted her reverie: + </p> + <p> + “But where,” he asked, “was Timothy? Hadn’t he + come with them?” + </p> + <p> + Through Aunt Ann’s compressed lips a tender smile forced its way: + </p> + <p> + “No, he didn’t think it wise, with so much of this diphtheria + about; and he so liable to take things.” + </p> + <p> + James answered: + </p> + <p> + “Well, <i>he</i> takes good care of himself. I can’t afford to take + the care of myself that he does.” + </p> + <p> + Nor was it easy to say which, of admiration, envy, or contempt, was + dominant in that remark. + </p> + <p> + Timothy, indeed, was seldom seen. The baby of the family, a publisher by + profession, he had some years before, when business was at full tide, + scented out the stagnation which, indeed, had not yet come, but which + ultimately, as all agreed, was bound to set in, and, selling his share in + a firm engaged mainly in the production of religious books, had invested + the quite conspicuous proceeds in three per cent. consols. By this act he + had at once assumed an isolated position, no other Forsyte being content + with less than four per cent. for his money; and this isolation had slowly + and surely undermined a spirit perhaps better than commonly endowed with + caution. He had become almost a myth—a kind of incarnation of + security haunting the background of the Forsyte universe. He had never + committed the imprudence of marrying, or encumbering himself in any way + with children. + </p> + <p> + James resumed, tapping the piece of china: + </p> + <p> + “This isn’t real old Worcester. I s’pose Jolyon’s + told you something about the young man. From all <i>I</i> can learn, he’s + got no business, no income, and no connection worth speaking of; but then, + I know nothing—nobody tells me anything.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Ann shook her head. Over her square-chinned, aquiline old face a + trembling passed; the spidery fingers of her hands pressed against each + other and interlaced, as though she were subtly recharging her will. + </p> + <p> + The eldest by some years of all the Forsytes, she held a peculiar position + amongst them. Opportunists and egotists one and all—though not, + indeed, more so than their neighbours—they quailed before her + incorruptible figure, and, when opportunities were too strong, what could + they do but avoid her! + </p> + <p> + Twisting his long, thin legs, James went on: + </p> + <p> + “Jolyon, he will have his own way. He’s got no children”—and + stopped, recollecting the continued existence of old Jolyon’s son, + young Jolyon, Jun’s father, who had made such a mess of it, and + done for himself by deserting his wife and child and running away with + that foreign governess. “Well,” he resumed hastily, “if + he likes to do these things, I s’pose he can afford to. Now, what’s + he going to give her? I s’pose he’ll give her a thousand a + year; he’s got nobody else to leave his money to.” + </p> + <p> + He stretched out his hand to meet that of a dapper, clean-shaven man, with + hardly a hair on his head, a long, broken nose, full lips, and cold grey + eyes under rectangular brows. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Nick,” he muttered, “how are you?” + </p> + <p> + Nicholas Forsyte, with his bird-like rapidity and the look of a + preternaturally sage schoolboy (he had made a large fortune, quite + legitimately, out of the companies of which he was a director), placed + within that cold palm the tips of his still colder fingers and hastily + withdrew them. + </p> + <p> + “I’m bad,” he said, pouting—“been bad all + the week; don’t sleep at night. The doctor can’t tell why. He’s + a clever fellow, or I shouldn’t have him, but I get nothing out of + him but bills.” + </p> + <p> + “Doctors!” said James, coming down sharp on his words: “<i>I’ve</i> + had all the doctors in London for one or another of us. There’s no + satisfaction to be got out of <i>them;</i> they’ll tell you anything. There’s + Swithin, now. What good have they done him? There he is; he’s bigger + than ever; he’s enormous; they can’t get his weight down. Look + at him!” + </p> + <p> + Swithin Forsyte, tall, square, and broad, with a chest like a pouter + pigeon’s in its plumage of bright waistcoats, came strutting towards + them. + </p> + <p> + “Er—how are you?” he said in his dandified way, + aspirating the “h” strongly (this difficult letter was almost + absolutely safe in his keeping)—“how are you?” + </p> + <p> + Each brother wore an air of aggravation as he looked at the other two, + knowing by experience that they would try to eclipse his ailments. + </p> + <p> + “We were just saying,” said James, “that you don’t + get any thinner.” + </p> + <p> + Swithin protruded his pale round eyes with the effort of hearing. + </p> + <p> + “Thinner? I’m in good case,” he said, leaning a little + forward, “not one of your thread-papers like you!” + </p> + <p> + But, afraid of losing the expansion of his chest, he leaned back again + into a state of immobility, for he prized nothing so highly as a + distinguished appearance. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Ann turned her old eyes from one to the other. Indulgent and severe + was her look. In turn the three brothers looked at Ann. She was getting + shaky. Wonderful woman! Eighty-six if a day; might live another ten years, + and had never been strong. Swithin and James, the twins, were only + seventy-five, Nicholas a mere baby of seventy or so. All were strong, and + the inference was comforting. Of all forms of property their respective + healths naturally concerned them most. + </p> + <p> + “I’m very well in myself,” proceeded James, “but + my nerves are out of order. The least thing worries me to death. I shall + have to go to Bath.” + </p> + <p> + “Bath!” said Nicholas. “I’ve tried Harrogate. <i>That’s</i> + no good. What I want is sea air. There’s nothing like Yarmouth. Now, + when I go there I sleep....” + </p> + <p> + “My liver’s very bad,” interrupted Swithin slowly. + “Dreadful pain here;” and he placed his hand on his right + side. + </p> + <p> + “Want of exercise,” muttered James, his eyes on the china. He + quickly added: “I get a pain there, too.” + </p> + <p> + Swithin reddened, a resemblance to a turkey-cock coming upon his old face. + </p> + <p> + “Exercise!” he said. “I take plenty: I never use the + lift at the Club.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know,” James hurried out. “I know + nothing about anybody; nobody tells me anything....” + </p> + <p> + Swithin fixed him with a stare: + </p> + <p> + “What do you do for a pain there?” + </p> + <p> + James brightened. + </p> + <p> + “I take a compound....” + </p> + <p> + “How are you, uncle?” + </p> + <p> + June stood before him, her resolute small face raised from her little + height to his great height, and her hand outheld. + </p> + <p> + The brightness faded from James’s visage. + </p> + <p> + “How are you?” he said, brooding over her. “So you’re + going to Wales to-morrow to visit your young man’s aunts? You’ll + have a lot of rain there. This isn’t real old Worcester.” He + tapped the bowl. “Now, that set I gave your mother when she married + was the genuine thing.” + </p> + <p> + June shook hands one by one with her three great-uncles, and turned to + Aunt Ann. A very sweet look had come into the old lady’s face, she + kissed the girl’s check with trembling fervour. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” she said, “and so you’re going + for a whole month!” + </p> + <p> + The girl passed on, and Aunt Ann looked after her slim little figure. The + old lady’s round, steel grey eyes, over which a film like a bird’s + was beginning to come, followed her wistfully amongst the bustling crowd, + for people were beginning to say good-bye; and her finger-tips, pressing + and pressing against each other, were busy again with the recharging of + her will against that inevitable ultimate departure of her own. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she thought, “everybody’s been most kind; + quite a lot of people come to congratulate her. She ought to be very + happy.” Amongst the throng of people by the door, the well-dressed + throng drawn from the families of lawyers and doctors, from the Stock + Exchange, and all the innumerable avocations of the upper-middle class—there + were only some twenty percent of Forsytes; but to Aunt Ann they seemed all + Forsytes—and certainly there was not much difference—she saw + only her own flesh and blood. It was her world, this family, and she knew + no other, had never perhaps known any other. All their little secrets, + illnesses, engagements, and marriages, how they were getting on, and + whether they were making money—all this was her property, her + delight, her life; beyond this only a vague, shadowy mist of facts and + persons of no real significance. This it was that she would have to lay + down when it came to her turn to die; this which gave to her that + importance, that secret self-importance, without which none of us can bear + to live; and to this she clung wistfully, with a greed that grew each day! + If life were slipping away from her, <i>this</i> she would retain to the end. + </p> + <p> + She thought of Jun’s father, young Jolyon, who had run away with + that foreign girl. And what a sad blow to his father and to them all. Such + a promising young fellow! A sad blow, though there had been no public + scandal, most fortunately, Jo’s wife seeking for no divorce! A long + time ago! And when Jun’s mother died, six years ago, Jo had married + that woman, and they had two children now, so she had heard. Still, he had + forfeited his right to be there, had cheated her of the complete + fulfilment of her family pride, deprived her of the rightful pleasure of + seeing and kissing him of whom she had been so proud, such a promising + young fellow! The thought rankled with the bitterness of a long-inflicted + injury in her tenacious old heart. A little water stood in her eyes. With + a handkerchief of the finest lawn she wiped them stealthily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Aunt Ann?” said a voice behind. + </p> + <p> + Soames Forsyte, flat-shouldered, clean-shaven, flat-cheeked, flat-waisted, + yet with something round and secret about his whole appearance, looked + downwards and aslant at Aunt Ann, as though trying to see through the side + of his own nose. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think of the engagement?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Ann’s eyes rested on him proudly; of all the nephews since + young Jolyon’s departure from the family nest, he was now her + favourite, for she recognised in him a sure trustee of the family soul + that must so soon slip beyond her keeping. + </p> + <p> + “Very nice for the young man,” she said; “and he’s + a good-looking young fellow; but I doubt if he’s quite the right + lover for dear June.” + </p> + <p> + Soames touched the edge of a gold-lacquered lustre. + </p> + <p> + “She’ll tame him,” he said, stealthily wetting his + finger and rubbing it on the knobby bulbs. “That’s genuine old + lacquer; you can’t get it nowadays. It’d do well in a sale at + Jobson’s.” He spoke with relish, as though he felt that he was + cheering up his old aunt. It was seldom he was so confidential. “I + wouldn’t mind having it myself,” he added; “you can + always get your price for old lacquer.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re so clever with all those things,” said Aunt Ann. + “And how is dear Irene?” + </p> + <p> + Soames’s smile died. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty well,” he said. “Complains she can’t + sleep; she sleeps a great deal better than I do,” and he looked at + his wife, who was talking to Bosinney by the door. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Ann sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” she said, “it will be just as well for her + not to see so much of June. She’s such a decided character, dear + June!” + </p> + <p> + Soames flushed; his flushes passed rapidly over his flat cheeks and + centered between his eyes, where they remained, the stamp of disturbing + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what she sees in that little flibbertigibbet,” + he burst out, but noticing that they were no longer alone, he turned and + again began examining the lustre. + </p> + <p> + “They tell me Jolyon’s bought another house,” said his + father’s voice close by; “he must have a lot of money—he + must have more money than he knows what to do with! Montpellier Square, + they say; close to Soames! They never told me, Irene never tells me + anything!” + </p> + <p> + “Capital position, not two minutes from me,” said the voice of + Swithin, “and from my rooms I can drive to the Club in eight.” + </p> + <p> + The position of their houses was of vital importance to the Forsytes, nor + was this remarkable, since the whole spirit of their success was embodied + therein. + </p> + <p> + Their father, of farming stock, had come from Dorsetshire near the + beginning of the century. + </p> + <p> + “Superior Dosset Forsyte,” as he was called by his intimates, had + been a stonemason by trade, and risen to the position of a master-builder. + </p> + <p> + Towards the end of his life he moved to London, where, building on until + he died, he was buried at Highgate. He left over thirty thousand pounds + between his ten children. Old Jolyon alluded to him, if at all, as “A + hard, thick sort of man; not much refinement about him.” The second + generation of Forsytes felt indeed that he was not greatly to their + credit. The only aristocratic trait they could find in his character was a + habit of drinking Madeira. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hester, an authority on family history, described him thus: “I + don’t recollect that he ever did anything; at least, not in my time. + He was er—an owner of houses, my dear. His hair about your Uncle + Swithin’s colour; rather a square build. Tall? No—not very + tall” (he had been five feet five, with a mottled face); “a + fresh-coloured man. I remember he used to drink Madeira; but ask your Aunt + Ann. What was <i>his</i> father? He—er—had to do with the land down + in Dorsetshire, by the sea.” + </p> + <p> + James once went down to see for himself what sort of place this was that + they had come from. He found two old farms, with a cart track rutted into + the pink earth, leading down to a mill by the beach; a little grey church + with a buttressed outer wall, and a smaller and greyer chapel. The stream + which worked the mill came bubbling down in a dozen rivulets, and pigs + were hunting round that estuary. A haze hovered over the prospect. Down + this hollow, with their feet deep in the mud and their faces towards the + sea, it appeared that the primeval Forsytes had been content to walk + Sunday after Sunday for hundreds of years. + </p> + <p> + Whether or no James had cherished hopes of an inheritance, or of something + rather distinguished to be found down there, he came back to town in a + poor way, and went about with a pathetic attempt at making the best of a + bad job. + </p> + <p> + “There’s very little to be had out of that,” he said; + “regular country little place, old as the hills....” + </p> + <p> + Its age was felt to be a comfort. Old Jolyon, in whom a desperate honesty + welled up at times, would allude to his ancestors as: “Yeomen—I + suppose very small beer.” Yet he would repeat the word “yeomen” + as if it afforded him consolation. + </p> + <p> + They had all done so well for themselves, these Forsytes, that they were + all what is called “of a certain position.” They had shares in + all sorts of things, not as yet—with the exception of Timothy—in + consols, for they had no dread in life like that of 3 per cent. for their + money. They collected pictures, too, and were supporters of such + charitable institutions as might be beneficial to their sick domestics. + From their father, the builder, they inherited a talent for bricks and + mortar. Originally, perhaps, members of some primitive sect, they were now + in the natural course of things members of the Church of England, and + caused their wives and children to attend with some regularity the more + fashionable churches of the Metropolis. To have doubted their Christianity + would have caused them both pain and surprise. Some of them paid for pews, + thus expressing in the most practical form their sympathy with the + teachings of Christ. + </p> + <p> + Their residences, placed at stated intervals round the park, watched like + sentinels, lest the fair heart of this London, where their desires were + fixed, should slip from their clutches, and leave them lower in their own + estimations. + </p> + <p> + There was old Jolyon in Stanhope Place; the Jameses in Park Lane; Swithin + in the lonely glory of orange and blue chambers in Hyde Park Mansions—he + had never married, not he—the Soamses in their nest off + Knightsbridge; the Rogers in Prince’s Gardens (Roger was that + remarkable Forsyte who had conceived and carried out the notion of + bringing up his four sons to a new profession. “Collect house + property, nothing like it,” he would say; “<i>I</i> never did + anything else”). + </p> + <p> + The Haymans again—Mrs. Hayman was the one married Forsyte sister—in + a house high up on Campden Hill, shaped like a giraffe, and so tall that + it gave the observer a crick in the neck; the Nicholases in Ladbroke + Grove, a spacious abode and a great bargain; and last, but not least, + Timothy’s on the Bayswater Road, where Ann, and Juley, and Hester, + lived under his protection. + </p> + <p> + But all this time James was musing, and now he inquired of his host and + brother what he had given for that house in Montpellier Square. He himself + had had his eye on a house there for the last two years, but they wanted + such a price. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon recounted the details of his purchase. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-two years to run?” repeated James; “The very + house I was after—you’ve given too much for it!” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon frowned. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not that I want it,” said James hastily; “it + wouldn’t suit my purpose at that price. Soames knows the house, well—he’ll + tell you it’s too dear—his opinion’s worth having.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t,” said old Jolyon, “care a fig for his + opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” murmured James, “you <i>will</i> have your own way—it’s + a good opinion. Good-bye! We’re going to drive down to Hurlingham. + They tell me Jun’s going to Wales. You’ll be lonely tomorrow. + What’ll you do with yourself? You’d better come and dine with + us!” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon refused. He went down to the front door and saw them into their + barouche, and twinkled at them, having already forgotten his spleen—Mrs. + James facing the horses, tall and majestic with auburn hair; on her left, + Irene—the two husbands, father and son, sitting forward, as though + they expected something, opposite their wives. Bobbing and bounding upon + the spring cushions, silent, swaying to each motion of their chariot, old + Jolyon watched them drive away under the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + During the drive the silence was broken by Mrs. James. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever see such a collection of rumty-too people?” + </p> + <p> + Soames, glancing at her beneath his eyelids, nodded, and he saw Irene + steal at him one of her unfathomable looks. It is likely enough that each + branch of the Forsyte family made that remark as they drove away from old + Jolyon’s “At Home!” + </p> + <p> + Amongst the last of the departing guests the fourth and fifth brothers, + Nicholas and Roger, walked away together, directing their steps alongside + Hyde Park towards the Praed Street Station of the Underground. Like all + other Forsytes of a certain age they kept carriages of their own, and + never took cabs if by any means they could avoid it. + </p> + <p> + The day was bright, the trees of the Park in the full beauty of mid-June + foliage; the brothers did not seem to notice phenomena, which contributed, + nevertheless, to the jauntiness of promenade and conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Roger, “she’s a good-lookin’ + woman, that wife of Soames’. I’m told they don’t get on.” + </p> + <p> + This brother had a high forehead, and the freshest colour of any of the + Forsytes; his light grey eyes measured the street frontage of the houses + by the way, and now and then he would level his, umbrella and take a + “lunar,” as he expressed it, of the varying heights. + </p> + <p> + “She’d no money,” replied Nicholas. + </p> + <p> + He himself had married a good deal of money, of which, it being then the + golden age before the Married Women’s Property Act, he had + mercifully been enabled to make a successful use. + </p> + <p> + “What was her father?” + </p> + <p> + “Heron was his name, a Professor, so they tell me.” + </p> + <p> + Roger shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no money in that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “They say her mother’s father was cement.” + </p> + <p> + Roger’s face brightened. + </p> + <p> + “But he went bankrupt,” went on Nicholas. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” exclaimed Roger, “Soames will have trouble with + her; you mark my words, he’ll have trouble—she’s got a + foreign look.” + </p> + <p> + Nicholas licked his lips. + </p> + <p> + “She’s a pretty woman,” and he waved aside a + crossing-sweeper. + </p> + <p> + “How did he get hold of her?” asked Roger presently. “She + must cost him a pretty penny in dress!” + </p> + <p> + “Ann tells me,” replied Nicholas, “he was half-cracked + about her. She refused him five times. James, he’s nervous about it, + I can see.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Roger again; “I’m sorry for James; he + had trouble with Dartie.” His pleasant colour was heightened by + exercise, he swung his umbrella to the level of his eye more frequently + than ever. Nicholas’s face also wore a pleasant look. + </p> + <p> + “Too pale for me,” he said, “but her figures capital!” + </p> + <p> + Roger made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “I call her distinguished-looking,” he said at last—it + was the highest praise in the Forsyte vocabulary. “That young + Bosinney will never do any good for himself. They say at Burkitt’s + he’s one of these artistic chaps—got an idea of improving + English architecture; there’s no money in that! I should like to + hear what Timothy would say to it.” + </p> + <p> + They entered the station. + </p> + <p> + “What class are you going? I go second.” + </p> + <p> + “No second for me,” said Nicholas;—“you never know + what you may catch.” + </p> + <p> + He took a first-class ticket to Notting Hill Gate; Roger a second to South + Kensington. The train coming in a minute later, the two brothers parted + and entered their respective compartments. Each felt aggrieved that the + other had not modified his habits to secure his society a little longer; + but as Roger voiced it in his thoughts: + </p> + <p> + “Always a stubborn beggar, Nick!” + </p> + <p> + And as Nicholas expressed it to himself: + </p> + <p> + “Cantankerous chap Roger—always was!” + </p> + <p> + There was little sentimentality about the Forsytes. In that great London, + which they had conquered and become merged in, what time had they to be + sentimental? + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"></a> + CHAPTER II<br/>OLD JOLYON GOES TO THE OPERA + </h2> + <p> + At five o’clock the following day old Jolyon sat alone, a cigar + between his lips, and on a table by his side a cup of tea. He was tired, + and before he had finished his cigar he fell asleep. A fly settled on his + hair, his breathing sounded heavy in the drowsy silence, his upper lip + under the white moustache puffed in and out. From between the fingers of + his veined and wrinkled hand the cigar, dropping on the empty hearth, + burned itself out. + </p> + <p> + The gloomy little study, with windows of stained glass to exclude the + view, was full of dark green velvet and heavily-carved mahogany—a + suite of which old Jolyon was wont to say: “Shouldn’t wonder + if it made a big price some day!” + </p> + <p> + It was pleasant to think that in the after life he could get more for + things than he had given. + </p> + <p> + In the rich brown atmosphere peculiar to back rooms in the mansion of a + Forsyte, the Rembrandtesque effect of his great head, with its white hair, + against the cushion of his high-backed seat, was spoiled by the moustache, + which imparted a somewhat military look to his face. An old clock that had + been with him since before his marriage forty years ago kept with its + ticking a jealous record of the seconds slipping away forever from its old + master. + </p> + <p> + He had never cared for this room, hardly going into it from one year’s + end to another, except to take cigars from the Japanese cabinet in the + corner, and the room now had its revenge. + </p> + <p> + His temples, curving like thatches over the hollows beneath, his + cheek-bones and chin, all were sharpened in his sleep, and there had come + upon his face the confession that he was an old man. + </p> + <p> + He woke. June had gone! James had said he would be lonely. James had + always been a poor thing. He recollected with satisfaction that he had + bought that house over James’s head. + </p> + <p> + Serve him right for sticking at the price; the only thing the fellow + thought of was money. Had he given too much, though? It wanted a lot of + doing to—He dared say he would want all his money before he had done + with this affair of Jun’s. He ought never to have allowed the + engagement. She had met this Bosinney at the house of Baynes, Baynes and + Bildeboy, the architects. He believed that Baynes, whom he knew—a + bit of an old woman—was the young man’s uncle by marriage. + After that she’d been always running after him; and when she took a + thing into her head there was no stopping her. She was continually taking + up with “lame ducks” of one sort or another. This fellow had + no money, but she must needs become engaged to him—a harumscarum, + unpractical chap, who would get himself into no end of difficulties. + </p> + <p> + She had come to him one day in her slap-dash way and told him; and, as if + it were any consolation, she had added: + </p> + <p> + “He’s so splendid; he’s often lived on cocoa for a week!” + </p> + <p> + “And he wants you to live on cocoa too?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no; he is getting into the swim now.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon had taken his cigar from under his white moustaches, stained by + coffee at the edge, and looked at her, that little slip of a thing who had + got such a grip of his heart. He knew more about “swims” than + his granddaughter. But she, having clasped her hands on his knees, rubbed + her chin against him, making a sound like a purring cat. And, knocking the + ash off his cigar, he had exploded in nervous desperation: + </p> + <p> + “You’re all alike: you won’t be satisfied till you’ve + got what you want. If you must come to grief, you must; <i>I</i> wash my hands of + it.” + </p> + <p> + So, he had washed his hands of it, making the condition that they should + not marry until Bosinney had at least four hundred a year. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> shan’t be able to give you very much,” he had said, a + formula to which June was not unaccustomed. “Perhaps this What’s-his-name + will provide the cocoa.” + </p> + <p> + He had hardly seen anything of her since it began. A bad business! He had + no notion of giving her a lot of money to enable a fellow he knew nothing + about to live on in idleness. He had seen that sort of thing before; no + good ever came of it. Worst of all, he had no hope of shaking her + resolution; she was as obstinate as a mule, always had been from a child. + He didn’t see where it was to end. They must cut their coat + according to their cloth. He would not give way till he saw young Bosinney + with an income of his own. That June would have trouble with the fellow + was as plain as a pikestaff; he had no more idea of money than a cow. As + to this rushing down to Wales to visit the young man’s aunts, he + fully expected they were old cats. + </p> + <p> + And, motionless, old Jolyon stared at the wall; but for his open eyes, he + might have been asleep.... The idea of supposing that young cub Soames + could give him advice! He had always been a cub, with his nose in the air! + He would be setting up as a man of property next, with a place in the + country! A man of property! H’mph! Like his father, he was always + nosing out bargains, a cold-blooded young beggar! + </p> + <p> + He rose, and, going to the cabinet, began methodically stocking his + cigar-case from a bundle fresh in. They were not bad at the price, but you + couldn’t get a good cigar, nowadays, nothing to hold a candle to + those old Superfinos of Hanson and Bridger’s. <i>That</i> was a cigar! + </p> + <p> + The thought, like some stealing perfume, carried him back to those + wonderful nights at Richmond when after dinner he sat smoking on the + terrace of the Crown and Sceptre with Nicholas Treffry and Traquair and + Jack Herring and Anthony Thornworthy. How good his cigars were then! Poor + old Nick!—dead, and Jack Herring—dead, and Traquair—dead + of that wife of his, and Thornworthy—awfully shaky (no wonder, with + his appetite). + </p> + <p> + Of all the company of those days he himself alone seemed left, except + Swithin, of course, and he so outrageously big there was no doing anything + with him. + </p> + <p> + Difficult to believe it was so long ago; he felt young still! Of all his + thoughts, as he stood there counting his cigars, this was the most + poignant, the most bitter. With his white head and his loneliness he had + remained young and green at heart. And those Sunday afternoons on + Hampstead Heath, when young Jolyon and he went for a stretch along the + Spaniard’s Road to Highgate, to Child’s Hill, and back over + the Heath again to dine at Jack Straw’s Castle—how delicious + his cigars were then! And such weather! There was no weather now. + </p> + <p> + When June was a toddler of five, and every other Sunday he took her to the + Zoo, away from the society of those two good women, her mother and her + grandmother, and at the top of the bear den baited his umbrella with buns + for her favourite bears, how sweet his cigars were then! + </p> + <p> + Cigars! He had not even succeeded in out-living his palate—the + famous palate that in the fifties men swore by, and speaking of him, said: + “Forsyte’s the best palate in London!” The palate that + in a sense had made his fortune—the fortune of the celebrated tea + men, Forsyte and Treffry, whose tea, like no other man’s tea, had a + romantic aroma, the charm of a quite singular genuineness. About the house + of Forsyte and Treffry in the City had clung an air of enterprise and + mystery, of special dealings in special ships, at special ports, with + special Orientals. + </p> + <p> + He had worked at that business! Men did work in those days! these young + pups hardly knew the meaning of the word. He had gone into every detail, + known everything that went on, sometimes sat up all night over it. And he + had always chosen his agents himself, prided himself on it. His eye for + men, he used to say, had been the secret of his success, and the exercise + of this masterful power of selection had been the only part of it all that + he had really liked. Not a career for a man of his ability. Even now, when + the business had been turned into a Limited Liability Company, and was + declining (he had got out of his shares long ago), he felt a sharp chagrin + in thinking of that time. How much better he might have done! He would + have succeeded splendidly at the Bar! He had even thought of standing for + Parliament. How often had not Nicholas Treffry said to him: + </p> + <p> + “You could do anything, Jo, if you weren’t so d-damned careful + of yourself!” Dear old Nick! Such a good fellow, but a racketty + chap! The notorious Treffry! <i>He</i> had never taken any care of himself. So he + was dead. Old Jolyon counted his cigars with a steady hand, and it came + into his mind to wonder if perhaps he had been <i>too</i> careful of himself. + </p> + <p> + He put the cigar-case in the breast of his coat, buttoned it in, and + walked up the long flights to his bedroom, leaning on one foot and the + other, and helping himself by the bannister. The house was too big. After + June was married, if she ever did marry this fellow, as he supposed she + would, he would let it and go into rooms. What was the use of keeping half + a dozen servants eating their heads off? + </p> + <p> + The butler came to the ring of his bell—a large man with a beard, a + soft tread, and a peculiar capacity for silence. Old Jolyon told him to + put his dress clothes out; he was going to dine at the Club. + </p> + <p> + How long had the carriage been back from taking Miss June to the station? + Since two? Then let him come round at half-past six! + </p> + <p> + The Club which old Jolyon entered on the stroke of seven was one of those + political institutions of the upper middle class which have seen better + days. In spite of being talked about, perhaps in consequence of being + talked about, it betrayed a disappointing vitality. People had grown tired + of saying that the “Disunion” was on its last legs. Old Jolyon + would say it, too, yet disregarded the fact in a manner truly irritating + to well-constituted Clubmen. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you keep your name on?” Swithin often asked him with + profound vexation. “Why don’t you join the ‘Polyglot’. + You can’t get a wine like our Heidsieck under twenty shillin’ + a bottle anywhere in London;” and, dropping his voice, he added: + “There’s only five hundred dozen left. I drink it every night + of my life.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll think of it,” old Jolyon would answer; but when he + did think of it there was always the question of fifty guineas entrance + fee, and it would take him four or five years to get in. He continued to + think of it. + </p> + <p> + He was too old to be a Liberal, had long ceased to believe in the + political doctrines of his Club, had even been known to allude to them as + “wretched stuff,” and it afforded him pleasure to continue a + member in the teeth of principles so opposed to his own. He had always had + a contempt for the place, having joined it many years ago when they + refused to have him at the “Hotch Potch” owing to his being + “in trade.” As if he were not as good as any of them! He + naturally despised the Club that <i>did</i> take him. The members were a poor + lot, many of them in the City—stockbrokers, solicitors, auctioneers—what + not! Like most men of strong character but not too much originality, old + Jolyon set small store by the class to which he belonged. Faithfully he + followed their customs, social and otherwise, and secretly he thought them + “a common lot.” + </p> + <p> + Years and philosophy, of which he had his share, had dimmed the + recollection of his defeat at the “Hotch Potch”. and now in + his thoughts it was enshrined as the Queen of Clubs. He would have been a + member all these years himself, but, owing to the slipshod way his + proposer, Jack Herring, had gone to work, they had not known what they + were doing in keeping him out. Why! they had taken his son Jo at once, and + he believed the boy was still a member; he had received a letter dated + from there eight years ago. + </p> + <p> + He had not been near the “Disunion” for months, and the house + had undergone the piebald decoration which people bestow on old houses and + old ships when anxious to sell them. + </p> + <p> + “Beastly colour, the smoking-room!” he thought. “The + dining-room is good!” + </p> + <p> + Its gloomy chocolate, picked out with light green, took his fancy. + </p> + <p> + He ordered dinner, and sat down in the very corner, at the very table + perhaps! (things did not progress much at the “Disunion,” a + Club of almost Radical principles) at which he and young Jolyon used to + sit twenty-five years ago, when he was taking the latter to Drury Lane, + during his holidays. + </p> + <p> + The boy had loved the theatre, and old Jolyon recalled how he used to sit + opposite, concealing his excitement under a careful but transparent + nonchalance. + </p> + <p> + He ordered himself, too, the very dinner the boy had always chosen—soup, + whitebait, cutlets, and a tart. Ah! if he were only opposite now! + </p> + <p> + The two had not met for fourteen years. And not for the first time during + those fourteen years old Jolyon wondered whether he had been a little to + blame in the matter of his son. An unfortunate love-affair with that + precious flirt Danae Thornworthy (now Danae Pellew), Anthony Thornworthy’s + daughter, had thrown him on the rebound into the arms of Jun’s + mother. He ought perhaps to have put a spoke in the wheel of their + marriage; they were too young; but after that experience of Jo’s + susceptibility he had been only too anxious to see him married. And in + four years the crash had come! To have approved his son’s conduct in + that crash was, of course, impossible; reason and training—that + combination of potent factors which stood for his principles—told + him of this impossibility, and his heart cried out. The grim + remorselessness of that business had no pity for hearts. There was June, + the atom with flaming hair, who had climbed all over him, twined and + twisted herself about him—about his heart that was made to be the + plaything and beloved resort of tiny, helpless things. With characteristic + insight he saw he must part with one or with the other; no half-measures + could serve in such a situation. In that lay its tragedy. And the tiny, + helpless thing prevailed. He would not run with the hare and hunt with the + hounds, and so to his son he said good-bye. + </p> + <p> + That good-bye had lasted until now. + </p> + <p> + He had proposed to continue a reduced allowance to young Jolyon, but this + had been refused, and perhaps that refusal had hurt him more than + anything, for with it had gone the last outlet of his penned-in affection; + and there had come such tangible and solid proof of rupture as only a + transaction in property, a bestowal or refusal of such, could supply. + </p> + <p> + His dinner tasted flat. His pint of champagne was dry and bitter stuff, + not like the Veuve Clicquots of old days. + </p> + <p> + Over his cup of coffee, he bethought him that he would go to the opera. In + the <i>Times</i>, therefore—he had a distrust of other papers—he read + the announcement for the evening. It was “Fidelio.” + </p> + <p> + Mercifully not one of those new-fangled German pantomimes by that fellow + Wagner. + </p> + <p> + Putting on his ancient opera hat, which, with its brim flattened by use, + and huge capacity, looked like an emblem of greater days, and, pulling out + an old pair of very thin lavender kid gloves smelling strongly of Russia + leather, from habitual proximity to the cigar-case in the pocket of his + overcoat, he stepped into a hansom. + </p> + <p> + The cab rattled gaily along the streets, and old Jolyon was struck by + their unwonted animation. + </p> + <p> + “The hotels must be doing a tremendous business,” he thought. + A few years ago there had been none of these big hotels. He made a + satisfactory reflection on some property he had in the neighbourhood. It + must be going up in value by leaps and bounds! What traffic! + </p> + <p> + But from that he began indulging in one of those strange impersonal + speculations, so uncharacteristic of a Forsyte, wherein lay, in part, the + secret of his supremacy amongst them. What atoms men were, and what a lot + of them! And what would become of them all? + </p> + <p> + He stumbled as he got out of the cab, gave the man his exact fare, walked + up to the ticket office to take his stall, and stood there with his purse + in his hand—he always carried his money in a purse, never having + approved of that habit of carrying it loosely in the pockets, as so many + young men did nowadays. The official leaned out, like an old dog from a + kennel. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he said in a surprised voice, “it’s Mr. + Jolyon Forsyte! So it is! Haven’t seen you, sir, for years. Dear me! + Times aren’t what they were. Why! you and your brother, and that + auctioneer—Mr. Traquair, and Mr. Nicholas Treffry—you used to + have six or seven stalls here regular every season. And how are you, sir? + We don’t get younger!” + </p> + <p> + The colour in old Jolyon’s eyes deepened; he paid his guinea. They + had not forgotten him. He marched in, to the sounds of the overture, like + an old war-horse to battle. + </p> + <p> + Folding his opera hat, he sat down, drew out his lavender gloves in the + old way, and took up his glasses for a long look round the house. Dropping + them at last on his folded hat, he fixed his eyes on the curtain. More + poignantly than ever he felt that it was all over and done with him. Where + were all the women, the pretty women, the house used to be so full of? + Where was that old feeling in the heart as he waited for one of those + great singers? Where that sensation of the intoxication of life and of his + own power to enjoy it all? + </p> + <p> + The greatest opera-goer of his day! There was no opera now! That fellow + Wagner had ruined everything; no melody left, nor any voices to sing it. + Ah! the wonderful singers! Gone! He sat watching the old scenes acted, a + numb feeling at his heart. + </p> + <p> + From the curl of silver over his ear to the pose of his foot in its + elastic-sided patent boot, there was nothing clumsy or weak about old + Jolyon. He was as upright—very nearly—as in those old times + when he came every night; his sight was as good—almost as good. But + what a feeling of weariness and disillusion! + </p> + <p> + He had been in the habit all his life of enjoying things, even imperfect + things—and there had been many imperfect things—he had enjoyed + them all with moderation, so as to keep himself young. But now he was + deserted by his power of enjoyment, by his philosophy, and left with this + dreadful feeling that it was all done with. Not even the Prisoners’ + Chorus, nor Florian’s Song, had the power to dispel the gloom of his + loneliness. + </p> + <p> + If Jo were only with him! The boy must be forty by now. He had wasted + fourteen years out of the life of his only son. And Jo was no longer a + social pariah. He was married. Old Jolyon had been unable to refrain from + marking his appreciation of the action by enclosing his son a cheque for + £500. The cheque had been returned in a letter from the “Hotch + Potch,” couched in these words. + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “M<small>Y</small> D<small>EAREST</small> F<small>ATHER</small>,<br/> + “Your generous gift was welcome as a sign that you might think worse + of me. I return it, but should you think fit to invest it for the benefit + of the little chap (we call him Jolly), who bears our Christian and, by + courtesy, our surname, I shall be very glad.<br/> + “I hope with all my heart that your health is as good as ever. + </p> + <p class="right"> + “Your loving son,<br/> + “J<small>O</small>.” + </p> + <p> + The letter was like the boy. He had always been an amiable chap. Old + Jolyon had sent this reply: + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “M<small>Y</small> D<small>EAR</small> J<small>O</small>,<br/> + “The sum (£500) stands in my books for the benefit of your boy, + under the name of Jolyon Forsyte, and will be duly-credited with interest + at 5 per cent. I hope that you are doing well. My health remains good at + present. + </p> + <p class="right"> + “With love, I am,<br/> + “Your affectionate Father,<br/> + “J<small>OLYON</small> F<small>ORSYTE</small>.” + </p> + <p> + And every year on the 1st of January he had added a hundred and the + interest. The sum was mounting up—next New Year’s Day it would + be fifteen hundred and odd pounds! And it is difficult to say how much + satisfaction he had got out of that yearly transaction. But the + correspondence had ended. + </p> + <p> + In spite of his love for his son, in spite of an instinct, partly + constitutional, partly the result, as in thousands of his class, of the + continual handling and watching of affairs, prompting him to judge conduct + by results rather than by principle, there was at the bottom of his heart + a sort of uneasiness. His son ought, under the circumstances, to have gone + to the dogs; that law was laid down in all the novels, sermons, and plays + he had ever read, heard, or witnessed. + </p> + <p> + After receiving the cheque back there seemed to him to be something wrong + somewhere. Why had his son not gone to the dogs? But, then, who could + tell? + </p> + <p> + He had heard, of course—in fact, he had made it his business to find + out—that Jo lived in St. John’s Wood, that he had a little + house in Wistaria Avenue with a garden, and took his wife about with him + into society—a queer sort of society, no doubt—and that they + had two children—the little chap they called Jolly (considering the + circumstances the name struck him as cynical, and old Jolyon both feared + and disliked cynicism), and a girl called Holly, born since the marriage. + Who could tell what his son’s circumstances really were? He had + capitalized the income he had inherited from his mother’s father and + joined Lloyd’s as an underwriter; he painted pictures, too—water-colours. + Old Jolyon knew this, for he had surreptitiously bought them from time to + time, after chancing to see his son’s name signed at the bottom of a + representation of the river Thames in a dealer’s window. He thought + them bad, and did not hang them because of the signature; he kept them + locked up in a drawer. + </p> + <p> + In the great opera-house a terrible yearning came on him to see his son. + He remembered the days when he had been wont to slide him, in a brown + holland suit, to and fro under the arch of his legs; the times when he ran + beside the boy’s pony, teaching him to ride; the day he first took + him to school. He had been a loving, lovable little chap! After he went to + Eton he had acquired, perhaps, a little too much of that desirable manner + which old Jolyon knew was only to be obtained at such places and at great + expense; but he had always been companionable. Always a companion, even + after Cambridge—a little far off, perhaps, owing to the advantages + he had received. Old Jolyon’s feeling towards our public schools and + ’Varsities never wavered, and he retained touchingly his attitude of + admiration and mistrust towards a system appropriate to the highest in the + land, of which he had not himself been privileged to partake.... Now that + June had gone and left, or as good as left him, it would have been a + comfort to see his son again. Guilty of this treason to his family, his + principles, his class, old Jolyon fixed his eyes on the singer. A poor + thing—a wretched poor thing! And the Florian a perfect stick! + </p> + <p> + It was over. They were easily pleased nowadays! + </p> + <p> + In the crowded street he snapped up a cab under the very nose of a stout + and much younger gentleman, who had already assumed it to be his own. His + route lay through Pall Mall, and at the corner, instead of going through + the Green Park, the cabman turned to drive up St. James’s Street. + Old Jolyon put his hand through the trap (he could not bear being taken + out of his way); in turning, however, he found himself opposite the + “Hotch Potch,” and the yearning that had been secretly with + him the whole evening prevailed. He called to the driver to stop. He would + go in and ask if Jo still belonged there. + </p> + <p> + He went in. The hall looked exactly as it did when he used to dine there + with Jack Herring, and they had the best cook in London; and he looked + round with the shrewd, straight glance that had caused him all his life to + be better served than most men. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Jolyon Forsyte still a member here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; in the Club now, sir. What name?” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon was taken aback. + </p> + <p> + “His father,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And having spoken, he took his stand, back to the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon, on the point of leaving the Club, had put on his hat, and + was in the act of crossing the hall, as the porter met him. He was no + longer young, with hair going grey, and face—a narrower replica of + his father’s, with the same large drooping moustache—decidedly + worn. He turned pale. This meeting was terrible after all those years, for + nothing in the world was so terrible as a scene. They met and crossed + hands without a word. Then, with a quaver in his voice, the father said: + </p> + <p> + “How are you, my boy?” + </p> + <p> + The son answered: + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Dad?” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon’s hand trembled in its thin lavender glove. + </p> + <p> + “If you’re going my way,” he said, “I can give you + a lift.” + </p> + <p> + And as though in the habit of taking each other home every night they went + out and stepped into the cab. + </p> + <p> + To old Jolyon it seemed that his son had grown. “More of a man + altogether,” was his comment. Over the natural amiability of that + son’s face had come a rather sardonic mask, as though he had found + in the circumstances of his life the necessity for armour. The features + were certainly those of a Forsyte, but the expression was more the + introspective look of a student or philosopher. He had no doubt been + obliged to look into himself a good deal in the course of those fifteen + years. + </p> + <p> + To young Jolyon the first sight of his father was undoubtedly a shock—he + looked so worn and old. But in the cab he seemed hardly to have changed, + still having the calm look so well remembered, still being upright and + keen-eyed. + </p> + <p> + “You look well, Dad.” + </p> + <p> + “Middling,” old Jolyon answered. + </p> + <p> + He was the prey of an anxiety that he found he must put into words. Having + got his son back like this, he felt he must know what was his financial + position. + </p> + <p> + “Jo,” he said, “I should like to hear what sort of water + you’re in. I suppose you’re in debt?” + </p> + <p> + He put it this way that his son might find it easier to confess. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon answered in his ironical voice: + </p> + <p> + “No! I’m not in debt!” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon saw that he was angry, and touched his hand. He had run a risk. + It was worth it, however, and Jo had never been sulky with him. They drove + on, without speaking again, to Stanhope Gate. Old Jolyon invited him in, + but young Jolyon shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Jun’s not here,” said his father hastily: “went + off to-day on a visit. I suppose you know that she’s engaged to be + married?” + </p> + <p> + “Already?” murmured young Jolyon’. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon stepped out, and, in paying the cab fare, for the first time in + his life gave the driver a sovereign in mistake for a shilling. + </p> + <p> + Placing the coin in his mouth, the cabman whipped his horse secretly on + the underneath and hurried away. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon turned the key softly in the lock, pushed open the door, and + beckoned. His son saw him gravely hanging up his coat, with an expression + on his face like that of a boy who intends to steal cherries. + </p> + <p> + The door of the dining-room was open, the gas turned low; a spirit-urn + hissed on a tea-tray, and close to it a cynical looking cat had fallen + asleep on the dining-table. Old Jolyon “shoo’d” her off + at once. The incident was a relief to his feelings; he rattled his opera + hat behind the animal. + </p> + <p> + “She’s got fleas,” he said, following her out of the + room. Through the door in the hall leading to the basement he called + “Hssst!” several times, as though assisting the cat’s + departure, till by some strange coincidence the butler appeared below. + </p> + <p> + “You can go to bed, Parfitt,” said old Jolyon. “I will + lock up and put out.” + </p> + <p> + When he again entered the dining-room the cat unfortunately preceded him, + with her tail in the air, proclaiming that she had seen through this + manouevre for suppressing the butler from the first.... + </p> + <p> + A fatality had dogged old Jolyon’s domestic stratagems all his life. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon could not help smiling. He was very well versed in irony, and + everything that evening seemed to him ironical. The episode of the cat; + the announcement of his own daughter’s engagement. So he had no more + part or parcel in her than he had in the Puss! And the poetical justice of + this appealed to him. + </p> + <p> + “What is June like now?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “She’s a little thing,” returned old Jolyon; “they + say she’s like me, but that’s their folly. She’s more + like your mother—the same eyes and hair.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! and she is pretty?” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon was too much of a Forsyte to praise anything freely; especially + anything for which he had a genuine admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Not bad looking—a regular Forsyte chin. It’ll be lonely + here when she’s gone, Jo.” + </p> + <p> + The look on his face again gave young Jolyon the shock he had felt on + first seeing his father. + </p> + <p> + “What will you do with yourself, Dad? I suppose she’s wrapped + up in him?” + </p> + <p> + “Do with myself?” repeated old Jolyon with an angry break in + his voice. “It’ll be miserable work living here alone. I don’t + know how it’s to end. I wish to goodness....” He checked + himself, and added: “The question is, what had I better do with this + house?” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon looked round the room. It was peculiarly vast and dreary, + decorated with the enormous pictures of still life that he remembered as a + boy—sleeping dogs with their noses resting on bunches of carrots, + together with onions and grapes lying side by side in mild surprise. The + house was a white elephant, but he could not conceive of his father living + in a smaller place; and all the more did it all seem ironical. + </p> + <p> + In his great chair with the book-rest sat old Jolyon, the figurehead of + his family and class and creed, with his white head and dome-like + forehead, the representative of moderation, and order, and love of + property. As lonely an old man as there was in London. + </p> + <p> + There he sat in the gloomy comfort of the room, a puppet in the power of + great forces that cared nothing for family or class or creed, but moved, + machine-like, with dread processes to inscrutable ends. This was how it + struck young Jolyon, who had the impersonal eye. + </p> + <p> + The poor old Dad! So this was the end, the purpose to which he had lived + with such magnificent moderation! To be lonely, and grow older and older, + yearning for a soul to speak to! + </p> + <p> + In his turn old Jolyon looked back at his son. He wanted to talk about + many things that he had been unable to talk about all these years. It had + been impossible to seriously confide in June his conviction that property + in the Soho quarter would go up in value; his uneasiness about that + tremendous silence of Pippin, the superintendent of the New Colliery + Company, of which he had so long been chairman; his disgust at the steady + fall in American Golgothas, or even to discuss how, by some sort of + settlement, he could best avoid the payment of those death duties which + would follow his decease. Under the influence, however, of a cup of tea, + which he seemed to stir indefinitely, he began to speak at last. A new + vista of life was thus opened up, a promised land of talk, where he could + find a harbour against the waves of anticipation and regret; where he + could soothe his soul with the opium of devising how to round off his + property and make eternal the only part of him that was to remain alive. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon was a good listener; it was his great quality. He kept his + eyes fixed on his father’s face, putting a question now and then. + </p> + <p> + The clock struck one before old Jolyon had finished, and at the sound of + its striking his principles came back. He took out his watch with a look + of surprise: + </p> + <p> + “I must go to bed, Jo,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon rose and held out his hand to help his father up. The old + face looked worn and hollow again; the eyes were steadily averted. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, my boy; take care of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + A moment passed, and young Jolyon, turning on his heel, marched out at + the door. He could hardly see; his smile quavered. Never in all the + fifteen years since he had first found out that life was no simple + business, had he found it so singularly complicated. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"></a> + CHAPTER III<br/>DINNER AT SWITHIN’S + </h2> + <p> + In Swithin’s orange and light-blue dining-room, facing the Park, the + round table was laid for twelve. + </p> + <p> + A cut-glass chandelier filled with lighted candles hung like a giant + stalactite above its centre, radiating over large gilt-framed mirrors, + slabs of marble on the tops of side-tables, and heavy gold chairs with + crewel worked seats. Everything betokened that love of beauty so deeply + implanted in each family which has had its own way to make into Society, + out of the more vulgar heart of Nature. Swithin had indeed an impatience + of simplicity, a love of ormolu, which had always stamped him amongst his + associates as a man of great, if somewhat luxurious taste; and out of the + knowledge that no one could possibly enter his rooms without perceiving + him to be a man of wealth, he had derived a solid and prolonged happiness + such as perhaps no other circumstance in life had afforded him. + </p> + <p> + Since his retirement from land agency, a profession deplorable in his + estimation, especially as to its auctioneering department, he had + abandoned himself to naturally aristocratic tastes. + </p> + <p> + The perfect luxury of his latter days had embedded him like a fly in + sugar; and his mind, where very little took place from morning till night, + was the junction of two curiously opposite emotions, a lingering and + sturdy satisfaction that he had made his own way and his own fortune, and + a sense that a man of his distinction should never have been allowed to + soil his mind with work. + </p> + <p> + He stood at the sideboard in a white waistcoat with large gold and onyx + buttons, watching his valet screw the necks of three champagne bottles + deeper into ice-pails. Between the points of his stand-up collar, which—though + it hurt him to move—he would on no account have had altered, the + pale flesh of his under chin remained immovable. His eyes roved from + bottle to bottle. He was debating, and he argued like this: Jolyon drinks + a glass, perhaps two, he’s so careful of himself. James, he can’t + take his wine nowadays. Nicholas—Fanny and he would swill water he + shouldn’t wonder! Soames didn’t count; these young nephews—Soames + was thirty-one—couldn’t drink! But Bosinney? + </p> + <p> + Encountering in the name of this stranger something outside the range of + his philosophy, Swithin paused. A misgiving arose within him! It was + impossible to tell! June was only a girl, in love too! Emily (Mrs. James) + liked a good glass of champagne. It was too dry for Juley, poor old soul, + she had no palate. As to Hatty Chessman! The thought of this old friend + caused a cloud of thought to obscure the perfect glassiness of his eyes: + He shouldn’t wonder if she drank half a bottle! + </p> + <p> + But in thinking of his remaining guest, an expression like that of a cat + who is just going to purr stole over his old face: Mrs. Soames! She mightn’t + take much, but she would appreciate what she drank; it was a pleasure to + give her good wine! A pretty woman—and sympathetic to him! + </p> + <p> + The thought of her was like champagne itself! A pleasure to give a good + wine to a young woman who looked so well, who knew how to dress, with + charming manners, quite distinguished—a pleasure to entertain her. + Between the points of his collar he gave his head the first small, painful + oscillation of the evening. + </p> + <p> + “Adolf!” he said. “Put in another bottle.” + </p> + <p> + He himself might drink a good deal, for, thanks to that prescription of + Blight’s, he found himself extremely well, and he had been careful + to take no lunch. He had not felt so well for weeks. Puffing out his lower + lip, he gave his last instructions: + </p> + <p> + “Adolf, the least touch of the West India when you come to the ham.” + </p> + <p> + Passing into the anteroom, he sat down on the edge of a chair, with his + knees apart; and his tall, bulky form was wrapped at once in an expectant, + strange, primeval immobility. He was ready to rise at a moment’s + notice. He had not given a dinner-party for months. This dinner in honour + of Jun’s engagement had seemed a bore at first (among Forsytes the + custom of solemnizing engagements by feasts was religiously observed), but + the labours of sending invitations and ordering the repast over, he felt + pleasantly stimulated. + </p> + <p> + And thus sitting, a watch in his hand, fat, and smooth, and golden, like a + flattened globe of butter, he thought of nothing. + </p> + <p> + A long man, with side whiskers, who had once been in Swithin’s + service, but was now a greengrocer, entered and proclaimed: + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Chessman, Mrs. Septimus Small!” + </p> + <p> + Two ladies advanced. The one in front, habited entirely in red, had large, + settled patches of the same colour in her cheeks, and a hard, dashing eye. + She walked at Swithin, holding out a hand cased in a long, + primrose-coloured glove: + </p> + <p> + “Well! Swithin,” she said, “I haven’t seen you for + ages. How are you? Why, my dear boy, how stout you’re getting!” + </p> + <p> + The fixity of Swithin’s eye alone betrayed emotion. A dumb and + grumbling anger swelled his bosom. It was vulgar to be stout, to talk of + being stout; he had a chest, nothing more. Turning to his sister, he + grasped her hand, and said in a tone of command: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Juley.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Septimus Small was the tallest of the four sisters; her good, round + old face had gone a little sour; an innumerable pout clung all over it, as + if it had been encased in an iron wire mask up to that evening, which, + being suddenly removed, left little rolls of mutinous flesh all over her + countenance. Even her eyes were pouting. It was thus that she recorded her + permanent resentment at the loss of Septimus Small. + </p> + <p> + She had quite a reputation for saying the wrong thing, and, tenacious like + all her breed, she would hold to it when she had said it, and add to it + another wrong thing, and so on. With the decease of her husband the family + tenacity, the family matter-of-factness, had gone sterile within her. A + great talker, when allowed, she would converse without the faintest + animation for hours together, relating, with epic monotony, the + innumerable occasions on which Fortune had misused her; nor did she ever + perceive that her hearers sympathized with Fortune, for her heart was + kind. + </p> + <p> + Having sat, poor soul, long by the bedside of Small (a man of poor + constitution), she had acquired the habit, and there were countless + subsequent occasions when she had sat immense periods of time to amuse + sick people, children, and other helpless persons, and she could never + divest herself of the feeling that the world was the most ungrateful place + anybody could live in. Sunday after Sunday she sat at the feet of that + extremely witty preacher, the Rev. Thomas Scoles, who exercised a great + influence over her; but she succeeded in convincing everybody that even + this was a misfortune. She had passed into a proverb in the family, and + when anybody was observed to be peculiarly distressing, he was known as a + regular “Juley.” The habit of her mind would have killed + anybody but a Forsyte at forty; but she was seventy-two, and had never + looked better. And one felt that there were capacities for enjoyment about + her which might yet come out. She owned three canaries, the cat Tommy, and + half a parrot—in common with her sister Hester;—and these poor + creatures (kept carefully out of Timothy’s way—he was nervous + about animals), unlike human beings, recognising that she could not help + being blighted, attached themselves to her passionately. + </p> + <p> + She was sombrely magnificent this evening in black bombazine, with a mauve + front cut in a shy triangle, and crowned with a black velvet ribbon round + the base of her thin throat; black and mauve for evening wear was esteemed + very chaste by nearly every Forsyte. + </p> + <p> + Pouting at Swithin, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Ann has been asking for you. You haven’t been near us for an + age!” + </p> + <p> + Swithin put his thumbs within the armholes of his waistcoat, and replied: + </p> + <p> + “Ann’s getting very shaky; she ought to have a doctor!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Forsyte!” + </p> + <p> + Nicholas Forsyte, cocking his rectangular eyebrows, wore a smile. He had + succeeded during the day in bringing to fruition a scheme for the + employment of a tribe from Upper India in the gold-mines of Ceylon. A pet + plan, carried at last in the teeth of great difficulties—he was + justly pleased. It would double the output of his mines, and, as he had + often forcibly argued, all experience tended to show that a man must die; + and whether he died of a miserable old age in his own country, or + prematurely of damp in the bottom of a foreign mine, was surely of little + consequence, provided that by a change in his mode of life he benefited + the British Empire. + </p> + <p> + His ability was undoubted. Raising his broken nose towards his listener, + he would add: + </p> + <p> + “For want of a few hundred of these fellows we haven’t paid a + dividend for years, and look at the price of the shares. I can’t get + ten shillings for them.” + </p> + <p> + He had been at Yarmouth, too, and had come back feeling that he had added + at least ten years to his own life. He grasped Swithin’s hand, + exclaiming in a jocular voice: + </p> + <p> + “Well, so here we are again!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Nicholas, an effete woman, smiled a smile of frightened jollity + behind his back. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. and Mrs. James Forsyte! Mr. and Mrs. Soames Forsyte!” + </p> + <p> + Swithin drew his heels together, his deportment ever admirable. + </p> + <p> + “Well, James, well Emily! How are you, Soames? How do you <i>do?</i>” + </p> + <p> + His hand enclosed Irene’s, and his eyes swelled. She was a pretty + woman—a little too pale, but her figure, her eyes, her teeth! Too + good for that chap Soames! + </p> + <p> + The gods had given Irene dark brown eyes and golden hair, that strange + combination, provocative of men’s glances, which is said to be the + mark of a weak character. And the full, soft pallor of her neck and + shoulders, above a gold-coloured frock, gave to her personality an + alluring strangeness. + </p> + <p> + Soames stood behind, his eyes fastened on his wife’s neck. The hands + of Swithin’s watch, which he still held open in his hand, had left + eight behind; it was half an hour beyond his dinner-time—he had had + no lunch—and a strange primeval impatience surged up within him. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not like Jolyon to be late!” he said to Irene, + with uncontrollable vexation. “I suppose it’ll be June keeping + him!” + </p> + <p> + “People in love are always late,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + Swithin stared at her; a dusky orange dyed his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “They’ve no business to be. Some fashionable nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + And behind this outburst the inarticulate violence of primitive + generations seemed to mutter and grumble. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what you think of my new star, Uncle Swithin,” said + Irene softly. + </p> + <p> + Among the lace in the bosom of her dress was shining a five-pointed star, + made of eleven diamonds. Swithin looked at the star. He had a pretty taste + in stones; no question could have been more sympathetically devised to + distract his attention. + </p> + <p> + “Who gave you that?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Soames.” + </p> + <p> + There was no change in her face, but Swithin’s pale eyes bulged as + though he might suddenly have been afflicted with insight. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you’re dull at home,” he said. “Any + day you like to come and dine with me, I’ll give you as good a + bottle of wine as you’ll get in London.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss June Forsyte—Mr. Jolyon Forsyte!... Mr. Boswainey!...” + </p> + <p> + Swithin moved his arm, and said in a rumbling voice: + </p> + <p> + “Dinner, now—dinner!” + </p> + <p> + He took in Irene, on the ground that he had not entertained her since she + was a bride. June was the portion of Bosinney, who was placed between + Irene and his fiancée. On the other side of June was James with Mrs. + Nicholas, then old Jolyon with Mrs. James, Nicholas with Hatty Chessman, + Soames with Mrs. Small, completing, the circle to Swithin again. + </p> + <p> + Family dinners of the Forsytes observe certain traditions. There are, for + instance, no <i>hors d’œuvres</i>. The reason for this is unknown. Theory + among the younger members traces it to the disgraceful price of oysters; + it is more probably due to a desire to come to the point, to a good + practical sense deciding at once that <i>hors d’œuvres</i> are but poor + things. The Jameses alone, unable to withstand a custom almost universal + in Park Lane, are now and then unfaithful. + </p> + <p> + A silent, almost morose, inattention to each other succeeds to the + subsidence into their seats, lasting till well into the first entree, but + interspersed with remarks such as, “Tom’s bad again; I can’t + tell what’s the matter with him!” “I suppose Ann doesn’t + come down in the mornings?”—“What’s the name of + your doctor, Fanny?” “Stubbs?” “He’s a + quack!”—“Winifred? She’s got too many children. + Four, isn’t it? She’s as thin as a lath!”—“What + d’you give for this sherry, Swithin? Too dry for me!” + </p> + <p> + With the second glass of champagne, a kind of hum makes itself heard, + which, when divested of casual accessories and resolved into its primal + element, is found to be James telling a story, and this goes on for a long + time, encroaching sometimes even upon what must universally be recognised + as the crowning point of a Forsyte feast—“the saddle of + mutton.” + </p> + <p> + No Forsyte has given a dinner without providing a saddle of mutton. There + is something in its succulent solidity which makes it suitable to people + “of a certain position.” It is nourishing and tasty; the sort + of thing a man remembers eating. It has a past and a future, like a + deposit paid into a bank; and it is something that can be argued about. + </p> + <p> + Each branch of the family tenaciously held to a particular locality—old + Jolyon swearing by Dartmoor, James by Welsh, Swithin by Southdown, + Nicholas maintaining that people might sneer, but there was nothing like + New Zealand! As for Roger, the “original” of the brothers, he + had been obliged to invent a locality of his own, and with an ingenuity + worthy of a man who had devised a new profession for his sons, he had + discovered a shop where they sold German; on being remonstrated with, he + had proved his point by producing a butcher’s bill, which showed + that he paid more than any of the others. It was on this occasion that old + Jolyon, turning to June, had said in one of his bursts of philosophy: + </p> + <p> + “You may depend upon it, they’re a cranky lot, the Forsytes—and + you’ll find it out, as you grow older!” + </p> + <p> + Timothy alone held apart, for though he ate saddle of mutton heartily, he + was, he said, afraid of it. + </p> + <p> + To anyone interested psychologically in Forsytes, this great + saddle-of-mutton trait is of prime importance; not only does it illustrate + their tenacity, both collectively and as individuals, but it marks them as + belonging in fibre and instincts to that great class which believes in + nourishment and flavour, and yields to no sentimental craving for beauty. + </p> + <p> + Younger members of the family indeed would have done without a joint + altogether, preferring guinea-fowl, or lobster salad—something which + appealed to the imagination, and had less nourishment—but these were + females; or, if not, had been corrupted by their wives, or by mothers, who + having been forced to eat saddle of mutton throughout their married lives, + had passed a secret hostility towards it into the fibre of their sons. + </p> + <p> + The great saddle-of-mutton controversy at an end, a Tewkesbury ham + commenced, together with the least touch of West Indian—Swithin was + so long over this course that he caused a block in the progress of the + dinner. To devote himself to it with better heart, he paused in his + conversation. + </p> + <p> + From his seat by Mrs. Septimus Small Soames was watching. He had a reason + of his own connected with a pet building scheme, for observing Bosinney. + The architect might do for his purpose; he looked clever, as he sat + leaning back in his chair, moodily making little ramparts with + bread-crumbs. Soames noted his dress clothes to be well cut, but too + small, as though made many years ago. + </p> + <p> + He saw him turn to Irene and say something and her face sparkle as he + often saw it sparkle at other people—never at himself. He tried to + catch what they were saying, but Aunt Juley was speaking. + </p> + <p> + Hadn’t that always seemed very extraordinary to Soames? Only last + Sunday dear Mr. Scoles, had been so witty in his sermon, so sarcastic, + “For what,” he had said, “shall it profit a man if he + gain his own soul, but lose all his property?” That, he had said, + was the motto of the middle-class; now, what <i>had</i> he meant by that? Of + course, it might be what middle-class people believed—she didn’t + know; what did Soames think? + </p> + <p> + He answered abstractedly: “How should I know? Scoles is a humbug, + though, isn’t he?” For Bosinney was looking round the table, + as if pointing out the peculiarities of the guests, and Soames wondered + what he was saying. By her smile Irene was evidently agreeing with his + remarks. She seemed always to agree with other people. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were turned on himself; Soames dropped his glance at once. The + smile had died off her lips. + </p> + <p> + A humbug? But what did Soames mean? If Mr. Scoles was a humbug, a + clergyman—then anybody might be—it was frightful! + </p> + <p> + “Well, and so they are!” said Soames. + </p> + <p> + During Aunt Juley’s momentary and horrified silence he caught some + words of Irene’s that sounded like: “Abandon hope, all ye who + enter here!” + </p> + <p> + But Swithin had finished his ham. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you go for your mushrooms?” he was saying to Irene + in a voice like a courtier’s; “you ought to go to Smileybob’s—he’ll + give ’em you fresh. These <i>little</i> men, they won’t take the + trouble!” + </p> + <p> + Irene turned to answer him, and Soames saw Bosinney watching her and + smiling to himself. A curious smile the fellow had. A half-simple + arrangement, like a child who smiles when he is pleased. As for George’s + nickname—“The Buccaneer”—he did not think much of + that. And, seeing Bosinney turn to June, Soames smiled too, but + sardonically—he did not like June, who was not looking too pleased. + </p> + <p> + This was not surprising, for she had just held the following conversation + with James: + </p> + <p> + “I stayed on the river on my way home, Uncle James, and saw a + beautiful site for a house.” + </p> + <p> + James, a slow and thorough eater, stopped the process of mastication. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” he said. “Now, where was that?” + </p> + <p> + “Close to Pangbourne.” + </p> + <p> + James placed a piece of ham in his mouth, and June waited. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you wouldn’t know whether the land about there was + freehold?” he asked at last. “<i>You</i> wouldn’t know anything + about the price of land about there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said June; “I made inquiries.” Her little + resolute face under its copper crown was suspiciously eager and aglow. + </p> + <p> + James regarded her with the air of an inquisitor. + </p> + <p> + “What? You’re not thinking of buying land!” he + ejaculated, dropping his fork. + </p> + <p> + June was greatly encouraged by his interest. It had long been her pet plan + that her uncles should benefit themselves and Bosinney by building + country-houses. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” she said. “I thought it would be such a + splendid place for—you or—someone to build a country-house!” + </p> + <p> + James looked at her sideways, and placed a second piece of ham in his + mouth.... + </p> + <p> + “Land ought to be very dear about there,” he said. + </p> + <p> + What June had taken for personal interest was only the impersonal + excitement of every Forsyte who hears of something eligible in danger of + passing into other hands. But she refused to see the disappearance of her + chance, and continued to press her point. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to go into the country, Uncle James. I wish I had a lot + of money, I wouldn’t live another day in London.” + </p> + <p> + James was stirred to the depths of his long thin figure; he had no idea + his niece held such downright views. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you go into the country?” repeated June; + “it would do you a lot of good.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” began James in a fluster. “Buying land—what + good d’you suppose I can do buying land, building houses?—I + couldn’t get four per cent. for my money!” + </p> + <p> + “What does that matter? You’d get fresh air.” + </p> + <p> + “Fresh air!” exclaimed James; “what should I do with + fresh air,” + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought anybody liked to have fresh air,” said + June scornfully. + </p> + <p> + James wiped his napkin all over his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know the value of money,” he said, avoiding + her eye. + </p> + <p> + “No! and I hope I never shall!” and, biting her lip with + inexpressible mortification, poor June was silent. + </p> + <p> + Why were her own relations so rich, and Phil never knew where the money + was coming from for to-morrow’s tobacco. Why couldn’t they do + something for him? But they were so selfish. Why couldn’t they build + country-houses? She had all that naive dogmatism which is so pathetic, and + sometimes achieves such great results. Bosinney, to whom she turned in her + discomfiture, was talking to Irene, and a chill fell on Jun’s + spirit. Her eyes grew steady with anger, like old Jolyon’s when his + will was crossed. + </p> + <p> + James, too, was much disturbed. He felt as though someone had threatened + his right to invest his money at five per cent. Jolyon had spoiled her. + None of <i>his</i> girls would have said such a thing. James had always been + exceedingly liberal to his children, and the consciousness of this made + him feel it all the more deeply. He trifled moodily with his strawberries, + then, deluging them with cream, he ate them quickly; they, at all events, + should not escape him. + </p> + <p> + No wonder he was upset. Engaged for fifty-four years (he had been admitted + a solicitor on the earliest day sanctioned by the law) in arranging + mortgages, preserving investments at a dead level of high and safe + interest, conducting negotiations on the principle of securing the utmost + possible out of other people compatible with safety to his clients and + himself, in calculations as to the exact pecuniary possibilities of all + the relations of life, he had come at last to think purely in terms of + money. Money was now his light, his medium for seeing, that without which + he was really unable to see, really not cognisant of phenomena; and to + have this thing, “I hope I shall never know the value of money!” + said to his face, saddened and exasperated him. He knew it to be nonsense, + or it would have frightened him. What was the world coming to! Suddenly + recollecting the story of young Jolyon, however, he felt a little + comforted, for what could you expect with a father like that! This turned + his thoughts into a channel still less pleasant. What was all this talk + about Soames and Irene? + </p> + <p> + As in all self-respecting families, an emporium had been established where + family secrets were bartered, and family stock priced. It was known on + Forsyte ’Change that Irene regretted her marriage. Her regret was + disapproved of. She ought to have known her own mind; no dependable woman + made these mistakes. + </p> + <p> + James reflected sourly that they had a nice house (rather small) in an + excellent position, no children, and no money troubles. Soames was + reserved about his affairs, but he must be getting a very warm man. He had + a capital income from the business—for Soames, like his father, was + a member of that well-known firm of solicitors, Forsyte, Bustard and + Forsyte—and had always been very careful. He had done quite + unusually well with some mortgages he had taken up, too—a little + timely foreclosure—most lucky hits! + </p> + <p> + There was no reason why Irene should not be happy, yet they said she’d + been asking for a separate room. He knew where that ended. It wasn’t + as if Soames drank. + </p> + <p> + James looked at his daughter-in-law. That unseen glance of his was cold + and dubious. Appeal and fear were in it, and a sense of personal + grievance. Why should he be worried like this? It was very likely all + nonsense; women were funny things! They exaggerated so, you didn’t + know what to believe; and then, nobody told him anything, he had to find + out everything for himself. Again he looked furtively at Irene, and across + from her to Soames. The latter, listening to Aunt Juley, was looking up, + under his brows in the direction of Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + “He’s fond of her, I know,” thought James. “Look + at the way he’s always giving her things.” + </p> + <p> + And the extraordinary unreasonableness of her disaffection struck him with + increased force. + It was a pity, too, she was a taking little thing, and he, James, would be + really quite fond of her if she’d only let him. She had taken up + lately with June; <i>that</i> was doing her no good, that was certainly doing her + no good. She was getting to have opinions of her own. He didn’t know + what she wanted with anything of the sort. She’d a good home, and + everything she could wish for. He felt that her friends ought to be chosen + for her. To go on like this was dangerous. + </p> + <p> + June, indeed, with her habit of championing the unfortunate, had dragged + from Irene a confession, and, in return, had preached the necessity of + facing the evil, by separation, if need be. But in the face of these + exhortations, Irene had kept a brooding silence, as though she found + terrible the thought of this struggle carried through in cold blood. He + would never give her up, she had said to June. + </p> + <p> + “Who cares?” June cried; “let him do what he likes—you’ve + only to stick to it!” And she had not scrupled to say something of + this sort at Timothy’s; James, when he heard of it, had felt a + natural indignation and horror. + </p> + <p> + What if Irene were to take it into her head to—he could hardly frame + the thought—to leave Soames? But he felt this thought so unbearable + that he at once put it away; the shady visions it conjured up, the sound + of family tongues buzzing in his ears, the horror of the conspicuous + happening so close to him, to one of his own children! Luckily, she had no + money—a beggarly fifty pound a year! And he thought of the deceased + Heron, who had had nothing to leave her, with contempt. Brooding over his + glass, his long legs twisted under the table, he quite omitted to rise + when the ladies left the room. He would have to speak to Soames—would + have to put him on his guard; they could not go on like this, now that + such a contingency had occurred to him. And he noticed with sour disfavour + that June had left her wine-glasses full of wine. + </p> + <p> + “That little, thing’s at the bottom of it all,” he + mused; “Irene’d never have thought of it herself.” James + was a man of imagination. + </p> + <p> + The voice of Swithin roused him from his reverie. + </p> + <p> + “I gave four hundred pounds for it,” he was saying. “Of + course it’s a regular work of art.” + </p> + <p> + “Four hundred! H’m! that’s a lot of money!” chimed + in Nicholas. + </p> + <p> + The object alluded to was an elaborate group of statuary in Italian + marble, which, placed upon a lofty stand (also of marble), diffused an + atmosphere of culture throughout the room. The subsidiary figures, of + which there were six, female, nude, and of highly ornate workmanship, were + all pointing towards the central figure, also nude, and female, who was + pointing at herself; and all this gave the observer a very pleasant sense + of her extreme value. Aunt Juley, nearly opposite, had had the greatest + difficulty in not looking at it all the evening. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon spoke; it was he who had started the discussion. + </p> + <p> + “Four hundred fiddlesticks! Don’t tell me you gave four + hundred for <i>that?</i>” + </p> + <p> + Between the points of his collar Swithin’s chin made the second + painful oscillatory movement of the evening. + </p> + <p> + “Four-hundred-pounds, of English money; not a farthing less. I don’t + regret it. It’s not common English—it’s genuine modern + Italian!” + </p> + <p> + Soames raised the corner of his lip in a smile, and looked across at + Bosinney. The architect was grinning behind the fumes of his cigarette. + Now, indeed, he looked more like a buccaneer. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a lot of work about it,” remarked James + hastily, who was really moved by the size of the group. “It’d + sell well at Jobson’s.” + </p> + <p> + “The poor foreign dey-vil that made it,” went on Swithin, + “asked me five hundred—I gave him four. It’s worth + eight. Looked half-starved, poor dey-vil!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” chimed in Nicholas suddenly, “poor, seedy-lookin’ + chaps, these artists; it’s a wonder to me how they live. Now, there’s + young Flageoletti, that Fanny and the girls are always hav’in’ + in, to play the fiddle; if he makes a hundred a year it’s as much as + ever he does!” + </p> + <p> + James shook his head. “Ah!” he said, “<i>I</i> don’t know + how they live!” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon had risen, and, cigar in mouth, went to inspect the group at + close quarters. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t have given two for it!” he pronounced at last. + </p> + <p> + Soames saw his father and Nicholas glance at each other anxiously; and, on + the other side of Swithin, Bosinney, still shrouded in smoke. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what <i>he</i> thinks of it?” thought Soames, who knew well + enough that this group was hopelessly <i>vieux jeu;</i> hopelessly of the last + generation. There was no longer any sale at Jobson’s for such works + of art. + </p> + <p> + Swithin’s answer came at last. “You never knew anything about + a statue. You’ve got your pictures, and that’s all!” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon walked back to his seat, puffing his cigar. It was not likely + that he was going to be drawn into an argument with an obstinate beggar + like Swithin, pig-headed as a mule, who had never known a statue from a—-straw + hat. + </p> + <p> + “Stucco!” was all he said. + </p> + <p> + It had long been physically impossible for Swithin to start; his fist came + down on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Stucco! I should like to see anything you’ve got in your + house half as good!” + </p> + <p> + And behind his speech seemed to sound again that rumbling violence of + primitive generations. + </p> + <p> + It was James who saved the situation. + </p> + <p> + “Now, what do you say, Mr. Bosinney? You’re an architect; you + ought to know all about statues and things!” + </p> + <p> + Every eye was turned upon Bosinney; all waited with a strange, suspicious + look for his answer. + </p> + <p> + And Soames, speaking for the first time, asked: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Bosinney, what do you say?” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney replied coolly: + </p> + <p> + “The work is a remarkable one.” + </p> + <p> + His words were addressed to Swithin, his eyes smiled slyly at old Jolyon; + only Soames remained unsatisfied. + </p> + <p> + “Remarkable for what?” + </p> + <p> + “For its naiveté.” + </p> + <p> + The answer was followed by an impressive silence; Swithin alone was not + sure whether a compliment was intended. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"></a> + CHAPTER IV<br/>PROJECTION OF THE HOUSE + </h2> + <p> + Soames Forsyte walked out of his green-painted front door three days after + the dinner at Swithin’s, and looking back from across the Square, + confirmed his impression that the house wanted painting. + </p> + <p> + He had left his wife sitting on the sofa in the drawing-room, her hands + crossed in her lap, manifestly waiting for him to go out. This was not + unusual. It happened, in fact, every day. + </p> + <p> + He could not understand what she found wrong with him. It was not as if he + drank! Did he run into debt, or gamble, or swear; was he violent; were his + friends rackety; did he stay out at night? On the contrary. + </p> + <p> + The profound, subdued aversion which he felt in his wife was a mystery to + him, and a source of the most terrible irritation. That she had made a + mistake, and did not love him, had tried to love him and could not love + him, was obviously no reason. + </p> + <p> + He that could imagine so outlandish a cause for his wife’s not + getting on with him was certainly no Forsyte. + </p> + <p> + Soames was forced, therefore, to set the blame entirely down to his wife. + He had never met a woman so capable of inspiring affection. They could not + go anywhere without his seeing how all the men were attracted by her; + their looks, manners, voices, betrayed it; her behaviour under this + attention had been beyond reproach. That she was one of those women—not + too common in the Anglo-Saxon race—born to be loved and to love, who + when not loving are not living, had certainly never even occurred to him. + Her power of attraction, he regarded as part of her value as his property; + but it made him, indeed, suspect that she could give as well as receive; + and she gave him nothing! “Then why did she marry me?” was his + continual thought. He had forgotten his courtship; that year and a half + when he had besieged and lain in wait for her, devising schemes for her + entertainment, giving her presents, proposing to her periodically, and + keeping her other admirers away with his perpetual presence. He had + forgotten the day when, adroitly taking advantage of an acute phase of her + dislike to her home surroundings, he crowned his labours with success. If + he remembered anything, it was the dainty capriciousness with which the + gold-haired, dark-eyed girl had treated him. He certainly did not remember + the look on her face—strange, passive, appealing—when suddenly + one day she had yielded, and said that she would marry him. + </p> + <p> + It had been one of those real devoted wooings which books and people + praise, when the lover is at length rewarded for hammering the iron till + it is malleable, and all must be happy ever after as the wedding bells. + </p> + <p> + Soames walked eastwards, mousing doggedly along on the shady side. + </p> + <p> + The house wanted doing, up, unless he decided to move into the country, + and build. + </p> + <p> + For the hundredth time that month he turned over this problem. There was + no use in rushing into things! He was very comfortably off, with an + increasing income getting on for three thousand a year; but his invested + capital was not perhaps so large as his father believed—James had a + tendency to expect that his children should be better off than they were. + “I can manage eight thousand easily enough,” he thought, + “without calling in either Robertson’s or Nicholl’s.” + </p> + <p> + He had stopped to look in at a picture shop, for Soames was an “amateur” + of pictures, and had a little-room in No. 62, Montpellier Square, full of + canvases, stacked against the wall, which he had no room to hang. He + brought them home with him on his way back from the City, generally after + dark, and would enter this room on Sunday afternoons, to spend hours + turning the pictures to the light, examining the marks on their backs, and + occasionally making notes. + </p> + <p> + They were nearly all landscapes with figures in the foreground, a sign of + some mysterious revolt against London, its tall houses, its interminable + streets, where his life and the lives of his breed and class were passed. + Every now and then he would take one or two pictures away with him in a + cab, and stop at Jobson’s on his way into the City. + </p> + <p> + He rarely showed them to anyone; Irene, whose opinion he secretly + respected and perhaps for that reason never solicited, had only been into + the room on rare occasions, in discharge of some wifely duty. She was not + asked to look at the pictures, and she never did. To Soames this was + another grievance. He hated that pride of hers, and secretly dreaded it. + </p> + <p> + In the plate-glass window of the picture shop his image stood and looked + at him. + </p> + <p> + His sleek hair under the brim of the tall hat had a sheen like the hat + itself; his cheeks, pale and flat, the line of his clean-shaven lips, his + firm chin with its greyish shaven tinge, and the buttoned strictness of + his black cut-away coat, conveyed an appearance of reserve and secrecy, of + imperturbable, enforced composure; but his eyes, cold,—grey, + strained—looking, with a line in the brow between them, examined him + wistfully, as if they knew of a secret weakness. + </p> + <p> + He noted the subjects of the pictures, the names of the painters, made a + calculation of their values, but without the satisfaction he usually + derived from this inward appraisement, and walked on. + </p> + <p> + No. 62 would do well enough for another year, if he decided to build! The + times were good for building, money had not been so dear for years; and + the site he had seen at Robin Hill, when he had gone down there in the + spring to inspect the Nicholl mortgage—what could be better! Within + twelve miles of Hyde Park Corner, the value of the land certain to go up, + would always fetch more than he gave for it; so that a house, if built in + really good style, was a first-class investment. + </p> + <p> + The notion of being the one member of his family with a country house + weighed but little with him; for to a true Forsyte, sentiment, even the + sentiment of social position, was a luxury only to be indulged in after + his appetite for more material pleasure had been satisfied. + </p> + <p> + To get Irene out of London, away from opportunities of going about and + seeing people, away from her friends and those who put ideas into her + head! That was the thing! She was too thick with June! June disliked him. + He returned the sentiment. They were of the same blood. + </p> + <p> + It would be everything to get Irene out of town. The house would please + her, she would enjoy messing about with the decoration, she was very + artistic! + </p> + <p> + The house must be in good style, something that would always be certain to + command a price, something unique, like that last house of Parkes, which + had a tower; but Parkes had himself said that his architect was ruinous. + You never knew where you were with those fellows; if they had a name they + ran you into no end of expense and were conceited into the bargain. + </p> + <p> + And a common architect was no good—the memory of Parkes’ tower + precluded the employment of a common architect: + </p> + <p> + This was why he had thought of Bosinney. Since the dinner at Swithin’s + he had made enquiries, the result of which had been meagre, but + encouraging: “One of the new school.” + </p> + <p> + “Clever?” + </p> + <p> + “As clever as you like—a bit—a bit up in the air!” + </p> + <p> + He had not been able to discover what houses Bosinney had built, nor what + his charges were. The impression he gathered was that he would be able to + make his own terms. The more he reflected on the idea, the more he liked + it. It would be keeping the thing in the family, with Forsytes almost an + instinct; and he would be able to get “favoured-nation,” if + not nominal terms—only fair, considering the chance to Bosinney of + displaying his talents, for this house must be no common edifice. + </p> + <p> + Soames reflected complacently on the work it would be sure to bring the + young man; for, like every Forsyte, he could be a thorough optimist when + there was anything to be had out of it. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney’s office was in Sloane Street, close at, hand, so that he + would be able to keep his eye continually on the plans. + </p> + <p> + Again, Irene would not be to likely to object to leave London if her + greatest friend’s lover were given the job. Jun’s marriage + might depend on it. Irene could not decently stand in the way of Jun’s + marriage; she would never do that, he knew her too well. And June would be + pleased; of this he saw the advantage. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney looked clever, but he had also—and—it was one of his + great attractions—an air as if he did not quite know on which side + his bread were buttered; he should be easy to deal with in money matters. + Soames made this reflection in no defrauding spirit; it was the natural + attitude of his mind—of the mind of any good business man—of + all those thousands of good business men through whom he was threading his + way up Ludgate Hill. + </p> + <p> + Thus he fulfilled the inscrutable laws of his great class—of human + nature itself—when he reflected, with a sense of comfort, that + Bosinney would be easy to deal with in money matters. + </p> + <p> + While he elbowed his way on, his eyes, which he usually kept fixed on the + ground before his feet, were attracted upwards by the dome of St. Paul’s. + It had a peculiar fascination for him, that old dome, and not once, but + twice or three times a week, would he halt in his daily pilgrimage to + enter beneath and stop in the side aisles for five or ten minutes, + scrutinizing the names and epitaphs on the monuments. The attraction for + him of this great church was inexplicable, unless it enabled him to + concentrate his thoughts on the business of the day. If any affair of + particular moment, or demanding peculiar acuteness, was weighing on his + mind, he invariably went in, to wander with mouse-like attention from + epitaph to epitaph. Then retiring in the same noiseless way, he would hold + steadily on up Cheapside, a thought more of dogged purpose in his gait, as + though he had seen something which he had made up his mind to buy. + </p> + <p> + He went in this morning, but, instead of stealing from monument to + monument, turned his eyes upwards to the columns and spacings of the + walls, and remained motionless. + </p> + <p> + His uplifted face, with the awed and wistful look which faces take on + themselves in church, was whitened to a chalky hue in the vast building. + His gloved hands were clasped in front over the handle of his umbrella. He + lifted them. Some sacred inspiration perhaps had come to him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he thought, “I must have room to hang my + pictures.” + </p> + <p> + That evening, on his return from the City, he called at Bosinney’s + office. He found the architect in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a pipe, and + ruling off lines on a plan. Soames refused a drink, and came at once to + the point. + </p> + <p> + “If you’ve nothing better to do on Sunday, come down with me + to Robin Hill, and give me your opinion on a building site.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to build?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Soames; “but don’t speak of it. I + just want your opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said the architect. + </p> + <p> + Soames peered about the room. + </p> + <p> + “You’re rather high up here,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + Any information he could gather about the nature and scope of Bosinney’s + business would be all to the good. + </p> + <p> + “It does well enough for me so far,” answered the architect. + “You’re accustomed to the swells.” + </p> + <p> + He knocked out his pipe, but replaced it empty between his teeth; it + assisted him perhaps to carry on the conversation. Soames noted a hollow + in each cheek, made as it were by suction. + </p> + <p> + “What do you pay for an office like this?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Fifty too much,” replied Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + This answer impressed Soames favourably. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it <i>is</i> dear,” he said. “I’ll call for + you—on Sunday about eleven.” + </p> + <p> + The following Sunday therefore he called for Bosinney in a hansom, and + drove him to the station. On arriving at Robin Hill, they found no cab, + and started to walk the mile and a half to the site. + </p> + <p> + It was the 1st of August—a perfect day, with a burning sun and + cloudless sky—and in the straight, narrow road leading up the hill + their feet kicked up a yellow dust. + </p> + <p> + “Gravel soil,” remarked Soames, and sideways he glanced at the + coat Bosinney wore. Into the side-pockets of this coat were thrust bundles + of papers, and under one arm was carried a queer-looking stick. Soames + noted these and other peculiarities. + </p> + <p> + No one but a clever man, or, indeed, a buccaneer, would have taken such + liberties with his appearance; and though these eccentricities were + revolting to Soames, he derived a certain satisfaction from them, as + evidence of qualities by which he must inevitably profit. If the fellow + could build houses, what did his clothes matter? + </p> + <p> + “I told you,” he said, “that I want this house to be a + surprise, so don’t say anything about it. I never talk of my affairs + until they’re carried through.” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Let women into your plans,” pursued Soames, “and you + never know where it’ll end.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” Said Bosinney, “women are the devil!” + </p> + <p> + This feeling had long been at the bottom of Soames’s heart; he had never, + however, put it into words. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he muttered, “so you’re beginning to....” + He stopped, but added, with an uncontrollable burst of spite: “Jun’s + got a temper of her own—always had.” + </p> + <p> + “A temper’s not a bad thing in an angel.” + </p> + <p> + Soames had never called Irene an angel. He could not so have violated his + best instincts, letting other people into the secret of her value, and + giving himself away. He made no reply. + </p> + <p> + They had struck into a half-made road across a warren. A cart-track led at + right-angles to a gravel pit, beyond which the chimneys of a cottage rose + amongst a clump of trees at the border of a thick wood. Tussocks of + feathery grass covered the rough surface of the ground, and out of these + the larks soared into the haze of sunshine. On the far horizon, over a + countless succession of fields and hedges, rose a line of downs. + </p> + <p> + Soames led till they had crossed to the far side, and there he stopped. It + was the chosen site; but now that he was about to divulge the spot to + another he had become uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “The agent lives in that cottage,” he said; “he’ll + give us some lunch—we’d better have lunch before we go into + this matter.” + </p> + <p> + He again took the lead to the cottage, where the agent, a tall man named + Oliver, with a heavy face and grizzled beard, welcomed them. During lunch, + which Soames hardly touched, he kept looking at Bosinney, and once or + twice passed his silk handkerchief stealthily over his forehead. The meal + came to an end at last, and Bosinney rose. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you’ve got business to talk over,” he said; + “I’ll just go and nose about a bit.” Without waiting for + a reply he strolled out. + </p> + <p> + Soames was solicitor to this estate, and he spent nearly an hour in the + agent’s company, looking at ground-plans and discussing the Nicholl + and other mortgages; it was as it were by an afterthought that he brought + up the question of the building site. + </p> + <p> + “Your people,” he said, “ought to come down in their + price to me, considering that I shall be the first to build.” + </p> + <p> + Oliver shook his head. + </p> + <p> + The site you’ve fixed on, Sir, he said, “is the cheapest we’ve + got. Sites at the top of the slope are dearer by a good bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Mind,” said Soames, “I’ve not decided; it’s + quite possible I shan’t build at all. The ground rent’s very + high.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Forsyte, I shall be sorry if you go off, and I think you’ll + make a mistake, Sir. There’s not a bit of land near London with such + a view as this, nor one that’s cheaper, all things considered; we’ve + only to advertise, to get a mob of people after it.” + </p> + <p> + They looked at each other. Their faces said very plainly: “I respect + you as a man of business; and you can’t expect me to believe a word + you say.” + </p> + <p> + Well, repeated Soames, “I haven’t made up my mind; the thing + will very likely go off!” With these words, taking up his umbrella, + he put his chilly hand into the agent’s, withdrew it without the + faintest pressure, and went out into the sun. + </p> + <p> + He walked slowly back towards the site in deep thought. His instinct told + him that what the agent had said was true. A cheap site. And the beauty of + it was, that he knew the agent did not really think it cheap; so that his + own intuitive knowledge was a victory over the agent’s. + </p> + <p> + “Cheap or not, I mean to have it,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + The larks sprang up in front of his feet, the air was full of butterflies, + a sweet fragrance rose from the wild grasses. The sappy scent of the + bracken stole forth from the wood, where, hidden in the depths, pigeons + were cooing, and from afar on the warm breeze, came the rhythmic chiming + of church bells. + </p> + <p> + Soames walked with his eyes on the ground, his lips opening and closing as + though in anticipation of a delicious morsel. But when he arrived at the + site, Bosinney was nowhere to be seen. After waiting some little time, he + crossed the warren in the direction of the slope. He would have shouted, + but dreaded the sound of his voice. + </p> + <p> + The warren was as lonely as a prairie, its silence only broken by the + rustle of rabbits bolting to their holes, and the song of the larks. + </p> + <p> + Soames, the pioneer-leader of the great Forsyte army advancing to the + civilization of this wilderness, felt his spirit daunted by the + loneliness, by the invisible singing, and the hot, sweet air. He had begun + to retrace his steps when he at last caught sight of Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + The architect was sprawling under a large oak tree, whose trunk, with a + huge spread of bough and foliage, ragged with age, stood on the verge of + the rise. + </p> + <p> + Soames had to touch him on the shoulder before he looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo! Forsyte,” he said, “I’ve found the very + place for your house! Look here!” + </p> + <p> + Soames stood and looked, then he said, coldly: + </p> + <p> + “You may be very clever, but this site will cost me half as much + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Hang the cost, man. Look at the view!” + </p> + <p> + Almost from their feet stretched ripe corn, dipping to a small dark copse + beyond. A plain of fields and hedges spread to the distant grey-bluedowns. + In a silver streak to the right could be seen the line of the river. + </p> + <p> + The sky was so blue, and the sun so bright, that an eternal summer seemed + to reign over this prospect. Thistledown floated round them, enraptured by + the serenity, of the ether. The heat danced over the corn, and, pervading + all, was a soft, insensible hum, like the murmur of bright minutes holding + revel between earth and heaven. + </p> + <p> + Soames looked. In spite of himself, something swelled in his breast. To + live here in sight of all this, to be able to point it out to his friends, + to talk of it, to possess it! His cheeks flushed. The warmth, the + radiance, the glow, were sinking into his senses as, four years before, + Irene’s beauty had sunk into his senses and made him long for her. + He stole a glance at Bosinney, whose eyes, the eyes of the coachman’s + “half-tame leopard,” seemed running wild over the landscape. + The sunlight had caught the promontories of the fellow’s face, the + bumpy cheekbones, the point of his chin, the vertical ridges above his + brow; and Soames watched this rugged, enthusiastic, careless face with an + unpleasant feeling. + </p> + <p> + A long, soft ripple of wind flowed over the corn, and brought a puff of + warm air into their faces. + </p> + <p> + “I could build you a teaser here,” said Bosinney, breaking the + silence at last. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say,” replied Soames, drily. “You haven’t + got to pay for it.” + </p> + <p> + “For about eight thousand I could build you a palace.” + </p> + <p> + Soames had become very pale—a struggle was going on within him. He + dropped his eyes, and said stubbornly: + </p> + <p> + “I can’t afford it.” + </p> + <p> + And slowly, with his mousing walk, he led the way back to the first site. + </p> + <p> + They spent some time there going into particulars of the projected house, + and then Soames returned to the agent’s cottage. + </p> + <p> + He came out in about half an hour, and, joining Bosinney, started for the + station. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, hardly opening his lips, “I’ve + taken that site of yours, after all.” + </p> + <p> + And again he was silent, confusedly debating how it was that this fellow, + whom by habit he despised, should have overborne his own decision. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"></a> + CHAPTER V<br/>A FORSYTE MÉNAGE + </h2> + <p> + Like the enlightened thousands of his class and generation in this great + city of London, who no longer believe in red velvet chairs, and know that + groups of modern Italian marble are “<i>vieux jeu</i>,” Soames + Forsyte inhabited a house which did what it could. It owned a copper door + knocker of individual design, windows which had been altered to open + outwards, hanging flower boxes filled with fuchsias, and at the back (a + great feature) a little court tiled with jade-green tiles, and surrounded + by pink hydrangeas in peacock-blue tubs. Here, under a parchment-coloured + Japanese sunshade covering the whole end, inhabitants or visitors could be + screened from the eyes of the curious while they drank tea and examined at + their leisure the latest of Soames’s little silver boxes. + </p> + <p> + The inner decoration favoured the First Empire and William Morris. For its + size, the house was commodious; there were countless nooks resembling + birds’ nests, and little things made of silver were deposited like + eggs. + </p> + <p> + In this general perfection two kinds of fastidiousness were at war. There + lived here a mistress who would have dwelt daintily on a desert island; a + master whose daintiness was, as it were, an investment, cultivated by the + owner for his advancement, in accordance with the laws of competition. + This competitive daintiness had caused Soames in his Marlborough days to + be the first boy into white waistcoats in summer, and corduroy waistcoats + in winter, had prevented him from ever appearing in public with his tie + climbing up his collar, and induced him to dust his patent leather boots + before a great multitude assembled on Speech Day to hear him recite + Molière. + </p> + <p> + Skin-like immaculateness had grown over Soames, as over many Londoners; + impossible to conceive of him with a hair out of place, a tie deviating + one-eighth of an inch from the perpendicular, a collar unglossed! He would + not have gone without a bath for worlds—it was the fashion to take + baths; and how bitter was his scorn of people who omitted them! + </p> + <p> + But Irene could be imagined, like some nymph, bathing in wayside streams, + for the joy of the freshness and of seeing her own fair body. + </p> + <p> + In this conflict throughout the house the woman had gone to the wall. As + in the struggle between Saxon and Celt still going on within the nation, + the more impressionable and receptive temperament had had forced on it a + conventional superstructure. + </p> + <p> + Thus the house had acquired a close resemblance to hundreds of other + houses with the same high aspirations, having become: “That very + charming little house of the Soames Forsytes, quite individual, my dear—really + elegant.” + </p> + <p> + For Soames Forsyte—read James Peabody, Thomas Atkins, or Emmanuel + Spagnoletti, the name in fact of any upper-middle class Englishman in + London with any pretensions to taste; and though the decoration be + different, the phrase is just. + </p> + <p> + On the evening of August 8, a week after the expedition to Robin Hill, in + the dining-room of this house—“quite individual, my dear—really + elegant”—Soames and Irene were seated at dinner. A hot dinner + on Sundays was a little distinguishing elegance common to this house and + many others. Early in married life Soames had laid down the rule: “The + servants must give us hot dinner on Sundays—they’ve nothing to + do but play the concertina.” + </p> + <p> + The custom had produced no revolution. For—to Soames a rather + deplorable sign—servants were devoted to Irene, who, in defiance of + all safe tradition, appeared to recognise their right to a share in the + weaknesses of human nature. + </p> + <p> + The happy pair were seated, not opposite each other, but rectangularly, at + the handsome rosewood table; they dined without a cloth—a + distinguishing elegance—and so far had not spoken a word. + </p> + <p> + Soames liked to talk during dinner about business, or what he had been + buying, and so long as he talked Irene’s silence did not distress + him. This evening he had found it impossible to talk. The decision to + build had been weighing on his mind all the week, and he had made up his + mind to tell her. + </p> + <p> + His nervousness about this disclosure irritated him profoundly; she had no + business to make him feel like that—a wife and a husband being one + person. She had not looked at him once since they sat down; and he + wondered what on earth she had been thinking about all the time. It was + hard, when a man worked as he did, making money for her—yes, and + with an ache in his heart—that she should sit there, looking—looking + as if she saw the walls of the room closing in. It was enough to make a + man get up and leave the table. + </p> + <p> + The light from the rose-shaded lamp fell on her neck and arms—Soames + liked her to dine in a low dress, it gave him an inexpressible feeling of + superiority to the majority of his acquaintance, whose wives were + contented with their best high frocks or with tea-gowns, when they dined + at home. Under that rosy light her amber-coloured hair and fair skin made + strange contrast with her dark brown eyes. + </p> + <p> + Could a man own anything prettier than this dining-table with its deep + tints, the starry, soft-petalled roses, the ruby-coloured glass, and + quaint silver furnishing; could a man own anything prettier than the woman + who sat at it? Gratitude was no virtue among Forsytes, who, competitive, + and full of common-sense, had no occasion for it; and Soames only + experienced a sense of exasperation amounting to pain, that he did not own + her as it was his right to own her, that he could not, as by stretching + out his hand to that rose, pluck her and sniff the very secrets of her + heart. + </p> + <p> + Out of his other property, out of all the things he had collected, his + silver, his pictures, his houses, his investments, he got a secret and + intimate feeling; out of her he got none. + </p> + <p> + In this house of his there was writing on every wall. His business-like + temperament protested against a mysterious warning that she was not made + for him. He had married this woman, conquered her, made her his own, and + it seemed to him contrary to the most fundamental of all laws, the law of + possession, that he could do no more than own her body—if indeed he + could do that, which he was beginning to doubt. If any one had asked him + if he wanted to own her soul, the question would have seemed to him both + ridiculous and sentimental. But he did so want, and the writing said he + never would. + </p> + <p> + She was ever silent, passive, gracefully averse; as though terrified lest + by word, motion, or sign she might lead him to believe that she was fond + of him; and he asked himself: Must I always go on like this? + </p> + <p> + Like most novel readers of his generation (and Soames was a great novel + reader), literature coloured his view of life; and he had imbibed the + belief that it was only a question of time. + </p> + <p> + In the end the husband always gained the affection of his wife. Even in + those cases—a class of book he was not very fond of—which + ended in tragedy, the wife always died with poignant regrets on her lips, + or if it were the husband who died—unpleasant thought—threw + herself on his body in an agony of remorse. + </p> + <p> + He often took Irene to the theatre, instinctively choosing the modern + Society Plays with the modern Society conjugal problem, so fortunately + different from any conjugal problem in real life. He found that they too + always ended in the same way, even when there was a lover in the case. + While he was watching the play Soames often sympathized with the lover; + but before he reached home again, driving with Irene in a hansom, he saw + that this would not do, and he was glad the play had ended as it had. + There was one class of husband that had just then come into fashion, the + strong, rather rough, but extremely sound man, who was peculiarly + successful at the end of the play; with this person Soames was really not + in sympathy, and had it not been for his own position, would have + expressed his disgust with the fellow. But he was so conscious of how + vital to himself was the necessity for being a successful, even a “strong,” + husband, that he never spoke of a distaste born perhaps by the perverse + processes of Nature out of a secret fund of brutality in himself. + </p> + <p> + But Irene’s silence this evening was exceptional. He had never + before seen such an expression on her face. And since it is always the + unusual which alarms, Soames was alarmed. He ate his savoury, and hurried + the maid as she swept off the crumbs with the silver sweeper. When she had + left the room, he filled his glass with wine and said: + </p> + <p> + “Anybody been here this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “June.” + </p> + <p> + “What did <i>she</i> want?” It was an axiom with the Forsytes that + people did not go anywhere unless they wanted something. “Came to + talk about her lover, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + Irene made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “It looks to me,” continued Soames, “as if she were + sweeter on him than he is on her. She’s always following him about.” + </p> + <p> + Irene’s eyes made him feel uncomfortable. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve no business to say such a thing!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Anybody can see it.” + </p> + <p> + “They cannot. And if they could, it’s disgraceful to say so.” + </p> + <p> + Soames’s composure gave way. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a pretty wife!” he said. But secretly he + wondered at the heat of her reply; it was unlike her. “You’re + cracked about June! I can tell you one thing: now that she has the + Buccaneer in tow, she doesn’t care twopence about you, and, you’ll + find it out. But you won’t see so much of her in future; we’re + going to live in the country.” + </p> + <p> + He had been glad to get his news out under cover of this burst of + irritation. He had expected a cry of dismay; the silence with which his + pronouncement was received alarmed him. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t seem interested,” he was obliged to add. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it already.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Who told you?” + </p> + <p> + “June.” + </p> + <p> + “How did she know?” + </p> + <p> + Irene did not answer. Baffled and uncomfortable, he said: + </p> + <p> + “It’s a fine thing for Bosinney, it’ll be the making of + him. I suppose she’s told you all about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + There was another pause, and then Soames said: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you don’t want to, go?” + </p> + <p> + Irene made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t tell what you want. You never seem contented + here.” + </p> + <p> + “Have my wishes anything to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + She took the vase of roses and left the room. Soames remained seated. Was + it for this that he had signed that contract? Was it for this that he was + going to spend some ten thousand pounds? Bosinney’s phrase came back + to him: “Women are the devil!” + </p> + <p> + But presently he grew calmer. It might have been worse. She might have + flared up. He had expected something more than this. It was lucky, after + all, that June had broken the ice for him. She must have wormed it out of + Bosinney; he might have known she would. + </p> + <p> + He lighted his cigarette. After all, Irene had not made a scene! She would + come round—that was the best of her; she was cold, but not sulky. + And, puffing the cigarette smoke at a lady-bird on the shining table, he + plunged into a reverie about the house. It was no good worrying; he would + go and make it up presently. She would be sitting out there in the dark, + under the Japanese sunshade, knitting. A beautiful, warm night.... + </p> + <p> + In truth, June had come in that afternoon with shining eyes, and the + words: “Soames is a brick! It’s splendid for Phil—the + very thing for him!” + </p> + <p> + Irene’s face remaining dark and puzzled, she went on: + </p> + <p> + “Your new house at Robin Hill, of course. What? Don’t you + know?” + </p> + <p> + Irene did not know. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! then, I suppose I oughtn’t to have told you!” + Looking impatiently at her friend, she cried: “You look as if you + didn’t care. Don’t you see, it’s what I’ve + been praying for—the very chance he’s been wanting all this + time. Now you’ll see what he can do;” and thereupon she poured + out the whole story. + </p> + <p> + Since her own engagement she had not seemed much interested in her friend’s + position; the hours she spent with Irene were given to confidences of her + own; and at times, for all her affectionate pity, it was impossible to + keep out of her smile a trace of compassionate contempt for the woman who + had made such a mistake in her life—such a vast, ridiculous mistake. + </p> + <p> + “He’s to have all the decorations as well—a free hand. + It’s perfect—” June broke into laughter, her little + figure quivered gleefully; she raised her hand, and struck a blow at a + muslin curtain. “Do you, know I even asked Uncle James....” + But, with a sudden dislike to mentioning that incident, she stopped; and + presently, finding her friend so unresponsive, went away. She looked back + from the pavement, and Irene was still standing in the doorway. In + response to her farewell wave, Irene put her hand to her brow, and, + turning slowly, shut the door.... + </p> + <p> + Soames went to the drawing-room presently, and peered at her through the + window. + </p> + <p> + Out in the shadow of the Japanese sunshade she was sitting very still, the + lace on her white shoulders stirring with the soft rise and fall of her + bosom. + </p> + <p> + But about this silent creature sitting there so motionless, in the dark, + there seemed a warmth, a hidden fervour of feeling, as if the whole of her + being had been stirred, and some change were taking place in its very + depths. + </p> + <p> + He stole back to the dining-room unnoticed. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"></a> + CHAPTER VI<br/>JAMES AT LARGE + </h2> + <p> + It was not long before Soames’s determination to build went the + round of the family, and created the flutter that any decision connected + with property should make among Forsytes. + </p> + <p> + It was not his fault, for he had been determined that no one should know. + June, in the fulness of her heart, had told Mrs. Small, giving her leave + only to tell Aunt Ann—she thought it would cheer her, the poor old + sweet! for Aunt Ann had kept her room now for many days. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Small told Aunt Ann at once, who, smiling as she lay back on her + pillows, said in her distinct, trembling old voice: + </p> + <p> + “It’s very nice for dear June; but I hope they will be careful—it’s + rather dangerous!” + </p> + <p> + When she was left alone again, a frown, like a cloud presaging a rainy + morrow, crossed her face. + </p> + <p> + While she was lying there so many days the process of recharging her will + went on all the time; it spread to her face, too, and tightening movements + were always in action at the corners of her lips. + </p> + <p> + The maid Smither, who had been in her service since girlhood, and was + spoken of as “Smither—a good girl—but so slow!”—the + maid Smither performed every morning with extreme punctiliousness the + crowning ceremony of that ancient toilet. Taking from the recesses of + their pure white band-box those flat, grey curls, the insignia of personal + dignity, she placed them securely in her mistress’s hands, and + turned her back. + </p> + <p> + And every day Aunts Juley and Hester were required to come and report on + Timothy; what news there was of Nicholas; whether dear June had succeeded + in getting Jolyon to shorten the engagement, now that Mr. Bosinney was + building Soames a house; whether young Roger’s wife was really—expecting; + how the operation on Archie had succeeded; and what Swithin had done about + that empty house in Wigmore Street, where the tenant had lost all his + money and treated him so badly; above all, about Soames; was Irene still—still + asking for a separate room? And every morning Smither was told: “I + shall be coming down this afternoon, Smither, about two o’clock. I + shall want your arm, after all these days in bed!” + </p> + <p> + After telling Aunt Ann, Mrs. Small had spoken of the house in the + strictest confidence to Mrs. Nicholas, who in her turn had asked Winifred + Dartie for confirmation, supposing, of course, that, being Soames’s + sister, she would know all about it. Through her it had in due course come + round to the ears of James. He had been a good deal agitated. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody,” he said, “told him anything.” And, + rather than go direct to Soames himself, of whose taciturnity he was + afraid, he took his umbrella and went round to Timothy’s. + </p> + <p> + He found Mrs. Septimus and Hester (who had been told—she was so + safe, she found it tiring to talk) ready, and indeed eager, to discuss the + news. It was very good of dear Soames, they thought, to employ Mr. + Bosinney, but rather risky. What had George named him? “The + Buccaneer!” How droll! But George was always droll! However, it would + be all in the family they supposed they must really look upon Mr. Bosinney + as belonging to the family, though it seemed strange. + </p> + <p> + James here broke in: + </p> + <p> + “Nobody knows anything about him. I don’t see what Soames + wants with a young man like that. I shouldn’t be surprised if Irene + had put her oar in. I shall speak to....” + </p> + <p> + “Soames,” interposed Aunt Juley, “told Mr. Bosinney that + he didn’t wish it mentioned. He wouldn’t like it to be talked + about, I’m sure, and if Timothy knew he would be very vexed, I....” + </p> + <p> + James put his hand behind his ear: + </p> + <p> + “What?” he said. “I’m getting very deaf. I suppose + I don’t hear people. Emily’s got a bad toe. We shan’t be + able to start for Wales till the end of the month. There’s always + something!” And, having got what he wanted, he took his hat and went + away. + </p> + <p> + It was a fine afternoon, and he walked across the Park towards Soames’s, + where he intended to dine, for Emily’s toe kept her in bed, and + Rachel and Cicely were on a visit to the country. He took the slanting + path from the Bayswater side of the Row to the Knightsbridge Gate, across + a pasture of short, burnt grass, dotted with blackened sheep, strewn with + seated couples and strange waifs; lying prone on their faces, like corpses + on a field over which the wave of battle has rolled. + </p> + <p> + He walked rapidly, his head bent, looking neither to right nor left. The + appearance of this park, the centre of his own battle-field, where he had + all his life been fighting, excited no thought or speculation in his mind. + These corpses flung down, there, from out the press and turmoil of the + struggle, these pairs of lovers sitting cheek by jowl for an hour of idle + Elysium snatched from the monotony of their treadmill, awakened no fancies + in his mind; he had outlived that kind of imagination; his nose, like the + nose of a sheep, was fastened to the pastures on which he browsed. + </p> + <p> + One of his tenants had lately shown a disposition to be behind-hand in his + rent, and it had become a grave question whether he had not better turn + him out at once, and so run the risk of not re-letting before Christmas. + Swithin had just been let in very badly, but it had served him right—he + had held on too long. + </p> + <p> + He pondered this as he walked steadily, holding his umbrella carefully by + the wood, just below the crook of the handle, so as to keep the ferule off + the ground, and not fray the silk in the middle. And, with his thin, high + shoulders stooped, his long legs moving with swift mechanical precision, + this passage through the Park, where the sun shone with a clear flame on + so much idleness—on so many human evidences of the remorseless + battle of Property, raging beyond its ring—was like the flight of + some land bird across the sea. + </p> + <p> + He felt a touch on the arm as he came out at Albert Gate. + </p> + <p> + It was Soames, who, crossing from the shady side of Piccadilly, where he + had been walking home from the office, had suddenly appeared alongside. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother’s in bed,” said James; “I was just + coming to you, but I suppose I shall be in the way.” + </p> + <p> + The outward relations between James and his son were marked by a lack of + sentiment peculiarly Forsytean, but for all that the two were by no means + unattached. Perhaps they regarded one another as an investment; certainly + they were solicitous of each other’s welfare, glad of each other’s + company. They had never exchanged two words upon the more intimate + problems of life, or revealed in each other’s presence the existence + of any deep feeling. + </p> + <p> + Something beyond the power of word-analysis bound them together, something + hidden deep in the fibre of nations and families—for blood, they + say, is thicker than water—and neither of them was a cold-blooded + man. Indeed, in James love of his children was now the prime motive of his + existence. To have creatures who were parts of himself, to whom he might + transmit the money he saved, was at the root of his saving; and, at + seventy-five, what was left that could give him pleasure, but—saving? + The kernel of life was in this saving for his children. + </p> + <p> + Than James Forsyte, notwithstanding all his “Jonah-isms,” + there was no saner man (if the leading symptom of sanity, as we are told, + is self-preservation, though without doubt Timothy went too far) in all + this London, of which he owned so much, and loved with such a dumb love, + as the centre of his opportunities. He had the marvellous instinctive + sanity of the middle class. In him—more than in Jolyon, with his + masterful will and his moments of tenderness and philosophy—more + than in Swithin, the martyr to crankiness—Nicholas, the sufferer + from ability—and Roger, the victim of enterprise—beat the true + pulse of compromise; of all the brothers he was least remarkable in mind + and person, and for that reason more likely to live for ever. + </p> + <p> + To James, more than to any of the others, was “the family” + significant and dear. There had always been something primitive and cosy + in his attitude towards life; he loved the family hearth, he loved gossip, + and he loved grumbling. All his decisions were formed of a cream which he + skimmed off the family mind; and, through that family, off the minds of + thousands of other families of similar fibre. Year after year, week after + week, he went to Timothy’s, and in his brother’s front + drawing-room—his legs twisted, his long white whiskers framing his + clean-shaven mouth—would sit watching the family pot simmer, the + cream rising to the top; and he would go away sheltered, refreshed, + comforted, with an indefinable sense of comfort. + </p> + <p> + Beneath the adamant of his self-preserving instinct there was much real + softness in James; a visit to Timothy’s was like an hour spent in + the lap of a mother; and the deep craving he himself had for the + protection of the family wing reacted in turn on his feelings towards his + own children; it was a nightmare to him to think of them exposed to the + treatment of the world, in money, health, or reputation. When his old + friend John Street’s son volunteered for special service, he shook + his head querulously, and wondered what John Street was about to allow it; + and when young Street was assagaied, he took it so much to heart that he + made a point of calling everywhere with the special object of saying: He + knew how it would be—he’d no patience with them! + </p> + <p> + When his son-in-law Dartie had that financial crisis, due to speculation + in Oil Shares, James made himself ill worrying over it; the knell of all + prosperity seemed to have sounded. It took him three months and a visit to + Baden-Baden to get better; there was something terrible in the idea that + but for his, James’s, money, Dartie’s name might have appeared + in the Bankruptcy List. + </p> + <p> + Composed of a physiological mixture so sound that if he had an earache he + thought he was dying, he regarded the occasional ailments of his wife and + children as in the nature of personal grievances, special interventions of + Providence for the purpose of destroying his peace of mind; but he did not + believe at all in the ailments of people outside his own immediate family, + affirming them in every case to be due to neglected liver. + </p> + <p> + His universal comment was: “What can they expect? I have it myself, + if I’m not careful!” + </p> + <p> + When he went to Soames’s that evening he felt that life was hard on + him: There was Emily with a bad toe, and Rachel gadding about in the + country; he got no sympathy from anybody; and Ann, she was ill—he + did not believe she would last through the summer; he had called there + three times now without her being able to see him! And this idea of Soames’s, + building a house, <i>that</i> would have to be looked into. As to the trouble + with Irene, he didn’t know what was to come of that—anything + might come of it! + </p> + <p> + He entered 62, Montpellier Square with the fullest intentions of being + miserable. + </p> + <p> + It was already half-past seven, and Irene, dressed for dinner, was seated + in the drawing-room. She was wearing her gold-coloured frock—for, + having been displayed at a dinner-party, a soirée, and a dance, it was + now to be worn at home—and she had adorned the bosom with a cascade + of lace, on which James’s eyes riveted themselves at once. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you get your things?” he said in an aggravated + voice. “I never see Rachel and Cicely looking half so well. That + rose-point, now—that’s not real!” + </p> + <p> + Irene came close, to prove to him that he was in error. + </p> + <p> + And, in spite of himself, James felt the influence of her deference, of + the faint seductive perfume exhaling from her. No self-respecting Forsyte + surrendered at a blow; so he merely said: He didn’t know—he + expected she was spending a pretty penny on dress. + </p> + <p> + The gong sounded, and, putting her white arm within his, Irene took him + into the dining-room. She seated him in Soames’s usual place, round + the corner on her left. The light fell softly there, so that he would not + be worried by the gradual dying of the day; and she began to talk to him + about himself. + </p> + <p> + Presently, over James came a change, like the mellowing that steals upon a + fruit in the sun; a sense of being caressed, and praised, and petted, and + all without the bestowal of a single caress or word of praise. He felt + that what he was eating was agreeing with him; he could not get that + feeling at home; he did not know when he had enjoyed a glass of champagne + so much, and, on inquiring the brand and price, was surprised to find that + it was one of which he had a large stock himself, but could never drink; + he instantly formed the resolution to let his wine merchant know that he + had been swindled. + </p> + <p> + Looking up from his food, he remarked: + </p> + <p> + “You’ve a lot of nice things about the place. Now, what did + you give for that sugar-sifter? Shouldn’t wonder if it was worth + money!” + </p> + <p> + He was particularly pleased with the appearance of a picture, on the wall + opposite, which he himself had given them: + </p> + <p> + “I’d no idea it was so good!” he said. + </p> + <p> + They rose to go into the drawing-room, and James followed Irene closely. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what I call a capital little dinner,” he + murmured, breathing pleasantly down on her shoulder; “nothing heavy—and + not too Frenchified. But <i>I</i> can’t get it at home. I pay my cook sixty + pounds a year, but <i>she</i> can’t give me a dinner like that!” + </p> + <p> + He had as yet made no allusion to the building of the house, nor did he + when Soames, pleading the excuse of business, betook himself to the room + at the top, where he kept his pictures. + </p> + <p> + James was left alone with his daughter-in-law. The glow of the wine, and + of an excellent liqueur, was still within him. He felt quite warm towards + her. She was really a taking little thing; she listened to you, and seemed + to understand what you were saying; and, while talking, he kept examining + her figure, from her bronze-coloured shoes to the waved gold of her hair. + She was leaning back in an Empire chair, her shoulders poised against the + top—her body, flexibly straight and unsupported from the hips, + swaying when she moved, as though giving to the arms of a lover. Her lips + were smiling, her eyes half-closed. + </p> + <p> + It may have been a recognition of danger in the very charm of her + attitude, or a twang of digestion, that caused a sudden dumbness to fall + on James. He did not remember ever having been quite alone with Irene + before. And, as he looked at her, an odd feeling crept over him, as though + he had come across something strange and foreign. + </p> + <p> + Now what was she thinking about—sitting back like that? + </p> + <p> + Thus when he spoke it was in a sharper voice, as if he had been awakened + from a pleasant dream. + </p> + <p> + “What d’you do with yourself all day?” he said. “You + never come round to Park Lane!” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to be making very lame excuses, and James did not look at her. + He did not want to believe that she was really avoiding them—it + would mean too much. + </p> + <p> + “I expect the fact is, you haven’t time,” he said; + “You’re always about with June. I expect you’re useful + to her with her young man, chaperoning, and one thing and another. They + tell me she’s never at home now; your Uncle Jolyon he doesn’t + like it, I fancy, being left so much alone as he is. They tell me she’s + always hanging about for this young Bosinney; I suppose he comes here + every day. Now, what do you think of him? D’you think he knows his + own mind? He seems to me a poor thing. I should say the grey mare was the + better horse!” + </p> + <p> + The colour deepened in Irene’s face; and James watched her + suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you don’t quite understand Mr. Bosinney,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t understand him!” James hummed out: “Why + not?—you can see he’s one of these artistic chaps. They say he’s + clever—they all think they’re clever. You know more about him + than I do,” he added; and again his suspicious glance rested on her. + </p> + <p> + “He is designing a house for Soames,” she said softly, + evidently trying to smooth things over. + </p> + <p> + “That brings me to what I was going to say,” continued James; + “I don’t know what Soames wants with a young man like that; + why doesn’t he go to a first-rate man?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Mr. Bosinney is first-rate!” + </p> + <p> + James rose, and took a turn with bent head. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it’,” he said, “you young people, + you all stick together; you all think you know best!” + </p> + <p> + Halting his tall, lank figure before her, he raised a finger, and levelled + it at her bosom, as though bringing an indictment against her beauty: + </p> + <p> + “All I can say is, these artistic people, or whatever they call + themselves, they’re as unreliable as they can be; and my advice to + you is, don’t you have too much to do with him!” + </p> + <p> + Irene smiled; and in the curve of her lips was a strange provocation. She + seemed to have lost her deference. Her breast rose and fell as though with + secret anger; she drew her hands inwards from their rest on the arms of + her chair until the tips of her fingers met, and her dark eyes looked + unfathomably at James. + </p> + <p> + The latter gloomily scrutinized the floor. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you my opinion,” he said, “it’s a pity you + haven’t got a child to think about, and occupy you!” + </p> + <p> + A brooding look came instantly on Irene’s face, and even James + became conscious of the rigidity that took possession of her whole figure + beneath the softness of its silk and lace clothing. + </p> + <p> + He was frightened by the effect he had produced, and like most men with + but little courage, he sought at once to justify himself by bullying. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t seem to care about going about. Why don’t you + drive down to Hurlingham with us? And go to the theatre now and then. At + your time of life you ought to take an interest in things. You’re a + young woman!” + </p> + <p> + The brooding look darkened on her face; he grew nervous. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I know nothing about it,” he said; “nobody tells + me anything. Soames ought to be able to take care of himself. If he can’t + take care of himself he mustn’t look to me—that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + Biting the corner of his forefinger he stole a cold, sharp look at his + daughter-in-law. + </p> + <p> + He encountered her eyes fixed on his own, so dark and deep, that he + stopped, and broke into a gentle perspiration. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must be going,” he said after a short pause, and a + minute later rose, with a slight appearance of surprise, as though he had + expected to be asked to stop. Giving his hand to Irene, he allowed himself + to be conducted to the door, and let out into the street. He would not + have a cab, he would walk, Irene was to say good-night to Soames for him, + and if she wanted a little gaiety, well, he would drive her down to + Richmond any day. + </p> + <p> + He walked home, and going upstairs, woke Emily out of the first sleep she + had had for four and twenty hours, to tell her that it was his impression + things were in a bad way at Soames’s; on this theme he descanted for + half an hour, until at last, saying that he would not sleep a wink, he + turned on his side and instantly began to snore. + </p> + <p> + In Montpellier Square Soames, who had come from the picture room, stood + invisible at the top of the stairs, watching Irene sort the letters + brought by the last post. She turned back into the drawing-room; but in a + minute came out, and stood as if listening. Then she came stealing up the + stairs, with a kitten in her arms. He could see her face bent over the + little beast, which was purring against her neck. Why couldn’t she + look at him like that? + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she saw him, and her face changed. + </p> + <p> + “Any letters for me?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Three.” + </p> + <p> + He stood aside, and without another word she passed on into the bedroom. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"></a> + CHAPTER VII<br/>OLD JOLYON’S PECCADILLO + </h2> + <p> + Old Jolyon came out of Lord’s cricket ground that same afternoon + with the intention of going home. He had not reached Hamilton Terrace + before he changed his mind, and hailing a cab, gave the driver an address + in Wistaria Avenue. He had taken a resolution. + </p> + <p> + June had hardly been at home at all that week; she had given him nothing + of her company for a long time past, not, in fact, since she had become + engaged to Bosinney. He never asked her for her company. It was not his + habit to ask people for things! She had just that one idea now—Bosinney + and his affairs—and she left him stranded in his great house, with a + parcel of servants, and not a soul to speak to from morning to night. His + Club was closed for cleaning; his Boards in recess; there was nothing, + therefore, to take him into the City. June had wanted him to go away; she + would not go herself, because Bosinney was in London. + </p> + <p> + But where was he to go by himself? He could not go abroad alone; the sea + upset his liver; he hated hotels. Roger went to a hydropathic—he was + not going to begin that at his time of life, those new-fangled places were + all humbug! + </p> + <p> + With such formulas he clothed to himself the desolation of his spirit; the + lines down his face deepening, his eyes day by day looking forth with the + melancholy which sat so strangely on a face wont to be strong and serene. + </p> + <p> + And so that afternoon he took this journey through St. John’s Wood, + in the golden-light that sprinkled the rounded green bushes of the acacia’s + before the little houses, in the summer sunshine that seemed holding a + revel over the little gardens; and he looked about him with interest; for + this was a district which no Forsyte entered without open disapproval and + secret curiosity. + </p> + <p> + His cab stopped in front of a small house of that peculiar buff colour + which implies a long immunity from paint. It had an outer gate, and a + rustic approach. + </p> + <p> + He stepped out, his bearing extremely composed; his massive head, with its + drooping moustache and wings of white hair, very upright, under an + excessively large top hat; his glance firm, a little angry. He had been + driven into this! + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Jolyon Forsyte at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes sir!—what name shall I say, if you please, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon could not help twinkling at the little maid as he gave his + name. She seemed to him such a funny little toad! + </p> + <p> + And he followed her through the dark hall, into a small double, + drawing-room, where the furniture was covered in chintz, and the little + maid placed him in a chair. + </p> + <p> + “They’re all in the garden, sir; if you’ll kindly take a + seat, I’ll tell them.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon sat down in the chintz-covered chair, and looked around him. + The whole place seemed to him, as he would have expressed it, pokey; there + was a certain—he could not tell exactly what—air of + shabbiness, or rather of making two ends meet, about everything. As far as + he could see, not a single piece of furniture was worth a five-pound note. + The walls, distempered rather a long time ago, were decorated with + water-colour sketches; across the ceiling meandered a long crack. + </p> + <p> + These little houses were all old, second-rate concerns; he should hope the + rent was under a hundred a year; it hurt him more than he could have said, + to think of a Forsyte—his own son living in such a place. + </p> + <p> + The little maid came back. Would he please to go down into the garden? + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon marched out through the French windows. In descending the steps + he noticed that they wanted painting. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon, his wife, his two children, and his dog Balthasar, were all + out there under a pear-tree. + </p> + <p> + This walk towards them was the most courageous act of old Jolyon’s + life; but no muscle of his face moved, no nervous gesture betrayed him. He + kept his deep-set eyes steadily on the enemy. + </p> + <p> + In those two minutes he demonstrated to perfection all that unconscious + soundness, balance, and vitality of fibre that made, of him and so many + others of his class the core of the nation. In the unostentatious conduct + of their own affairs, to the neglect of everything else, they typified the + essential individualism, born in the Briton from the natural isolation of + his country’s life. + </p> + <p> + The dog Balthasar sniffed round the edges of his trousers; this friendly + and cynical mongrel—offspring of a liaison between a Russian poodle + and a fox-terrier—had a nose for the unusual. + </p> + <p> + The strange greetings over, old Jolyon seated himself in a wicker chair, + and his two grandchildren, one on each side of his knees, looked at him + silently, never having seen so old a man. + </p> + <p> + They were unlike, as though recognising the difference set between them by + the circumstances of their births. Jolly, the child of sin, pudgy-faced, + with his tow-coloured hair brushed off his forehead, and a dimple in his + chin, had an air of stubborn amiability, and the eyes of a Forsyte; little + Holly, the child of wedlock, was a dark-skinned, solemn soul, with her + mother’s grey and wistful eyes. + </p> + <p> + The dog Balthasar, having walked round the three small flower-beds, to + show his extreme contempt for things at large, had also taken a seat in + front of old Jolyon, and, oscillating a tail curled by Nature tightly over + his back, was staring up with eyes that did not blink. + </p> + <p> + Even in the garden, that sense of things being pokey haunted old Jolyon; + the wicker chair creaked under his weight; the garden-beds looked “daverdy”. + On the far side, under the smut-stained wall, cats had made a path. + </p> + <p> + While he and his grandchildren thus regarded each other with the peculiar + scrutiny, curious yet trustful, that passes between the very young and the + very old, young Jolyon watched his wife. + </p> + <p> + The colour had deepened in her thin, oval face, with its straight brows, + and large, grey eyes. Her hair, brushed in fine, high curves back from her + forehead, was going grey, like his own, and this greyness made the sudden + vivid colour in her cheeks painfully pathetic. + </p> + <p> + The look on her face, such as he had never seen there before, such as she + had always hidden from him, was full of secret resentments, and longings, + and fears. Her eyes, under their twitching brows, stared painfully. And + she was silent. + </p> + <p> + Jolly alone sustained the conversation; he had many possessions, and was + anxious that his unknown friend with extremely large moustaches, and hands + all covered with blue veins, who sat with legs crossed like his own father + (a habit he was himself trying to acquire), should know it; but being a + Forsyte, though not yet quite eight years old, he made no mention of the + thing at the moment dearest to his heart—a camp of soldiers in a + shop-window, which his father had promised to buy. No doubt it seemed to + him too precious; a tempting of Providence to mention it yet. + </p> + <p> + And the sunlight played through the leaves on that little party of the + three generations grouped tranquilly under the pear-tree, which had long + borne no fruit. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon’s furrowed face was reddening patchily, as old men’s + faces redden in the sun. He took one of Jolly’s hands in his own; + the boy climbed on to his knee; and little Holly, mesmerized by this + sight, crept up to them; the sound of the dog Balthasar’s scratching + arose rhythmically. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly young Mrs. Jolyon got up and hurried indoors. A minute later her + husband muttered an excuse, and followed. Old Jolyon was left alone with + his grandchildren. + </p> + <p> + And Nature with her quaint irony began working in him one of her strange + revolutions, following her cyclic laws into the depths of his heart. And + that tenderness for little children, that passion for the beginnings of + life which had once made him forsake his son and follow June, now worked + in him to forsake June and follow these littler things. Youth, like a + flame, burned ever in his breast, and to youth he turned, to the round + little limbs, so reckless, that wanted care, to the small round faces so + unreasonably solemn or bright, to the treble tongues, and the shrill, + chuckling laughter, to the insistent tugging hands, and the feel of small + bodies against his legs, to all that was young and young, and once more + young. And his eyes grew soft, his voice, and thin-veined hands soft, and + soft his heart within him. And to those small creatures he became at once + a place of pleasure, a place where they were secure, and could talk and + laugh and play; till, like sunshine, there radiated from old Jolyon’s + wicker chair the perfect gaiety of three hearts. + </p> + <p> + But with young Jolyon following to his wife’s room it was different. + </p> + <p> + He found her seated on a chair before her dressing-glass, with her hands + before her face. + </p> + <p> + Her shoulders were shaking with sobs. This passion of hers for suffering + was mysterious to him. He had been through a hundred of these moods; how + he had survived them he never knew, for he could never believe they <i>were</i> + moods, and that the last hour of his partnership had not struck. + </p> + <p> + In the night she would be sure to throw her arms round his neck and say: + “Oh! Jo, how I make you suffer!” as she had done a hundred + times before. + </p> + <p> + He reached out his hand, and, unseen, slipped his razor-case into his + pocket. “I cannot stay here,” he thought, “I must go + down!” Without a word he left the room, and went back to the lawn. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon had little Holly on his knee; she had taken possession of his + watch; Jolly, very red in the face, was trying to show that he could stand + on his head. The dog Balthasar, as close as he might be to the tea-table, + had fixed his eyes on the cake. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon felt a malicious desire to cut their enjoyment short. + </p> + <p> + What business had his father to come and upset his wife like this? It was + a shock, after all these years! He ought to have known; he ought to have + given them warning; but when did a Forsyte ever imagine that his conduct + could upset anybody! And in his thoughts he did old Jolyon wrong. + </p> + <p> + He spoke sharply to the children, and told them to go in to their tea. + Greatly surprised, for they had never heard their father speak sharply + before, they went off, hand in hand, little Holly looking back over her + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon poured out the tea. + </p> + <p> + “My wife’s not the thing today,” he said, but he knew + well enough that his father had penetrated the cause of that sudden + withdrawal, and almost hated the old man for sitting there so calmly. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got a nice little house here,” said old Jolyon + with a shrewd look; “I suppose you’ve taken a lease of it!” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like the neighbourhood,” said old Jolyon; + “a ramshackle lot.” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon replied: “Yes, we’re a ramshackle lot.” + </p> + <p> + The silence was now only broken by the sound of the dog Balthasar’s + scratching. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon said simply: “I suppose I oughtn’t to have come + here, Jo; but I get so lonely!” + </p> + <p> + At these words young Jolyon got up and put his hand on his father’s + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + In the next house someone was playing over and over again: “La Donna è + mobile” on an untuned piano; and the little garden had fallen into + shade, the sun now only reached the wall at the end, whereon basked a + crouching cat, her yellow eyes turned sleepily down on the dog Balthasar. + There was a drowsy hum of very distant traffic; the creepered trellis + round the garden shut out everything but sky, and house, and pear-tree, + with its top branches still gilded by the sun. + </p> + <p> + For some time they sat there, talking but little. Then old Jolyon rose to + go, and not a word was said about his coming again. + </p> + <p> + He walked away very sadly. What a poor miserable place; and he thought of + the great, empty house in Stanhope Gate, fit residence for a Forsyte, with + its huge billiard-room and drawing-room that no one entered from one week’s + end to another. + </p> + <p> + That woman, whose face he had rather liked, was too thin-skinned by half; + she gave Jo a bad time he knew! And those sweet children! Ah! what a piece + of awful folly! + </p> + <p> + He walked towards the Edgware Road, between rows of little houses, all + suggesting to him (erroneously no doubt, but the prejudices of a Forsyte + are sacred) shady histories of some sort or kind. + </p> + <p> + Society, forsooth, the chattering hags and jackanapes—had set + themselves up to pass judgment on <i>his</i> flesh and blood! A parcel of old + women! He stumped his umbrella on the ground, as though to drive it into + the heart of that unfortunate body, which had dared to ostracize his son + and his son’s son, in whom he could have lived again! + </p> + <p> + He stumped his umbrella fiercely; yet he himself had followed Society’s + behaviour for fifteen years—had only today been false to it! + </p> + <p> + He thought of June, and her dead mother, and the whole story, with all his + old bitterness. A wretched business! + </p> + <p> + He was a long time reaching Stanhope Gate, for, with native perversity, + being extremely tired, he walked the whole way. + </p> + <p> + After washing his hands in the lavatory downstairs, he went to the + dining-room to wait for dinner, the only room he used when June was out—it + was less lonely so. The evening paper had not yet come; he had finished + the Times, there was therefore nothing to do. + </p> + <p> + The room faced the backwater of traffic, and was very silent. He disliked + dogs, but a dog even would have been company. His gaze, travelling round + the walls, rested on a picture entitled: “Group of Dutch fishing + boats at sunset”; the <i>chef d’œuvre</i> of his collection. It gave + him no pleasure. He closed his eyes. He was lonely! He oughtn’t to + complain, he knew, but he couldn’t help it: He was a poor thing—had + always been a poor thing—no pluck! Such was his thought. + </p> + <p> + The butler came to lay the table for dinner, and seeing his master + apparently asleep, exercised extreme caution in his movements. This + bearded man also wore a moustache, which had given rise to grave doubts in + the minds of many members—of the family—, especially those + who, like Soames, had been to public schools, and were accustomed to + niceness in such matters. Could he really be considered a butler? Playful + spirits alluded to him as: “Uncle Jolyon’s Nonconformist”. + George, the acknowledged wag, had named him: “Sankey.” + </p> + <p> + He moved to and fro between the great polished sideboard and the great + polished table inimitably sleek and soft. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon watched him, feigning sleep. The fellow was a sneak—he + had always thought so—who cared about nothing but rattling through + his work, and getting out to his betting or his woman or goodness knew + what! A slug! Fat too! And didn’t care a pin about his master! + </p> + <p> + But then against his will, came one of those moments of philosophy which + made old Jolyon different from other Forsytes: + </p> + <p> + After all why should the man care? He wasn’t paid to care, and why + expect it? In this world people couldn’t look for affection unless + they paid for it. It might be different in the next—he didn’t + know—couldn’t tell! And again he shut his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Relentless and stealthy, the butler pursued his labours, taking things + from the various compartments of the sideboard. His back seemed always + turned to old Jolyon; thus, he robbed his operations of the unseemliness + of being carried on in his master’s presence; now and then he + furtively breathed on the silver, and wiped it with a piece of chamois + leather. He appeared to pore over the quantities of wine in the decanters, + which he carried carefully and rather high, letting his head droop over + them protectingly. When he had finished, he stood for over a minute + watching his master, and in his greenish eyes there was a look of + contempt: + </p> + <p> + After all, this master of his was an old buffer, who hadn’t much + left in him! + </p> + <p> + Soft as a tom-cat, he crossed the room to press the bell. His orders were + “dinner at seven.” What if his master were asleep; he would + soon have him out of that; there was the night to sleep in! He had himself + to think of, for he was due at his Club at half-past eight! + </p> + <p> + In answer to the ring, appeared a page boy with a silver soup tureen. The + butler took it from his hands and placed it on the table, then, standing + by the open door, as though about to usher company into the room, he said + in a solemn voice: + </p> + <p> + “Dinner is on the table, sir!” + </p> + <p> + Slowly old Jolyon got up out of his chair, and sat down at the table to + eat his dinner. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"></a> + CHAPTER VIII<br/>PLANS OF THE HOUSE + </h2> + <p> + Forsytes, as is generally admitted, have shells, like that extremely + useful little animal which is made into Turkish delight, in other words, + they are never seen, or if seen would not be recognised, without habitats, + composed of circumstance, property, acquaintances, and wives, which seem + to move along with them in their passage through a world composed of + thousands of other Forsytes with their habitats. Without a habitat a + Forsyte is inconceivable—he would be like a novel without a plot, + which is well-known to be an anomaly. + </p> + <p> + To Forsyte eyes Bosinney appeared to have no habitat, he seemed one of + those rare and unfortunate men who go through life surrounded by + circumstance, property, acquaintances, and wives that do not belong to + them. + </p> + <p> + His rooms in Sloane Street, on the top floor, outside which, on a plate, + was his name, “Philip Baynes Bosinney, Architect,” were not + those of a Forsyte. He had no sitting-room apart from his office, + but a large recess had been screened off to conceal the necessaries of + life—a couch, an easy chair, his pipes, spirit case, novels and + slippers. The business part of the room had the usual furniture; an open + cupboard with pigeon-holes, a round oak table, a folding wash-stand, some + hard chairs, a standing desk of large dimensions covered with drawings and + designs. June had twice been to tea there under the chaperonage of his + aunt. + </p> + <p> + He was believed to have a bedroom at the back. + </p> + <p> + As far as the family had been able to ascertain his income, it consisted + of two consulting appointments at twenty pounds a year, together with an + odd fee once in a way, and—more worthy item—a private annuity + under his father’s will of one hundred and fifty pounds a year. + </p> + <p> + What had transpired concerning that father was not so reassuring. It + appeared that he had been a Lincolnshire country doctor of Cornish + extraction, striking appearance, and Byronic tendencies—a well-known + figure, in fact, in his county. Bosinney’s uncle by marriage, + Baynes, of Baynes and Bildeboy, a Forsyte in instincts if not in name, had + but little that was worthy to relate of his brother-in-law. + </p> + <p> + “An odd fellow!” he would say: “always spoke of his + three eldest boys as ‘good creatures, but so dull’; they’re + all doing capitally in the Indian Civil! Philip was the only one <i>he</i> liked. + I’ve heard him talk in the queerest way; he once said to me: ‘My + dear fellow, never let your poor wife know what you’re thinking of!’ + But I didn’t follow his advice; not I! An eccentric man! He would + say to Phil: ‘Whether you live like a gentleman or not, my boy, be + sure you die like one!’ and he had himself embalmed in a frock coat suit, + with a satin cravat and a diamond pin. Oh, quite an original, I can assure + you!” + </p> + <p> + Of Bosinney himself Baynes would speak warmly, with a certain compassion: + “He’s got a streak of his father’s Byronism. Why, look + at the way he threw up his chances when he left my office; going off like + that for six months with a knapsack, and all for what?—to study + foreign architecture—foreign! What could he expect? And there he is—a + clever young fellow—doesn’t make his hundred a year! Now this + engagement is the best thing that could have happened—keep him + steady; he’s one of those that go to bed all day and stay up all + night, simply because they’ve no method; but no vice about him—not + an ounce of vice. Old Forsyte’s a rich man!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Baynes made himself extremely pleasant to June, who frequently visited + his house in Lowndes Square at this period. + </p> + <p> + “This house of your cousin’s—what a capital man of + business—is the very thing for Philip,” he would say to her; + “you mustn’t expect to see too much of him just now, my dear + young lady. The good cause—the good cause! The young man must make + his way. When I was his age I was at work day and night. My dear wife used + to say to me, ‘Bobby, don’t work too hard, think of your + health’; but I never spared myself!” + </p> + <p> + June had complained that her lover found no time to come to Stanhope Gate. + </p> + <p> + The first time he came again they had not been together a quarter of an + hour before, by one of those coincidences of which she was a mistress, + Mrs. Septimus Small arrived. Thereon Bosinney rose and hid himself, + according to previous arrangement, in the little study, to wait for her + departure. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Aunt Juley, “how thin he is! I’ve + often noticed it with engaged people; but you mustn’t let it get + worse. There’s Barlow’s extract of veal; it did your Uncle + Swithin a lot of good.” + </p> + <p> + June, her little figure erect before the hearth, her small face quivering + grimly, for she regarded her aunt’s untimely visit in the light of a + personal injury, replied with scorn: + </p> + <p> + “It’s because he’s busy; people who can do anything + worth doing are never fat!” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Juley pouted; she herself had always been thin, but the only pleasure + she derived from the fact was the opportunity of longing to be stouter. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think,” she said mournfully, “that you + ought to let them call him ‘The Buccaneer’; people might think + it odd, now that he’s going to build a house for Soames. I do hope + he will be careful; it’s so important for him. Soames has such good + taste!” + </p> + <p> + “Taste!” cried June, flaring up at once; “wouldn’t + give that for his taste, or any of the family’s!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Small was taken aback. + </p> + <p> + “Your Uncle Swithin,” she said, “always had beautiful + taste! And Soames’s little house is lovely; you don’t mean to + say you don’t think so!” + </p> + <p> + “H’mph!” said June, “that’s only because + Irene’s there!” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Juley tried to say something pleasant: + </p> + <p> + “And how will dear Irene like living in the country?” + </p> + <p> + June gazed at her intently, with a look in her eyes as if her conscience + had suddenly leaped up into them; it passed; and an even more intent look + took its place, as if she had stared that conscience out of countenance. + She replied imperiously: + </p> + <p> + “Of course she’ll like it; why shouldn’t she?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Small grew nervous. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know,” she said; “I thought she mightn’t + like to leave her friends. Your Uncle James says she doesn’t take + enough interest in life. <i>We</i> think—I mean Timothy thinks—she + ought to go out more. I expect you’ll miss her very much!” + </p> + <p> + June clasped her hands behind her neck. + </p> + <p> + “I do wish,” she cried, “Uncle Timothy wouldn’t + talk about what doesn’t concern him!” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Juley rose to the full height of her tall figure. + </p> + <p> + “He never talks about what doesn’t concern him,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + June was instantly compunctious; she ran to her aunt and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “I’m very sorry, auntie; but I wish they’d let Irene + alone.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Juley, unable to think of anything further on the subject that would + be suitable, was silent; she prepared for departure, hooking her black + silk cape across her chest, and, taking up her green reticule: + </p> + <p> + “And how is your dear grandfather?” she asked in the hall, + “I expect he’s very lonely now that all your time is taken up + with Mr. Bosinney.” + </p> + <p> + She bent and kissed her niece hungrily, and with little, mincing steps + passed away. + </p> + <p> + The tears sprang up in Jun’s eyes; running into the little study, + where Bosinney was sitting at the table drawing birds on the back of an + envelope, she sank down by his side and cried: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Phil! it’s all so horrid!” Her heart was as warm as + the colour of her hair. + </p> + <p> + On the following Sunday morning, while Soames was shaving, a message was + brought him to the effect that Mr. Bosinney was below, and would be glad + to see him. Opening the door into his wife’s room, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Bosinney’s downstairs. Just go and entertain him while I + finish shaving. I’ll be down in a minute. It’s about the + plans, I expect.” + </p> + <p> + Irene looked at him, without reply, put the finishing touch to her dress + and went downstairs. He could not make her out about this house. She had + said nothing against it, and, as far as Bosinney was concerned, seemed + friendly enough. + </p> + <p> + From the window of his dressing-room he could see them talking together in + the little court below. He hurried on with his shaving, cutting his chin + twice. He heard them laugh, and thought to himself: “Well, they get + on all right, anyway!” + </p> + <p> + As he expected, Bosinney had come round to fetch him to look at the plans. + </p> + <p> + He took his hat and went over. + </p> + <p> + The plans were spread on the oak table in the architect’s room; and + pale, imperturbable, inquiring, Soames bent over them for a long time + without speaking. + </p> + <p> + He said at last in a puzzled voice: + </p> + <p> + “It’s an odd sort of house!” + </p> + <p> + A rectangular house of two stories was designed in a quadrangle round a + covered-in court. This court, encircled by a gallery on the upper floor, + was roofed with a glass roof, supported by eight columns running up from + the ground. + </p> + <p> + It was indeed, to Forsyte eyes, an odd house. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a lot of room cut to waste,” pursued Soames. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney began to walk about, and Soames did not like the expression on + his face. + </p> + <p> + “The principle of this house,” said the architect, “was + that you should have room to breathe—like a gentleman!” + </p> + <p> + Soames extended his finger and thumb, as if measuring the extent of the + distinction he should acquire; and replied: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes; I see.” + </p> + <p> + The peculiar look came into Bosinney’s face which marked all his + enthusiasms. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve tried to plan you a house here with some self-respect of + its own. If you don’t like it, you’d better say so. It’s + certainly the last thing to be considered—who wants self-respect in + a house, when you can squeeze in an extra lavatory?” He put his + finger suddenly down on the left division of the centre oblong: “You + can swing a cat here. This is for your pictures, divided from this court + by curtains; draw them back and you’ll have a space of fifty-one by + twenty-three six. This double-faced stove in the centre, here, looks one + way towards the court, one way towards the picture room; this end wall is + all window; you’ve a southeast light from that, a north light from + the court. The rest of your pictures you can hang round the gallery + upstairs, or in the other rooms.” “In architecture,” he + went on—and though looking at Soames he did not seem to see him, + which gave Soames an unpleasant feeling—“as in life, you’ll + get no self-respect without regularity. Fellows tell you that’s old + fashioned. It appears to be peculiar any way; it never occurs to us to + embody the main principle of life in our buildings; we load our houses + with decoration, gimcracks, corners, anything to distract the eye. On the + contrary the eye should rest; get your effects with a few strong lines. + The whole thing is regularity—there’s no self-respect without it.” + </p> + <p> + Soames, the unconscious ironist, fixed his gaze on Bosinney’s tie, + which was far from being in the perpendicular; he was unshaven too, and + his dress not remarkable for order. Architecture appeared to have + exhausted his regularity. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t it look like a barrack?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + He did not at once receive a reply. + </p> + <p> + “I can see what it is,” said Bosinney, “you want one of + Littlemaster’s houses—one of the pretty and commodious sort, + where the servants will live in garrets, and the front door be sunk so + that you may come up again. By all means try Littlemaster, you’ll + find him a capital fellow, I’ve known him all my life!” + </p> + <p> + Soames was alarmed. He had really been struck by the plans, and the + concealment of his satisfaction had been merely instinctive. It was + difficult for him to pay a compliment. He despised people who were lavish + with their praises. + </p> + <p> + He found himself now in the embarrassing position of one who must pay a + compliment or run the risk of losing a good thing. Bosinney was just the + fellow who might tear up the plans and refuse to act for him; a kind of + grown-up child! + </p> + <p> + This grown-up childishness, to which he felt so superior, exercised a + peculiar and almost mesmeric effect on Soames, for he had never felt + anything like it in himself. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he stammered at last, “it’s—it’s, + certainly original.” + </p> + <p> + He had such a private distrust and even dislike of the word “original” + that he felt he had not really given himself away by this remark. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney seemed pleased. It was the sort of thing that would please a + fellow like that! And his success encouraged Soames. + </p> + <p> + “It’s—a big place,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Space, air, light,” he heard Bosinney murmur, “you can’t + live like a gentleman in one of Littlemaster’s—he builds for + manufacturers.” + </p> + <p> + Soames made a deprecating movement; he had been identified with a + gentleman; not for a good deal of money now would he be classed with + manufacturers. But his innate distrust of general principles revived. What + the deuce was the good of talking about regularity and self-respect? It + looked to him as if the house would be cold. + </p> + <p> + “Irene can’t stand the cold!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Bosinney sarcastically. “Your wife? She doesn’t + like the cold? I’ll see to that; she shan’t be cold. Look + here!” he pointed, to four marks at regular intervals on the walls + of the court. “I’ve given you hot-water pipes in aluminium + casings; you can get them with very good designs.” + </p> + <p> + Soames looked suspiciously at these marks. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all very well, all this,” he said, “but what’s + it going to cost?” + </p> + <p> + The architect took a sheet of paper from his pocket: + </p> + <p> + “The house, of course, should be built entirely of stone, but, as I + thought you wouldn’t stand that, I’ve compromised for a + facing. It ought to have a copper roof, but I’ve made it green + slate. As it is, including metal work, it’ll cost you eight thousand + five hundred.” + </p> + <p> + “Eight thousand five hundred?” said Soames. “Why, I gave + you an outside limit of eight!” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t be done for a penny less,” replied Bosinney + coolly. + </p> + <p> + “You must take it or leave it!” + </p> + <p> + It was the only way, probably, that such a proposition could have been + made to Soames. He was nonplussed. Conscience told him to throw the whole + thing up. But the design was good, and he knew it—there was + completeness about it, and dignity; the servants’ apartments were + excellent too. He would gain credit by living in a house like that—with + such individual features, yet perfectly well-arranged. + </p> + <p> + He continued poring over the plans, while Bosinney went into his bedroom + to shave and dress. + </p> + <p> + The two walked back to Montpellier Square in silence, Soames watching him + out of the corner of his eye. + </p> + <p> + The Buccaneer was rather a good-looking fellow—so he thought—when + he was properly got up. + </p> + <p> + Irene was bending over her flowers when the two men came in. + </p> + <p> + She spoke of sending across the Park to fetch June. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Soames, “we’ve still got business + to talk over!” + </p> + <p> + At lunch he was almost cordial, and kept pressing Bosinney to eat. He was + pleased to see the architect in such high spirits, and left him to spend + the afternoon with Irene, while he stole off to his pictures, after his + Sunday habit. At tea-time he came down to the drawing-room, and found them + talking, as he expressed it, nineteen to the dozen. + </p> + <p> + Unobserved in the doorway, he congratulated himself that things were + taking the right turn. It was lucky she and Bosinney got on; she seemed to + be falling into line with the idea of the new house. + </p> + <p> + Quiet meditation among his pictures had decided him to spring the five + hundred if necessary; but he hoped that the afternoon might have softened + Bosinney’s estimates. It was so purely a matter which Bosinney could + remedy if he liked; there must be a dozen ways in which he could cheapen + the production of a house without spoiling the effect. + </p> + <p> + He awaited, therefore, his opportunity till Irene was handing the + architect his first cup of tea. A chink of sunshine through the lace of + the blinds warmed her cheek, shone in the gold of her hair, and in her + soft eyes. Possibly the same gleam deepened Bosinney’s colour, gave + the rather startled look to his face. + </p> + <p> + Soames hated sunshine, and he at once got up, to draw the blind. Then he + took his own cup of tea from his wife, and said, more coldly than he had + intended: + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you see your way to do it for eight thousand after all? + There must be a lot of little things you could alter.” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney drank off his tea at a gulp, put down his cup, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “Not one!” + </p> + <p> + Soames saw that his suggestion had touched some unintelligible point of + personal vanity. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he agreed, with sulky resignation; “you must + have it your own way, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Bosinney rose to go, and Soames rose too, to see him + off the premises. The architect seemed in absurdly high spirits. After + watching him walk away at a swinging pace, Soames returned moodily to the + drawing-room, where Irene was putting away the music, and, moved by an + uncontrollable spasm of curiosity, he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you think of ‘The Buccaneer’?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at the carpet while waiting for her answer, and he had to wait + some time. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she said at last. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he’s good-looking?” + </p> + <p> + Irene smiled. And it seemed to Soames that she was mocking him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered; “very.” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"></a> + CHAPTER IX<br/>DEATH OF AUNT ANN + </h2> + <p> + There came a morning at the end of September when Aunt Ann was unable to + take from Smither’s hands the insignia of personal dignity. After + one look at the old face, the doctor, hurriedly sent for, announced that + Miss Forsyte had passed away in her sleep. + </p> + <p> + Aunts Juley and Hester were overwhelmed by the shock. They had never + imagined such an ending. Indeed, it is doubtful whether they had ever + realized that an ending was bound to come. Secretly they felt it + unreasonable of Ann to have left them like this without a word, without + even a struggle. It was unlike her. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps what really affected them so profoundly was the thought that a + Forsyte should have let go her grasp on life. If one, then why not all! + </p> + <p> + It was a full hour before they could make up their minds to tell Timothy. + If only it could be kept from him! If only it could be broken to him by + degrees! + </p> + <p> + And long they stood outside his door whispering together. And when it was + over they whispered together again. + </p> + <p> + He would feel it more, they were afraid, as time went on. Still, he had + taken it better than could have been expected. He would keep his bed, of + course! + </p> + <p> + They separated, crying quietly. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Juley stayed in her room, prostrated by the blow. Her face, + discoloured by tears, was divided into compartments by the little ridges + of pouting flesh which had swollen with emotion. It was impossible to + conceive of life without Ann, who had lived with her for seventy-three + years, broken only by the short interregnum of her married life, which + seemed now so unreal. At fixed intervals she went to her drawer, and took + from beneath the lavender bags a fresh pocket-handkerchief. Her warm heart + could not bear the thought that Ann was lying there so cold. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hester, the silent, the patient, that backwater of the family energy, + sat in the drawing-room, where the blinds were drawn; and she, too, had + wept at first, but quietly, without visible effect. Her guiding principle, + the conservation of energy, did not abandon her in sorrow. She sat, slim, + motionless, studying the grate, her hands idle in the lap of her black + silk dress. They would want to rouse her into doing something, no doubt. + As if there were any good in that! Doing something would not bring back + Ann! Why worry her? + </p> + <p> + Five o’clock brought three of the brothers, Jolyon and James and + Swithin; Nicholas was at Yarmouth, and Roger had a bad attack of gout. + Mrs. Hayman had been by herself earlier in the day, and, after seeing Ann, + had gone away, leaving a message for Timothy—which was kept from him—that + she ought to have been told sooner. In fact, there was a feeling amongst + them all that they ought to have been told sooner, as though they had + missed something; and James said: + </p> + <p> + “I knew how it’d be; I told you she wouldn’t last + through the summer.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hester made no reply; it was nearly October, but what was the good of + arguing; some people were never satisfied. + </p> + <p> + She sent up to tell her sister that the brothers were there. Mrs. Small + came down at once. She had bathed her face, which was still swollen, and + though she looked severely at Swithin’s trousers, for they were of + light blue—he had come straight from the club, where the news had + reached him—she wore a more cheerful expression than usual, the + instinct for doing the wrong thing being even now too strong for her. + </p> + <p> + Presently all five went up to look at the body. Under the pure white sheet + a quilted counter-pane had been placed, for now, more than ever, Aunt Ann + had need of warmth; and, the pillows removed, her spine and head rested + flat, with the semblance of their life-long inflexibility; the coif + banding the top of her brow was drawn on either side to the level of the + ears, and between it and the sheet her face, almost as white, was turned + with closed eyes to the faces of her brothers and sisters. In its + extraordinary peace the face was stronger than ever, nearly all bone now + under the scarce-wrinkled parchment of skin—square jaw and chin, + cheekbones, forehead with hollow temples, chiselled nose—the + fortress of an unconquerable spirit that had yielded to death, and in its + upward sightlessness seemed trying to regain that spirit, to regain the + guardianship it had just laid down. + </p> + <p> + Swithin took but one look at the face, and left the room; the sight, he + said afterwards, made him very queer. He went downstairs shaking the whole + house, and, seizing his hat, clambered into his brougham, without giving + any directions to the coachman. He was driven home, and all the evening + sat in his chair without moving. + </p> + <p> + He could take nothing for dinner but a partridge, with an imperial pint of + champagne.... + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon stood at the bottom of the bed, his hands folded in front of + him. He alone of those in the room remembered the death of his mother, and + though he looked at Ann, it was of that he was thinking. Ann was an old + woman, but death had come to her at last—death came to all! His face + did not move, his gaze seemed travelling from very far. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hester stood beside him. She did not cry now, tears were exhausted—her + nature refused to permit a further escape of force; she twisted her hands, + looking not at Ann, but from side to side, seeking some way of escaping + the effort of realization. + </p> + <p> + Of all the brothers and sisters James manifested the most emotion. Tears + rolled down the parallel furrows of his thin face; where he should go now + to tell his troubles he did not know; Juley was no good, Hester worse than + useless! He felt Ann’s death more than he had ever thought he + should; this would upset him for weeks! + </p> + <p> + Presently Aunt Hester stole out, and Aunt Juley began moving about, doing + “what was necessary,” so that twice she knocked against + something. Old Jolyon, roused from his reverie, that reverie of the long, + long past, looked sternly at her, and went away. James alone was left by + the bedside; glancing stealthily round, to see that he was not observed, + he twisted his long body down, placed a kiss on the dead forehead, then + he, too, hastily left the room. Encountering Smither in the hall, he began + to ask her about the funeral, and, finding that she knew nothing, + complained bitterly that, if they didn’t take care, everything would + go wrong. She had better send for Mr. Soames—he knew all about that + sort of thing; her master was very much upset, he supposed—he would + want looking after; as for her mistresses, they were no good—they + had no gumption! They would be ill too, he shouldn’t wonder. She had + better send for the doctor; it was best to take things in time. He didn’t + think his sister Ann had had the best opinion; if she’d had Blank + she would have been alive now. Smither might send to Park Lane any time + she wanted advice. Of course, his carriage was at their service for the + funeral. He supposed she hadn’t such a thing as a glass of claret + and a biscuit—he had had no lunch! + </p> + <p> + The days before the funeral passed quietly. It had long been known, of + course, that Aunt Ann had left her little property to Timothy. There was, + therefore, no reason for the slightest agitation. Soames, who was sole + executor, took charge of all arrangements, and in due course sent out the + following invitation to every male member of the family: + </p> + <p class="letter"> + <i>“To——<br/> + “Your presence is requested at the funeral of Miss Ann Forsyte, in Highgate + Cemetery, at noon of Oct. 1st. Carriages will meet at ‘The Bower,’ + Bayswater Road, at 10.45. No flowers by request.<br/> + “R.S.V.P.”</i> + </p> + <p> + The morning came, cold, with a high, grey, London sky, and at half-past + ten the first carriage, that of James, drove up. It contained James and + his son-in-law Dartie, a fine man, with a square chest, buttoned very + tightly into a frock coat, and a sallow, fattish face adorned with dark, + well-curled moustaches, and that incorrigible commencement of whisker + which, eluding the strictest attempts at shaving, seems the mark of + something deeply ingrained in the personality of the shaver, being + especially noticeable in men who speculate. + </p> + <p> + Soames, in his capacity of executor, received the guests, for Timothy + still kept his bed; he would get up after the funeral; and Aunts Juley and + Hester would not be coming down till all was over, when it was understood + there would be lunch for anyone who cared to come back. The next to arrive + was Roger, still limping from the gout, and encircled by three of his sons—young + Roger, Eustace, and Thomas. George, the remaining son, arrived almost + immediately afterwards in a hansom, and paused in the hall to ask Soames + how he found undertaking pay. + </p> + <p> + They disliked each other. + </p> + <p> + Then came two Haymans—Giles and Jesse perfectly silent, and very + well dressed, with special creases down their evening trousers. Then old + Jolyon alone. Next, Nicholas, with a healthy colour in his face, and a + carefully veiled sprightliness in every movement of his head and body. One + of his sons followed him, meek and subdued. Swithin Forsyte, and Bosinney + arrived at the same moment,—and stood—bowing precedence to + each other,—but on the door opening they tried to enter together; + they renewed their apologies in the hall, and, Swithin, settling his + stock, which had become disarranged in the struggle, very slowly mounted + the stairs. The other Hayman; two married sons of Nicholas, together with + Tweetyman, Spender, and Warry, the husbands of married Forsyte and Hayman + daughters. The company was then complete, twenty-one in all, not a male + member of the family being absent but Timothy and young Jolyon. + </p> + <p> + Entering the scarlet and green drawing-room, whose apparel made so vivid a + setting for their unaccustomed costumes, each tried nervously to find a + seat, desirous of hiding the emphatic blackness of his trousers. There + seemed a sort of indecency in that blackness and in the colour of their + gloves—a sort of exaggeration of the feelings; and many cast shocked + looks of secret envy at “the Buccaneer,” who had no gloves, + and was wearing grey trousers. A subdued hum of conversation rose, no one + speaking of the departed, but each asking after the other, as though + thereby casting an indirect libation to this event, which they had come to + honour. + </p> + <p> + And presently James said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think we ought to be starting.” + </p> + <p> + They went downstairs, and, two and two, as they had been told off in + strict precedence, mounted the carriages. + </p> + <p> + The hearse started at a foot’s pace; the carriages moved slowly + after. In the first went old Jolyon with Nicholas; in the second, the + twins, Swithin and James; in the third, Roger and young Roger; Soames, + young Nicholas, George, and Bosinney followed in the fourth. Each of the + other carriages, eight in all, held three or four of the family; behind + them came the doctor’s brougham; then, at a decent interval, cabs + containing family clerks and servants; and at the very end, one containing + nobody at all, but bringing the total cortege up to the number of + thirteen. + </p> + <p> + So long as the procession kept to the highway of the Bayswater Road, it + retained the foot’s-pace, but, turning into less important + thorough-fares, it soon broke into a trot, and so proceeded, with + intervals of walking in the more fashionable streets, until it arrived. In + the first carriage old Jolyon and Nicholas were talking of their wills. In + the second the twins, after a single attempt, had lapsed into complete + silence; both were rather deaf, and the exertion of making themselves + heard was too great. Only once James broke this silence: + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to be looking about for some ground somewhere. What + arrangements have you made, Swithin?” + </p> + <p> + And Swithin, fixing him with a dreadful stare, answered: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk to me about such things!” + </p> + <p> + In the third carriage a disjointed conversation was carried on in the + intervals of looking out to see how far they had got, George remarking, + “Well, it was really time that the poor old lady went.” He + didn’t believe in people living beyond seventy, Young Nicholas + replied mildly that the rule didn’t seem to apply to the Forsytes. + George said he himself intended to commit suicide at sixty. Young + Nicholas, smiling and stroking a long chin, didn’t think <i>his</i> father + would like that theory; he had made a lot of money since he was sixty. + Well, seventy was the outside limit; it was then time, George said, for + them to go and leave their money to their children. Soames, hitherto + silent, here joined in; he had not forgotten the remark about the “undertaking,” + and, lifting his eyelids almost imperceptibly, said it was all very well + for people who never made money to talk. He himself intended to live as + long as he could. This was a hit at George, who was notoriously hard up. + Bosinney muttered abstractedly “Hear, hear!” and, George + yawning, the conversation dropped. + </p> + <p> + Upon arriving, the coffin was borne into the chapel, and, two by two, the + mourners filed in behind it. This guard of men, all attached to the dead + by the bond of kinship, was an impressive and singular sight in the great + city of London, with its overwhelming diversity of life, its innumerable + vocations, pleasures, duties, its terrible hardness, its terrible call to + individualism. + </p> + <p> + The family had gathered to triumph over all this, to give a show of + tenacious unity, to illustrate gloriously that law of property underlying + the growth of their tree, by which it had thriven and spread, trunk and + branches, the sap flowing through all, the full growth reached at the + appointed time. The spirit of the old woman lying in her last sleep had + called them to this demonstration. It was her final appeal to that unity + which had been their strength—it was her final triumph that she had + died while the tree was yet whole. + </p> + <p> + She was spared the watching of the branches jut out beyond the point of + balance. She could not look into the hearts of her followers. The same law + that had worked in her, bringing her up from a tall, straight-backed slip + of a girl to a woman strong and grown, from a woman grown to a woman old, + angular, feeble, almost witchlike, with individuality all sharpened and + sharpened, as all rounding from the world’s contact fell off from + her—that same law would work, was working, in the family she had + watched like a mother. + </p> + <p> + She had seen it young, and growing, she had seen it strong and grown, and + before her old eyes had time or strength to see any more, she died. She + would have tried, and who knows but she might have kept it young and + strong, with her old fingers, her trembling kisses—a little longer; + alas! not even Aunt Ann could fight with Nature. + </p> + <p> + “Pride comes before a fall!” In accordance with this, the + greatest of Nature’s ironies, the Forsyte family had gathered for a + last proud pageant before they fell. Their faces to right and left, in + single lines, were turned for the most part impassively toward the ground, + guardians of their thoughts; but here and there, one looking upward, with + a line between his brows, searched to see some sight on the chapel walls + too much for him, to be listening to something that appalled. And the + responses, low-muttered, in voices through which rose the same tone, the + same unseizable family ring, sounded weird, as though murmured in hurried + duplication by a single person. + </p> + <p> + The service in the chapel over, the mourners filed up again to guard the + body to the tomb. The vault stood open, and, round it, men in black were + waiting. + </p> + <p> + From that high and sacred field, where thousands of the upper middle class + lay in their last sleep, the eyes of the Forsytes travelled down across + the flocks of graves. There—spreading to the distance, lay London, + with no sun over it, mourning the loss of its daughter, mourning with this + family, so dear, the loss of her who was mother and guardian. A hundred + thousand spires and houses, blurred in the great grey web of property, lay + there like prostrate worshippers before the grave of this, the oldest + Forsyte of them all. + </p> + <p> + A few words, a sprinkle of earth, the thrusting of the coffin home, and + Aunt Ann had passed to her last rest. + </p> + <p> + Round the vault, trustees of that passing, the five brothers stood, with + white heads bowed; they would see that Ann was comfortable where she was + going. Her little property must stay behind, but otherwise, all that could + be should be done.... + </p> + <p> + Then severally, each stood aside, and putting on his hat, turned back to + inspect the new inscription on the marble of the family vault: + </p> + <p class="center"> + SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF<br/> + <big>ANN FORSYTE</big>,<br/> + THE DAUGHTER OF THE ABOVE<br/> + JOLYON AND ANN FORSYTE,<br/> + WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE THE 27TH DAY OF<br/> + SEPTEMBER, 1886,<br/> + AGED EIGHTY-SEVEN YEARS AND FOUR DAYS. + </p> + <p> + Soon perhaps, someone else would be wanting an inscription. It was strange + and intolerable, for they had not thought somehow, that Forsytes could + die. And one and all they had a longing to get away from this painfulness, + this ceremony which had reminded them of things they could not bear to + think about—to get away quickly and go about their business and + forget. + </p> + <p> + It was cold, too; the wind, like some slow, disintegrating force, blowing + up the hill over the graves, struck them with its chilly breath; they + began to split into groups, and as quickly as possible to fill the waiting + carriages. + </p> + <p> + Swithin said he should go back to lunch at Timothy’s, and he offered + to take anybody with him in his brougham. It was considered a doubtful + privilege to drive with Swithin in his brougham, which was not a large + one; nobody accepted, and he went off alone. James and Roger followed + immediately after; they also would drop in to lunch. The others gradually + melted away, Old Jolyon taking three nephews to fill up his carriage; he + had a want of those young faces. + </p> + <p> + Soames, who had to arrange some details in the cemetery office, walked + away with Bosinney. He had much to talk over with him, and, having + finished his business, they strolled to Hampstead, lunched together at the + Spaniard’s Inn, and spent a long time in going into practical + details connected with the building of the house; they then proceeded to + the tram-line, and came as far as the Marble Arch, where Bosinney went off + to Stanhope Gate to see June. + </p> + <p> + Soames felt in excellent spirits when he arrived home, and confided to + Irene at dinner that he had had a good talk with Bosinney, who really + seemed a sensible fellow; they had had a capital walk too, which had done + his liver good—he had been short of exercise for a long time—and + altogether a very satisfactory day. If only it hadn’t been for poor + Aunt Ann, he would have taken her to the theatre; as it was, they must + make the best of an evening at home. + </p> + <p> + “The Buccaneer asked after you more than once,” he said + suddenly. And moved by some inexplicable desire to assert his + proprietorship, he rose from his chair and planted a kiss on his wife’s + shoulder. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_PARTa2" id="link2H_PARTa2"></a> + PART II + </h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"></a> + CHAPTER I<br/>PROGRESS OF THE HOUSE + </h2> + <p> + The winter had been an open one. Things in the trade were slack; and as + Soames had reflected before making up his mind, it had been a good time + for building. The shell of the house at Robin Hill was thus completed by + the end of April. + </p> + <p> + Now that there was something to be seen for his money, he had been coming + down once, twice, even three times a week, and would mouse about among the + debris for hours, careful never to soil his clothes, moving silently + through the unfinished brickwork of doorways, or circling round the + columns in the central court. + </p> + <p> + And he would stand before them for minutes together, as though + peering into the real quality of their substance. + </p> + <p> + On April 30 he had an appointment with Bosinney to go over the accounts, + and five minutes before the proper time he entered the tent which the + architect had pitched for himself close to the old oak tree. + </p> + <p> + The accounts were already prepared on a folding table, and with a nod + Soames sat down to study them. It was some time before he raised his head. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t make them out,” he said at last; “they + come to nearly seven hundred more than they ought.” + </p> + <p> + After a glance at Bosinney’s face he went on quickly: + </p> + <p> + “If you only make a firm stand against these builder chaps you’ll + get them down. They stick you with everything if you don’t look + sharp.... Take ten per cent. off all round. I shan’t mind it’s + coming out a hundred or so over the mark!” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney shook his head: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve taken off every farthing I can!” + </p> + <p> + Soames pushed back the table with a movement of anger, which sent the + account sheets fluttering to the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Then all I can say is,” he flustered out, “you’ve + made a pretty mess of it!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve told you a dozen times,” Bosinney answered + sharply, “that there’d be extras. I’ve pointed them out + to you over and over again!” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” growled Soames: “I shouldn’t have + objected to a ten pound note here and there. How was I to know that by + ‘extras’ you meant seven hundred pounds?” + </p> + <p> + The qualities of both men had contributed to this not-inconsiderable + discrepancy. On the one hand, the architect’s devotion to his idea, + to the image of a house which he had created and believed in—had + made him nervous of being stopped, or forced to the use of makeshifts; on + the other, Soames’s not less true and wholehearted devotion to the + very best article that could be obtained for the money, had rendered him + averse to believing that things worth thirteen shillings could not be + bought with twelve. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I’d never undertaken your house,” said Bosinney + suddenly. “You come down here worrying me out of my life. You want + double the value for your money anybody else would, and now that you’ve + got a house that for its size is not to be beaten in the county, you don’t + want to pay for it. If you’re anxious to be off your bargain, I + daresay I can find the balance above the estimates myself, but I’m d——d + if I do another stroke of work for you!” + </p> + <p> + Soames regained his composure. Knowing that Bosinney had no capital, he + regarded this as a wild suggestion. He saw, too, that he would be kept + indefinitely out of this house on which he had set his heart, and just at + the crucial point when the architect’s personal care made all the + difference. In the meantime there was Irene to be thought of! She had been + very queer lately. He really believed it was only because she had taken to + Bosinney that she tolerated the idea of the house at all. It would not do + to make an open breach with her. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t get into a rage,” he said. “If I’m + willing to put up with it, I suppose you needn’t cry out. All I + meant was that when you tell me a thing is going to cost so much, I like + to—well, in fact, I—like to know where I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” said Bosinney, and Soames was both annoyed and + surprised by the shrewdness of his glance. “You’ve got my + services dirt cheap. For the kind of work I’ve put into this house, + and the amount of time I’ve given to it, you’d have had to pay + Littlemaster or some other fool four times as much. What you want, in + fact, is a first-rate man for a fourth-rate fee, and that’s exactly + what you’ve got!” + </p> + <p> + Soames saw that he really meant what he said, and, angry though he was, + the consequences of a row rose before him too vividly. He saw his house + unfinished, his wife rebellious, himself a laughingstock. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go over it,” he said sulkily, “and see how + the money’s gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” assented Bosinney. “But we’ll hurry + up, if you don’t mind. I have to get back in time to take June to + the theatre.” + </p> + <p> + Soames cast a stealthy look at him, and said: “Coming to our place, + I suppose to meet her?” He was always coming to their place! + </p> + <p> + There had been rain the night before—a spring rain, and the earth smelt of + sap and wild grasses. The warm, soft breeze swung the leaves and the + golden buds of the old oak tree, and in the sunshine the blackbirds were + whistling their hearts out. + </p> + <p> + It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a + painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at + the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace he knows not what. + The earth gave forth a fainting warmth, stealing up through the chilly + garment in which winter had wrapped her. It was her long caress of + invitation, to draw men down to lie within her arms, to roll their bodies + on her, and put their lips to her breast. + </p> + <p> + On just such a day as this Soames had got from Irene the promise he had + asked her for so often. Seated on the fallen trunk of a tree, he had + promised for the twentieth time that if their marriage were not a success, + she should be as free as if she had never married him! + </p> + <p> + “Do you swear it?” she had said. A few days back she had + reminded him of that oath. He had answered: “Nonsense! I couldn’t + have sworn any such thing!” By some awkward fatality he remembered + it now. What queer things men would swear for the sake of women! He would + have sworn it at any time to gain her! He would swear it now, if thereby + he could touch her—but nobody could touch her, she was cold-hearted! + </p> + <p> + And memories crowded on him with the fresh, sweet savour of the spring + wind—memories of his courtship. + </p> + <p> + In the spring of the year 1881 he was visiting his old school-fellow and + client, George Liversedge, of Branksome, who, with the view of developing + his pine-woods in the neighbourhood of Bournemouth, had placed the + formation of the company necessary to the scheme in Soames’s hands. + Mrs. Liversedge, with a sense of the fitness of things, had given a + musical tea in his honour. Later in the course of this function, which + Soames, no musician, had regarded as an unmitigated bore, his eye had been + caught by the face of a girl dressed in mourning, standing by herself. The + lines of her tall, as yet rather thin figure, showed through the wispy, + clinging stuff of her black dress, her black-gloved hands were crossed in + front of her, her lips slightly parted, and her large, dark eyes wandered + from face to face. Her hair, done low on her neck, seemed to gleam above + her black collar like coils of shining metal. And as Soames stood looking + at her, the sensation that most men have felt at one time or another went + stealing through him—a peculiar satisfaction of the senses, a + peculiar certainty, which novelists and old ladies call love at first + sight. Still stealthily watching her, he at once made his way to his + hostess, and stood doggedly waiting for the music to cease. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that girl with yellow hair and dark eyes?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “That—oh! Irene Heron. Her father, Professor Heron, died this + year. She lives with her stepmother. She’s a nice girl, a pretty + girl, but no money!” + </p> + <p> + “Introduce me, please,” said Soames. + </p> + <p> + It was very little that he found to say, nor did he find her responsive to + that little. But he went away with the resolution to see her again. He + effected his object by chance, meeting her on the pier with her + stepmother, who had the habit of walking there from twelve to one of a + forenoon. Soames made this lady’s acquaintance with alacrity, nor + was it long before he perceived in her the ally he was looking for. His + keen scent for the commercial side of family life soon told him that Irene + cost her stepmother more than the fifty pounds a year she brought her; it + also told him that Mrs. Heron, a woman yet in the prime of life, desired + to be married again. The strange ripening beauty of her stepdaughter stood + in the way of this desirable consummation. And Soames, in his stealthy + tenacity, laid his plans. + </p> + <p> + He left Bournemouth without having given himself away, but in a month’s + time came back, and this time he spoke, not to the girl, but to her + stepmother. He had made up his mind, he said; he would wait any time. And + he had long to wait, watching Irene bloom, the lines of her young figure + softening, the stronger blood deepening the gleam of her eyes, and warming + her face to a creamy glow; and at each visit he proposed to her, and when + that visit was at an end, took her refusal away with him, back to London, + sore at heart, but steadfast and silent as the grave. He tried to come at + the secret springs of her resistance; only once had he a gleam of light. + It was at one of those assembly dances, which afford the only outlet to + the passions of the population of seaside watering-places. He was sitting + with her in an embrasure, his senses tingling with the contact of the + waltz. She had looked at him over her slowly waving fan; and he had lost + his head. Seizing that moving wrist, he pressed his lips to the flesh of + her arm. And she had shuddered—to this day he had not forgotten that + shudder—nor the look so passionately averse she had given him. + </p> + <p> + A year after that she had yielded. What had made her yield he could never + make out; and from Mrs. Heron, a woman of some diplomatic talent, he + learnt nothing. Once after they were married he asked her, “What + made you refuse me so often?” She had answered by a strange silence. + An enigma to him from the day that he first saw her, she was an enigma to + him still.... + </p> + <p> + Bosinney was waiting for him at the door; and on his rugged, good-looking, + face was a queer, yearning, yet happy look, as though he too saw a promise + of bliss in the spring sky, sniffed a coming happiness in the spring air. + Soames looked at him waiting there. What was the matter with the fellow + that he looked so happy? What was he waiting for with that smile on his + lips and in his eyes? Soames could not see that for which Bosinney was + waiting as he stood there drinking in the flower-scented wind. And once + more he felt baffled in the presence of this man whom by habit he + despised. He hastened on to the house. + </p> + <p> + “The only colour for those tiles,” he heard Bosinney say, “is + ruby with a grey tint in the stuff, to give a transparent effect. I should + like Irene’s opinion. I’m ordering the purple leather curtains + for the doorway of this court; and if you distemper the drawing-room ivory + cream over paper, you’ll get an illusive look. You want to aim all + through the decorations at what I call charm.” + </p> + <p> + Soames said: “You mean that my wife has charm!” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney evaded the question. + </p> + <p> + “You should have a clump of iris plants in the centre of that court.” + </p> + <p> + Soames smiled superciliously. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll look into Beech’s some time,” he said, + “and see what’s appropriate!” + </p> + <p> + They found little else to say to each other, but on the way to the Station + Soames asked: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you find Irene very artistic.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” The abrupt answer was as distinct a snub as saying: + “If you want to discuss her you can do it with someone else!” + </p> + <p> + And the slow, sulky anger Soames had felt all the afternoon burned the + brighter within him. + </p> + <p> + Neither spoke again till they were close to the Station, then Soames + asked: + </p> + <p> + “When do you expect to have finished?” + </p> + <p> + “By the end of June, if you really wish me to decorate as well.” + </p> + <p> + Soames nodded. “But you quite understand,” he said, “that + the house is costing me a lot beyond what I contemplated. I may as well + tell you that I should have thrown it up, only I’m not in the habit + of giving up what I’ve set my mind on.” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney made no reply. And Soames gave him askance a look of dogged + dislike—for in spite of his fastidious air and that supercilious, + dandified taciturnity, Soames, with his set lips and squared chin, was not + unlike a bulldog.... + </p> + <p> + When, at seven o’clock that evening, June arrived at 62, Montpellier + Square, the maid Bilson told her that Mr. Bosinney was in the + drawing-room; the mistress—she said—was dressing, and would be + down in a minute. She would tell her that Miss June was here. + </p> + <p> + June stopped her at once. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Bilson,” she said, “I’ll just go in. + You, needn’t hurry Mrs. Soames.” + </p> + <p> + She took off her cloak, and Bilson, with an understanding look, did not + even open the drawing-room door for her, but ran downstairs. + </p> + <p> + June paused for a moment to look at herself in the little old-fashioned + silver mirror above the oaken rug chest—a slim, imperious young + figure, with a small resolute face, in a white frock, cut moon-shaped at + the base of a neck too slender for her crown of twisted red-gold hair. + </p> + <p> + She opened the drawing-room door softly, meaning to take him by surprise. + The room was filled with a sweet hot scent of flowering azaleas. + </p> + <p> + She took a long breath of the perfume, and heard Bosinney’s voice, + not in the room, but quite close, saying. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! there were such heaps of things I wanted to talk about, and now + we shan’t have time!” + </p> + <p> + Irene’s voice answered: “Why not at dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “How can one talk....” + </p> + <p> + Jun’s first thought was to go away, but instead she crossed to the + long window opening on the little court. It was from there that the scent + of the azaleas came, and, standing with their backs to her, their faces + buried in the golden-pink blossoms, stood her lover and Irene. + </p> + <p> + Silent but unashamed, with flaming cheeks and angry eyes, the girl + watched. + </p> + <p> + “Come on Sunday by yourself—We can go over the house together.” + </p> + <p> + June saw Irene look up at him through her screen of blossoms. It was not + the look of a coquette, but—far worse to the watching girl—of + a woman fearful lest that look should say too much. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve promised to go for a drive with Uncle....” + </p> + <p> + “The big one! Make him bring you; it’s only ten miles—the + very thing for his horses.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor old Uncle Swithin!” + </p> + <p> + A wave of the azalea scent drifted into Jun’s face; she felt sick + and dizzy. + </p> + <p> + “Do! ah! do!” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “I must see you there—I thought you’d like to help + me....” + </p> + <p> + The answer seemed to the girl to come softly with a tremble from amongst + the blossoms: “So I do!” + </p> + <p> + And she stepped into the open space of the window. + </p> + <p> + “How stuffy it is here!” she said; “I can’t bear + this scent!” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes, so angry and direct, swept both their faces. + </p> + <p> + “Were you talking about the house? <i>I</i> haven’t seen it yet, you + know—shall we all go on Sunday?” + </p> + <p> + From Irene’s face the colour had flown. + </p> + <p> + “I am going for a drive that day with Uncle Swithin,” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Swithin! What does he matter? You can throw him over!” + </p> + <p> + “I am not in the habit of throwing people over!” + </p> + <p> + There was a sound of footsteps and June saw Soames standing just behind + her. + </p> + <p> + “Well! if you are all ready,” said Irene, looking from one to + the other with a strange smile, “dinner is too!” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"></a> + CHAPTER II<br/>JUNE’S TREAT + </h2> + <p> + Dinner began in silence; the women facing one another, and the men. + </p> + <p> + In silence the soup was finished—excellent, if a little thick; and + fish was brought. In silence it was handed. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney ventured: “It’s the first spring day.” + </p> + <p> + Irene echoed softly: “Yes—the first spring day.” + </p> + <p> + “Spring!” said June: “there isn’t a breath of air!” + No one replied. + </p> + <p> + The fish was taken away, a fine fresh sole from Dover. And Bilson brought + champagne, a bottle swathed around the neck with white.... + </p> + <p> + Soames said: “You’ll find it dry.” + </p> + <p> + Cutlets were handed, each pink-frilled about the legs. They were refused + by June, and silence fell. + </p> + <p> + Soames said: “You’d better take a cutlet, June; there’s + nothing coming.” + </p> + <p> + But June again refused, so they were borne away. And then Irene asked: + “Phil, have you heard my blackbird?” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney answered: “Rather—he’s got a hunting-song. As I + came round I heard him in the Square.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s such a darling!” + </p> + <p> + “Salad, sir?” Spring chicken was removed. + </p> + <p> + But Soames was speaking: “The asparagus is very poor. Bosinney, + glass of sherry with your sweet? June, you’re drinking nothing!” + </p> + <p> + June said: “You know I never do. Wine’s such horrid stuff!” + </p> + <p> + An apple charlotte came upon a silver dish, and smilingly Irene said: + “The azaleas are so wonderful this year!” + </p> + <p> + To this Bosinney murmured: “Wonderful! The scent’s + extraordinary!” + </p> + <p> + June said: “How can you like the scent? Sugar, please, Bilson.” + </p> + <p> + Sugar was handed her, and Soames remarked: “This charlotte’s good!” + </p> + <p> + The charlotte was removed. Long silence followed. Irene, beckoning, said: + “Take out the azalea, Bilson. Miss June can’t bear the scent.” + </p> + <p> + “No; let it stay,” said June. + </p> + <p> + Olives from France, with Russian caviare, were placed on little plates. + And Soames remarked: “Why can’t we have the Spanish?” + But no one answered. + </p> + <p> + The olives were removed. Lifting her tumbler June demanded: “Give me + some water, please.” Water was given her. A silver tray was brought, + with German plums. There was a lengthy pause. In perfect harmony all were + eating them. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney counted up the stones: “This year—next year—some + time.” + </p> + <p> + Irene finished softly: “Never! There was such a glorious sunset. The + sky’s all ruby still—so beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + He answered: “Underneath the dark.” + </p> + <p> + Their eyes had met, and June cried scornfully: “A London sunset!” + </p> + <p> + Egyptian cigarettes were handed in a silver box. Soames, taking one, + remarked: “What time’s your play begin?” + </p> + <p> + No one replied, and Turkish coffee followed in enamelled cups. + </p> + <p> + Irene, smiling quietly, said: “If only....” + </p> + <p> + “Only what?” said June. + </p> + <p> + “If only it could always be the spring!” + </p> + <p> + Brandy was handed; it was pale and old. + </p> + <p> + Soames said: “Bosinney, better take some brandy.” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney took a glass; they all arose. + </p> + <p> + “You want a cab?” asked Soames. + </p> + <p> + June answered: “No! My cloaks please, Bilson.” Her cloak was + brought. + </p> + <p> + Irene, from the window, murmured: “Such a lovely night! The stars + are coming out!” + </p> + <p> + Soames added: “Well, I hope you’ll both enjoy yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + From the door June answered: “Thanks. Come, Phil.” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney cried: “I’m coming.” + </p> + <p> + Soames smiled a sneering smile, and said: “I wish you luck!” + </p> + <p> + And at the door Irene watched them go. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney called: “Good night!” + </p> + <p> + “Good night!” she answered softly.... + </p> + <p> + June made her lover take her on the top of a ’bus, saying she wanted + air, and there sat silent, with her face to the breeze. + </p> + <p> + The driver turned once or twice, with the intention of venturing a remark, + but thought better of it. They were a lively couple! The spring had got + into his blood, too; he felt the need for letting steam escape, and + clucked his tongue, flourishing his whip, wheeling his horses, and even + they, poor things, had smelled the spring, and for a brief half-hour + spurned the pavement with happy hoofs. + </p> + <p> + The whole town was alive; the boughs, curled upward with their decking of + young leaves, awaited some gift the breeze could bring. New-lighted lamps + were gaining mastery, and the faces of the crowd showed pale under that + glare, while on high the great white clouds slid swiftly, softly, over the + purple sky. + </p> + <p> + Men in evening dress had thrown back overcoats, stepping jauntily up the + steps of Clubs; working folk loitered; and women—those women who at + that time of night are solitary—solitary and moving eastward in a + stream—swung slowly along, with expectation in their gait, dreaming + of good wine and a good supper, or, for an unwonted minute, of kisses + given for love. + </p> + <p> + Those countless figures, going their ways under the lamps and the + moving sky, had one and all received some restless blessing from the stir + of spring. And one and all, like those clubmen with their opened coats, + had shed something of caste, and creed, and custom, and by the cock of + their hats, the pace of their walk, their laughter, or their silence, + revealed their common kinship under the passionate heavens. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney and June entered the theatre in silence, and mounted to their + seats in the upper boxes. The piece had just begun, and the half-darkened + house, with its rows of creatures peering all one way, resembled a great + garden of flowers turning their faces to the sun. + </p> + <p> + June had never before been in the upper boxes. From the age of fifteen she + had habitually accompanied her grandfather to the stalls, and not common + stalls, but the best seats in the house, towards the centre of the third + row, booked by old Jolyon, at Grogan and Boyne’s, on his way home + from the City, long before the day; carried in his overcoat pocket, + together with his cigar-case and his old kid gloves, and handed to June to + keep till the appointed night. And in those stalls—an erect old + figure with a serene white head, a little figure, strenuous and eager, + with a red-gold head—they would sit through every kind of play, and + on the way home old Jolyon would say of the principal actor: “Oh, he’s + a poor stick! You should have seen little Bobson!” + </p> + <p> + She had looked forward to this evening with keen delight; it was stolen, + chaperone-less, undreamed of at Stanhope Gate, where she was supposed to + be at Soames’s. She had expected reward for her subterfuge, planned + for her lover’s sake; she had expected it to break up the thick, + chilly cloud, and make the relations between them which of late had been + so puzzling, so tormenting—sunny and simple again as they had been + before the winter. She had come with the intention of saying something + definite; and she looked at the stage with a furrow between her brows, + seeing nothing, her hands squeezed together in her lap. A swarm of jealous + suspicions stung and stung her. + </p> + <p> + If Bosinney was conscious of her trouble he made no sign. + </p> + <p> + The curtain dropped. The first act had come to an end. + </p> + <p> + “It’s awfully hot here!” said the girl; “I should + like to go out.” + </p> + <p> + She was very white, and she knew—for with her nerves thus sharpened + she saw everything—that he was both uneasy and compunctious. + </p> + <p> + At the back of the theatre an open balcony hung over the street; she took + possession of this, and stood leaning there without a word, waiting for + him to begin. + </p> + <p> + At last she could bear it no longer. + </p> + <p> + “I want to say something to you, Phil,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + The defensive tone of his voice brought the colour flying to her cheek, + the words flying to her lips: “You don’t give me a chance to + be nice to you; you haven’t for ages now!” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney stared down at the street. He made no answer.... + </p> + <p> + June cried passionately: “You know I want to do everything for you—that + I want to be everything to you....” + </p> + <p> + A hum rose from the street, and, piercing it with a sharp “ping,” + the bell sounded for the raising of the curtain. June did not stir. A + desperate struggle was going on within her. Should she put everything to + the proof? Should she challenge directly that influence, that attraction + which was driving him away from her? It was her nature to challenge, and + she said: “Phil, take me to see the house on Sunday!” + </p> + <p> + With a smile quivering and breaking on her lips, and trying, how hard, not + to show that she was watching, she searched his face, saw it waver and + hesitate, saw a troubled line come between his brows, the blood rush into + his face. He answered: “Not Sunday, dear; some other day!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not Sunday? I shouldn’t be in the way on Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + He made an evident effort, and said: “I have an engagement.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going to take....” + </p> + <p> + His eyes grew angry; he shrugged his shoulders, and answered: “An + engagement that will prevent my taking you to see the house!” + </p> + <p> + June bit her lip till the blood came, and walked back to her seat without + another word, but she could not help the tears of rage rolling down her + face. The house had been mercifully darkened for a crisis, and no one + could see her trouble. + </p> + <p> + Yet in this world of Forsytes let no man think himself immune from + observation. + </p> + <p> + In the third row behind, Euphemia, Nicholas’s youngest daughter, + with her married-sister, Mrs. Tweetyman, were watching. + </p> + <p> + They reported at Timothy’s, how they had seen June and her fiancé at + the theatre. + </p> + <p> + “In the stalls?” “No, not in the....” “Oh! + in the dress circle, of course. That seemed to be quite fashionable + nowadays with young people!” + </p> + <p> + Well—not exactly. In the.... Anyway, <i>that</i> engagement wouldn’t + last long. They had never seen anyone look so thunder and lightningy as + that little June! With tears of enjoyment in their eyes, they related how + she had kicked a man’s hat as she returned to her seat in the middle + of an act, and how the man had looked. Euphemia had a noted, silent laugh, + terminating most disappointingly in squeaks; and when Mrs. Small, holding + up her hands, said: “My dear! Kicked a ha-at?” she let out + such a number of these that she had to be recovered with smelling-salts. + As she went away she said to Mrs. Tweetyman: + </p> + <p> + “Kicked a—ha-at! Oh! I shall die.” + </p> + <p> + For “that little June” this evening, that was to have been + “her treat,” was the most miserable she had ever spent. God + knows she tried to stifle her pride, her suspicion, her jealousy! + </p> + <p> + She parted from Bosinney at old Jolyon’s door without breaking down; + the feeling that her lover must be conquered was strong enough to sustain + her till his retiring footsteps brought home the true extent of her + wretchedness. + </p> + <p> + The noiseless “Sankey” let her in. She would have slipped up + to her own room, but old Jolyon, who had heard her entrance, was in the + dining-room doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Come in and have your milk,” he said. “It’s been + kept hot for you. You’re very late. Where have you been?” + </p> + <p> + June stood at the fireplace, with a foot on the fender and an arm on the + mantelpiece, as her grandfather had done when he came in that night of the + opera. She was too near a breakdown to care what she told him. + </p> + <p> + “We dined at Soames’s.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m! the man of property! His wife there and Bosinney?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon’s glance was fixed on her with the penetrating gaze from + which it was difficult to hide; but she was not looking at him, and when + she turned her face, he dropped his scrutiny at once. He had seen enough, + and too much. He bent down to lift the cup of milk for her from the + hearth, and, turning away, grumbled: “You oughtn’t to stay out + so late; it makes you fit for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + He was invisible now behind his paper, which he turned with a vicious + crackle; but when June came up to kiss him, he said: “Good-night, my + darling,” in a tone so tremulous and unexpected, that it was all the + girl could do to get out of the room without breaking into the fit of + sobbing which lasted her well on into the night. + </p> + <p> + When the door was closed, old Jolyon dropped his paper, and stared long + and anxiously in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “The beggar!” he thought. “I always knew she’d + have trouble with him!” + </p> + <p> + Uneasy doubts and suspicions, the more poignant that he felt himself + powerless to check or control the march of events, came crowding upon him. + </p> + <p> + Was the fellow going to jilt her? He longed to go and say to him: “Look + here, you sir! Are you going to jilt my grand-daughter?” But how + could he? Knowing little or nothing, he was yet certain, with his unerring + astuteness, that there was something going on. He suspected Bosinney of + being too much at Montpellier Square. + </p> + <p> + “This fellow,” he thought, “may not be a scamp; his face + is not a bad one, but he’s a queer fish. I don’t know what to + make of him. I shall never know what to make of him! They tell me he works + like a nigger, but I see no good coming of it. He’s unpractical, he + has no method. When he comes here, he sits as glum as a monkey. If I ask + him what wine he’ll have, he says: ‘Thanks, any wine.’ + If I offer him a cigar, he smokes it as if it were a twopenny German + thing. I never see him looking at June as he ought to look at her; and + yet, he’s not after her money. If she were to make a sign, he’d + be off his bargain to-morrow. But she won’t—not she! She’ll + stick to him! She’s as obstinate as fate—she’ll never + let go!” + </p> + <p> + Sighing deeply, he turned the paper; in its columns, perchance he might + find consolation. + </p> + <p> + And upstairs in her room June sat at her open window, where the spring + wind came, after its revel across the Park, to cool her hot cheeks and + burn her heart. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"></a> + CHAPTER III<br/>DRIVE WITH SWITHIN + </h2> + <p> + Two lines of a certain song in a certain famous old school’s + songbook run as follows: + </p> + <p class="poem"> + “How the buttons on his blue frock shone, tra-la-la!<br/> + How he carolled and he sang, like a bird!...” + </p> + <p> + Swithin did not exactly carol and sing like a bird, but he felt almost + like endeavouring to hum a tune, as he stepped out of Hyde Park Mansions, + and contemplated his horses drawn up before the door. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon was as balmy as a day in June, and to complete the simile of + the old song, he had put on a blue frock-coat, dispensing with an + overcoat, after sending Adolf down three times to make sure that there was + not the least suspicion of east in the wind; and the frock-coat was + buttoned so tightly around his personable form, that, if the buttons did + not shine, they might pardonably have done so. Majestic on the pavement he + fitted on a pair of dog-skin gloves; with his large bell-shaped top hat, + and his great stature and bulk he looked too primeval for a Forsyte. His + thick white hair, on which Adolf had bestowed a touch of pomatum, exhaled + the fragrance of opoponax and cigars—the celebrated Swithin brand, + for which he paid one hundred and forty shillings the hundred, and of + which old Jolyon had unkindly said, he wouldn’t smoke them as a + gift; they wanted the stomach of a horse! + </p> + <p> + “Adolf!” + </p> + <p> + “Sare!” + </p> + <p> + “The new plaid rug!” + </p> + <p> + He would never teach that fellow to look smart; and Mrs. Soames he felt + sure, had an eye! + </p> + <p> + “The phaeton hood down; I am going—to—drive—a—lady!” + </p> + <p> + A pretty woman would want to show off her frock; and well—he was + going to drive a lady! It was like a new beginning to the good old days. + </p> + <p> + Ages since he had driven a woman! The last time, if he remembered, it had + been Juley; the poor old soul had been as nervous as a cat the whole time, + and so put him out of patience that, as he dropped her in the Bayswater + Road, he had said: “Well I’m d——d if I ever drive you + again!” And he never had, not he! + </p> + <p> + Going up to his horses’ heads, he examined their bits; not that he + knew anything about bits—he didn’t pay his coachman sixty + pounds a year to do his work for him, that had never been his principle. + Indeed, his reputation as a horsey man rested mainly on the fact that + once, on Derby Day, he had been welshed by some thimble-riggers. But + someone at the Club, after seeing him drive his greys up to the door—he + always drove grey horses, you got more style for the money, some thought—had + called him “Four-in-hand Forsyte.” The name having reached his + ears through that fellow Nicholas Treffry, old Jolyon’s dead + partner, the great driving man notorious for more carriage accidents than + any man in the kingdom—Swithin had ever after conceived it right to + act up to it. The name had taken his fancy, not because he had ever driven + four-in-hand, or was ever likely to, but because of something + distinguished in the sound. Four-in-hand Forsyte! Not bad! Born too soon, + Swithin had missed his vocation. Coming upon London twenty years later, he + could not have failed to have become a stockbroker, but at the time when + he was obliged to select, this great profession had not as yet become the + chief glory of the upper-middle class. He had literally been forced into + auctioneering. + </p> + <p> + Once in the driving seat, with the reins handed to him, and blinking over + his pale old cheeks in the full sunlight, he took a slow look round—Adolf + was already up behind; the cockaded groom at the horses’ heads stood + ready to let go; everything was prepared for the signal, and Swithin gave + it. The equipage dashed forward, and before you could say Jack Robinson, + with a rattle and flourish drew up at Soames’s door. + </p> + <p> + Irene came out at once, and stepped in—he afterward described it at + Timothy’s—“as light as—er—Taglioni, no fuss + about it, no wanting this or wanting that;” and above all, Swithin + dwelt on this, staring at Mrs. Septimus in a way that disconcerted her a + good deal, “no silly nervousness!” To Aunt Hester he portrayed + Irene’s hat. “Not one of your great flopping things, sprawling + about, and catching the dust, that women are so fond of nowadays, but a + neat little—” he made a circular motion of his hand, “white + veil—capital taste.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it made of?” inquired Aunt Hester, who manifested a + languid but permanent excitement at any mention of dress. + </p> + <p> + “Made of?” returned Swithin; “now how should I know?” + </p> + <p> + He sank into silence so profound that Aunt Hester began to be afraid he + had fallen into a trance. She did not try to rouse him herself, it not + being her custom. + </p> + <p> + “I wish somebody would come,” she thought; “I don’t + like the look of him!” + </p> + <p> + But suddenly Swithin returned to life. “Made of” he wheezed + out slowly, “what should it be made of?” + </p> + <p> + They had not gone four miles before Swithin received the impression that + Irene liked driving with him. Her face was so soft behind that white veil, + and her dark eyes shone so in the spring light, and whenever he spoke she + raised them to him and smiled. + </p> + <p> + On Saturday morning Soames had found her at her writing-table with a note + written to Swithin, putting him off. Why did she want to put him off? he + asked. She might put her own people off when she liked, he would not have + her putting off <i>his</i> people! + </p> + <p> + She had looked at him intently, had torn up the note, and said: “Very + well!” + </p> + <p> + And then she began writing another. He took a casual glance presently, and + saw that it was addressed to Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + “What are you writing to <i>him</i> about?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Irene, looking at him again with that intent look, said quietly: “Something + he wanted me to do for him!” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” said Soames,—“Commissions!” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll have your work cut out if you begin that sort of + thing!” He said no more. + </p> + <p> + Swithin opened his eyes at the mention of Robin Hill; it was a long way + for his horses, and he always dined at half-past seven, before the rush at + the Club began; the new chef took more trouble with an early dinner—a + lazy rascal! + </p> + <p> + He would like to have a look at the house, however. A house appealed to + any Forsyte, and especially to one who had been an auctioneer. After all + he said the distance was nothing. When he was a younger man he had had + rooms at Richmond for many years, kept his carriage and pair there, and + drove them up and down to business every day of his life. + </p> + <p> + Four-in-hand Forsyte they called him! His T-cart, his horses had been + known from Hyde Park Corner to the Star and Garter. The Duke of Z.... + wanted to get hold of them, would have given him double the money, but he + had kept them; know a good thing when you have it, eh? A look of solemn + pride came portentously on his shaven square old face, he rolled his head + in his stand-up collar, like a turkey-cock preening himself. + </p> + <p> + She was really—a charming woman! He enlarged upon her frock + afterwards to Aunt Juley, who held up her hands at his way of putting it. + </p> + <p> + Fitted her like a skin—tight as a drum; that was how he liked + ’em, all of a piece, none of your daverdy, scarecrow women! He gazed + at Mrs. Septimus Small, who took after James—long and thin. + </p> + <p> + “There’s style about her,” he went on, “fit for a + king! And she’s so quiet with it too!” + </p> + <p> + “She seems to have made quite a conquest of you, any way,” + drawled Aunt Hester from her corner. + </p> + <p> + Swithin heard extremely well when anybody attacked him. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” he said. “I know a—pretty—woman + when I see one, and all I can say is, I don’t see the young man + about that’s fit for her; but perhaps—you—do, come, + perhaps—you-do!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh?” murmured Aunt Hester, “ask Juley!” + </p> + <p> + Long before they reached Robin Hill, however, the unaccustomed airing had + made him terribly sleepy; he drove with his eyes closed, a life-time of + deportment alone keeping his tall and bulky form from falling askew. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney, who was watching, came out to meet them, and all three entered + the house together; Swithin in front making play with a stout gold-mounted + Malacca cane, put into his hand by Adolf, for his knees were feeling the + effects of their long stay in the same position. He had assumed his fur + coat, to guard against the draughts of the unfinished house. + </p> + <p> + The staircase—he said—was handsome! the baronial style! They + would want some statuary about! He came to a standstill between the + columns of the doorway into the inner court, and held out his cane + inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + What was this to be—this vestibule, or whatever they called it? But + gazing at the skylight, inspiration came to him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! the billiard-room!” + </p> + <p> + When told it was to be a tiled court with plants in the centre, he turned + to Irene: + </p> + <p> + “Waste this on plants? You take my advice and have a billiard table + here!” + </p> + <p> + Irene smiled. She had lifted her veil, banding it like a nun’s coif + across her forehead, and the smile of her dark eyes below this seemed to + Swithin more charming than ever. He nodded. She would take his advice he + saw. + </p> + <p> + He had little to say of the drawing or dining-rooms, which he described as + “spacious”; but fell into such raptures as he permitted to a + man of his dignity, in the wine-cellar, to which he descended by stone + steps, Bosinney going first with a light. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll have room here,” he said, “for six or + seven hundred dozen—a very pooty little cellar!” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney having expressed the wish to show them the house from the copse + below, Swithin came to a stop. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a fine view from here,” he remarked; “you + haven’t such a thing as a chair?” + </p> + <p> + A chair was brought him from Bosinney’s tent. + </p> + <p> + “You go down,” he said blandly; “you two! I’ll sit + here and look at the view.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down by the oak tree, in the sun; square and upright, with one hand + stretched out, resting on the nob of his cane, the other planted on his + knee; his fur coat thrown open, his hat, roofing with its flat top the + pale square of his face; his stare, very blank, fixed on the landscape. + </p> + <p> + He nodded to them as they went off down through the fields. He was, + indeed, not sorry to be left thus for a quiet moment of reflection. The + air was balmy, not too much heat in the sun; the prospect a fine one, a + remarka.... His head fell a little to one side; he jerked it up and + thought: Odd! He—ah! They were waving to him from the bottom! He put + up his hand, and moved it more than once. They were active—the + prospect was remar.... His head fell to the left, he jerked it up at once; + it fell to the right. It remained there; he was asleep. + </p> + <p> + And asleep, a sentinel on the—top of the rise, he appeared to rule + over this prospect—remarkable—like some image blocked out by + the special artist, of primeval Forsytes in pagan days, to record the + domination of mind over matter! + </p> + <p> + And all the unnumbered generations of his yeoman ancestors, wont of a + Sunday to stand akimbo surveying their little plots of land, their grey + unmoving eyes hiding their instinct with its hidden roots of violence, + their instinct for possession to the exclusion of all the world—all + these unnumbered generations seemed to sit there with him on the top of + the rise. + </p> + <p> + But from him, thus slumbering, his jealous Forsyte spirit travelled far, + into God-knows-what jungle of fancies; with those two young people, to see + what they were doing down there in the copse—in the copse where the + spring was running riot with the scent of sap and bursting buds, the song + of birds innumerable, a carpet of bluebells and sweet growing things, and + the sun caught like gold in the tops of the trees; to see what they were + doing, walking along there so close together on the path that was too + narrow; walking along there so close that they were always touching; to + watch Irene’s eyes, like dark thieves, stealing the heart out of the + spring. And a great unseen chaperon, his spirit was there, stopping with + them to look at the little furry corpse of a mole, not dead an hour, with + his mushroom-and-silver coat untouched by the rain or dew; watching over + Irene’s bent head, and the soft look of her pitying eyes; and over + that young man’s head, gazing at her so hard, so strangely. Walking + on with them, too, across the open space where a wood-cutter had been at + work, where the bluebells were trampled down, and a trunk had swayed and + staggered down from its gashed stump. Climbing it with them, over, and on + to the very edge of the copse, whence there stretched an undiscovered + country, from far away in which came the sounds, “Cuckoo-cuckoo!” + </p> + <p> + Silent, standing with them there, and uneasy at their silence! Very queer, + very strange! + </p> + <p> + Then back again, as though guilty, through the wood—back to the + cutting, still silent, amongst the songs of birds that never ceased, and + the wild scent—hum! what was it—like that herb they put in—back + to the log across the path.... + </p> + <p> + And then unseen, uneasy, flapping above them, trying to make noises, his + Forsyte spirit watched her balanced on the log, her pretty figure swaying, + smiling down at that young man gazing up with such strange, shining eyes, + slipping now—a—ah! falling, o—oh! sliding—down his + breast; her soft, warm body clutched, her head bent back from his lips; + his kiss; her recoil; his cry: “You must know—I love you!” + Must know—indeed, a pretty...? Love! Hah! + </p> + <p> + Swithin awoke; virtue had gone out of him. He had a taste in his mouth. + Where was he? + </p> + <p> + Damme! He had been asleep! + </p> + <p> + He had dreamed something about a new soup, with a taste of mint in it. + </p> + <p> + Those young people—where had they got to? His left leg had pins and + needles. + </p> + <p> + “Adolf!” The rascal was not there; the rascal was asleep + somewhere. + </p> + <p> + He stood up, tall, square, bulky in his fur, looking anxiously down over + the fields, and presently he saw them coming. + </p> + <p> + Irene was in front; that young fellow—what had they nicknamed him—“The + Buccaneer?” looked precious hangdog there behind her; had got a flea + in his ear, he shouldn’t wonder. Serve him right, taking her down + all that way to look at the house! The proper place to look at a house + from was the lawn. + </p> + <p> + They saw him. He extended his arm, and moved it spasmodically to encourage + them. But they had stopped. What were they standing there for, talking—talking? + They came on again. She had been giving him a rub, he had not the least + doubt of it, and no wonder, over a house like that—a great ugly + thing, not the sort of house he was accustomed to. + </p> + <p> + He looked intently at their faces, with his pale, immovable stare. That + young man looked very queer! + </p> + <p> + “You’ll never make anything of this!” he said tartly, + pointing at the mansion;—“too newfangled!” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney gazed at him as though he had not heard; and Swithin afterwards + described him to Aunt Hester as “an extravagant sort of fellow very + odd way of looking at you—a bumpy beggar!” + </p> + <p> + What gave rise to this sudden piece of psychology he did not state; + possibly Bosinney’s prominent forehead and cheekbones and chin, or + something hungry in his face, which quarrelled with Swithin’s + conception of the calm satiety that should characterize the perfect + gentleman. + </p> + <p> + He brightened up at the mention of tea. He had a contempt for tea—his + brother Jolyon had been in tea; made a lot of money by it—but he was + so thirsty, and had such a taste in his mouth, that he was prepared to + drink anything. He longed to inform Irene of the taste in his mouth—she + was so sympathetic—but it would not be a distinguished thing to do; + he rolled his tongue round, and faintly smacked it against his palate. + </p> + <p> + In a far corner of the tent Adolf was bending his cat-like moustaches over + a kettle. He left it at once to draw the cork of a pint-bottle of + champagne. Swithin smiled, and, nodding at Bosinney, said: “Why, you’re + quite a Monte Cristo!” This celebrated novel—one of the + half-dozen he had read—had produced an extraordinary impression on + his mind. + </p> + <p> + Taking his glass from the table, he held it away from him to scrutinize + the colour; thirsty as he was, it was not likely that he was going to + drink trash! Then, placing it to his lips, he took a sip. + </p> + <p> + “A very nice wine,” he said at last, passing it before his + nose; “not the equal of my Heidsieck!” + </p> + <p> + It was at this moment that the idea came to him which he afterwards + imparted at Timothy’s in this nutshell: “I shouldn’t + wonder a bit if that architect chap were sweet upon Mrs. Soames!” + </p> + <p> + And from this moment his pale, round eyes never ceased to bulge with the + interest of his discovery. + </p> + <p> + “The fellow,” he said to Mrs. Septimus, “follows her + about with his eyes like a dog—the bumpy beggar! I don’t + wonder at it—she’s a very charming woman, and, I should say, + the pink of discretion!” A vague consciousness of perfume caging + about Irene, like that from a flower with half-closed petals and a + passionate heart, moved him to the creation of this image. “But I + wasn’t sure of it,” he said, “till I saw him pick up her + handkerchief.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Small’s eyes boiled with excitement. + </p> + <p> + “And did he give it her back?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Give it back?” said Swithin: “I saw him slobber on it + when he thought I wasn’t looking!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Small gasped—too interested to speak. + </p> + <p> + “But <i>she</i> gave him no encouragement,” went on Swithin; he + stopped, and stared for a minute or two in the way that alarmed Aunt + Hester so—he had suddenly recollected that, as they were starting + back in the phaeton, she had given Bosinney her hand a second time, and + let it stay there too.... He had touched his horses smartly with the whip, + anxious to get her all to himself. But she had looked back, and she had + not answered his first question; neither had he been able to see her face—she + had kept it hanging down. + </p> + <p> + There is somewhere a picture, which Swithin has not seen, of a man sitting + on a rock, and by him, immersed in the still, green water, a sea-nymph + lying on her back, with her hand on her naked breast. She has a half-smile + on her face—a smile of hopeless surrender and of secret joy. + </p> + <p> + Seated by Swithin’s side, Irene may have been smiling like that. + </p> + <p> + When, warmed by champagne, he had her all to himself, he unbosomed himself + of his wrongs; of his smothered resentment against the new chef at the + club; his worry over the house in Wigmore Street, where the rascally + tenant had gone bankrupt through helping his brother-in-law as if charity + did not begin at home; of his deafness, too, and that pain he sometimes + got in his right side. She listened, her eyes swimming under their lids. + He thought she was thinking deeply of his troubles, and pitied himself + terribly. Yet in his fur coat, with frogs across the breast, his top hat + aslant, driving this beautiful woman, he had never felt more + distinguished. + </p> + <p> + A coster, however, taking his girl for a Sunday airing, seemed to have the + same impression about himself. This person had flogged his donkey into a + gallop alongside, and sat, upright as a waxwork, in his shallopy chariot, + his chin settled pompously on a red handkerchief, like Swithin’s on + his full cravat; while his girl, with the ends of a fly-blown boa floating + out behind, aped a woman of fashion. Her swain moved a stick with a ragged + bit of string dangling from the end, reproducing with strange fidelity the + circular flourish of Swithin’s whip, and rolled his head at his lady + with a leer that had a weird likeness to Swithin’s primeval stare. + </p> + <p> + Though for a time unconscious of the lowly ruffian’s presence, + Swithin presently took it into his head that he was being guyed. He laid + his whip-lash across the mares flank. The two chariots, however, by some + unfortunate fatality continued abreast. Swithin’s yellow, puffy face + grew red; he raised his whip to lash the costermonger, but was saved from + so far forgetting his dignity by a special intervention of Providence. A + carriage driving out through a gate forced phaeton and donkey-cart into + proximity; the wheels grated, the lighter vehicle skidded, and was + overturned. + </p> + <p> + Swithin did not look round. On no account would he have pulled up to help + the ruffian. Serve him right if he had broken his neck! + </p> + <p> + But he could not if he would. The greys had taken alarm. The phaeton swung + from side to side, and people raised frightened faces as they went dashing + past. Swithin’s great arms, stretched at full length, tugged at the + reins. His cheeks were puffed, his lips compressed, his swollen face was + of a dull, angry red. + </p> + <p> + Irene had her hand on the rail, and at every lurch she gripped it tightly. + Swithin heard her ask: + </p> + <p> + “Are we going to have an accident, Uncle Swithin?” + </p> + <p> + He gasped out between his pants: “It’s nothing; a—little + fresh!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve never been in an accident.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you move!” He took a look at her. She was + smiling, perfectly calm. “Sit still,” he repeated. “Never + fear, I’ll get you home!” + </p> + <p> + And in the midst of all his terrible efforts, he was surprised to hear her + answer in a voice not like her own: + </p> + <p> + <i>“I don’t care if I never get home!”</i> + </p> + <p> + The carriage giving a terrific lurch, Swithin’s exclamation was + jerked back into his throat. The horses, winded by the rise of a hill, now + steadied to a trot, and finally stopped of their own accord. + </p> + <p> + “When”—Swithin described it at Timothy’s—“I + pulled ’em up, there she was as cool as myself. God bless my soul! + she behaved as if she didn’t care whether she broke her neck or not! + What was it she said: ‘I don’t care if I never get home?’ + Leaning over the handle of his cane, he wheezed out, to Mrs. Small’s + terror: “And I’m not altogether surprised, with a finickin’ + feller like young Soames for a husband!” + </p> + <p> + It did not occur to him to wonder what Bosinney had done after they had + left him there alone; whether he had gone wandering about like the dog to + which Swithin had compared him; wandering down to that copse where the + spring was still in riot, the cuckoo still calling from afar; gone down + there with her handkerchief pressed to lips, its fragrance mingling with + the scent of mint and thyme. Gone down there with such a wild, exquisite + pain in his heart that he could have cried out among the trees. Or what, + indeed, the fellow had done. In fact, till he came to Timothy’s, + Swithin had forgotten all about him. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"></a> + CHAPTER IV<br/>JAMES GOES TO SEE FOR HIMSELF + </h2> + <p> + Those ignorant of Forsyte ’Change would not, perhaps, foresee all + the stir made by Irene’s visit to the house. + </p> + <p> + After Swithin had related at Timothy’s the full story of his + memorable drive, the same, with the least suspicion of curiosity, the + merest touch of malice, and a real desire to do good, was passed on to + June. + </p> + <p> + “And what a <i>dreadful</i> thing to say, my dear!” ended Aunt Juley; + “that about not going home. What did she mean?” + </p> + <p> + It was a strange recital for the girl. She heard it flushing painfully, + and, suddenly, with a curt handshake, took her departure. + </p> + <p> + “Almost rude!” Mrs. Small said to Aunt Hester, when June was + gone. + </p> + <p> + The proper construction was put on her reception of the news. She was + upset. Something was therefore very wrong. Odd! She and Irene had been + such friends! + </p> + <p> + It all tallied too well with whispers and hints that had been going about + for some time past. Recollections of Euphemia’s account of the visit + to the theatre—Mr. Bosinney always at Soames’s? Oh, indeed! + Yes, of course, he <i>would</i> be—about the house! Nothing open. Only upon the + greatest, the most important provocation was it necessary to say anything + open on Forsyte ’Change. This machine was too nicely adjusted; a + hint, the merest trifling expression of regret or doubt, sufficed to set + the family soul so sympathetic—vibrating. No one desired that harm + should come of these vibrations—far from it; they were set in motion + with the best intentions, with the feeling that each member of the family + had a stake in the family soul. + </p> + <p> + And much kindness lay at the bottom of the gossip; it would frequently + result in visits of condolence being made, in accordance with the customs + of Society, thereby conferring a real benefit upon the sufferers, and + affording consolation to the sound, who felt pleasantly that someone at + all events was suffering from that from which they themselves were not + suffering. In fact, it was simply a desire to keep things well-aired, the + desire which animates the Public Press, that brought James, for instance, + into communication with Mrs. Septimus, Mrs. Septimus, with the little + Nicholases, the little Nicholases with who-knows-whom, and so on. That + great class to which they had risen, and now belonged, demanded a certain + candour, a still more certain reticence. This combination guaranteed their + membership. + </p> + <p> + Many of the younger Forsytes felt, very naturally, and would openly + declare, that they did not want their affairs pried into; but so powerful + was the invisible, magnetic current of family gossip, that for the life of + them they could not help knowing all about everything. It was felt to be + hopeless. + </p> + <p> + One of them (young Roger) had made an heroic attempt to free the rising + generation, by speaking of Timothy as an “old cat.” The effort + had justly recoiled upon himself; the words, coming round in the most + delicate way to Aunt Juley’s ears, were repeated by her in a shocked + voice to Mrs. Roger, whence they returned again to young Roger. + </p> + <p> + And, after all, it was only the wrong-doers who suffered; as, for + instance, George, when he lost all that money playing billiards; or young + Roger himself, when he was so dreadfully near to marrying the girl to + whom, it was whispered, he was already married by the laws of Nature; or + again Irene, who was thought, rather than said, to be in danger. + </p> + <p> + All this was not only pleasant but salutary. And it made so many hours go + lightly at Timothy’s in the Bayswater Road; so many hours that must + otherwise have been sterile and heavy to those three who lived there; and + Timothy’s was but one of hundreds of such homes in this City of + London—the homes of neutral persons of the secure classes, who are + out of the battle themselves, and must find their reason for existing, in + the battles of others. + </p> + <p> + But for the sweetness of family gossip, it must indeed have been lonely + there. Rumours and tales, reports, surmises—were they not the + children of the house, as dear and precious as the prattling babes the + brother and sisters had missed in their own journey? To talk about them + was as near as they could get to the possession of all those children and + grandchildren, after whom their soft hearts yearned. For though it is + doubtful whether Timothy’s heart yearned, it is indubitable that at + the arrival of each fresh Forsyte child he was quite upset. + </p> + <p> + Useless for young Roger to say, “Old cat!” for Euphemia to + hold up her hands and cry: “Oh! those three!” and break into + her silent laugh with the squeak at the end. Useless, and not too kind. + </p> + <p> + The situation which at this stage might seem, and especially to Forsyte + eyes, strange—not to say “impossible”—was, in view + of certain facts, not so strange after all. + </p> + <p> + Some things had been lost sight of. + </p> + <p> + And first, in the security bred of many harmless marriages, it had been + forgotten that Love is no hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a + wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown + along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by + chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it + blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and + colour are always, wild! + </p> + <p> + And further—the facts and figures of their own lives being against + the perception of this truth—it was not generally recognised by + Forsytes that, where this wild plant springs, men and women are but moths + around the pale, flame-like blossom. + </p> + <p> + It was long since young Jolyon’s escapade—there was danger of + a tradition again arising that people in their position never cross the + hedge to pluck that flower; that one could reckon on having love, like + measles, once in due season, and getting over it comfortably for all time—as + with measles, on a soothing mixture of butter and honey—in the arms + of wedlock. + </p> + <p> + Of all those whom this strange rumour about Bosinney and Mrs. Soames + reached, James was the most affected. He had long forgotten how he had + hovered, lanky and pale, in side whiskers of chestnut hue, round Emily, in + the days of his own courtship. He had long forgotten the small house in + the purlieus of Mayfair, where he had spent the early days of his married + life, or rather, he had long forgotten the early days, not the small + house,—a Forsyte never forgot a house—he had afterwards sold + it at a clear profit of four hundred pounds. + </p> + <p> + He had long forgotten those days, with their hopes and fears and doubts + about the prudence of the match (for Emily, though pretty, had nothing, + and he himself at that time was making a bare thousand a year), and that + strange, irresistible attraction which had drawn him on, till he felt he + must die if he could not marry the girl with the fair hair, looped so + neatly back, the fair arms emerging from a skin-tight bodice, the fair + form decorously shielded by a cage of really stupendous circumference. + </p> + <p> + James had passed through the fire, but he had passed also through the + river of years which washes out the fire; he had experienced the saddest + experience of all—forgetfulness of what it was like to be in love. + </p> + <p> + Forgotten! Forgotten so long, that he had forgotten even that he had + forgotten. + </p> + <p> + And now this rumour had come upon him, this rumour about his son’s + wife; very vague, a shadow dodging among the palpable, straightforward + appearances of things, unreal, unintelligible as a ghost, but carrying + with it, like a ghost, inexplicable terror. + </p> + <p> + He tried to bring it home to his mind, but it was no more use than trying + to apply to himself one of those tragedies he read of daily in his evening + paper. He simply could not. There could be nothing in it. It was all their + nonsense. She didn’t get on with Soames as well as she might, but + she was a good little thing—a good little thing! + </p> + <p> + Like the not inconsiderable majority of men, James relished a nice little + bit of scandal, and would say, in a matter-of-fact tone, licking his lips, + “Yes, yes—she and young Dyson; they tell me they’re + living at Monte Carlo!” + </p> + <p> + But the significance of an affair of this sort—of its past, its + present, or its future—had never struck him. What it meant, what + torture and raptures had gone to its construction, what slow, + overmastering fate had lurked within the facts, very naked, sometimes + sordid, but generally spicy, presented to his gaze. He was not in the + habit of blaming, praising, drawing deductions, or generalizing at all + about such things; he simply listened rather greedily, and repeated what + he was told, finding considerable benefit from the practice, as from the + consumption of a sherry and bitters before a meal. + </p> + <p> + Now, however, that such a thing—or rather the rumour, the breath of + it—had come near him personally, he felt as in a fog, which filled + his mouth full of a bad, thick flavour, and made it difficult to draw + breath. + </p> + <p> + A scandal! A possible scandal! + </p> + <p> + To repeat this word to himself thus was the only way in which he could + focus or make it thinkable. He had forgotten the sensations necessary for + understanding the progress, fate, or meaning of any such business; he + simply could no longer grasp the possibilities of people running any risk + for the sake of passion. + </p> + <p> + Amongst all those persons of his acquaintance, who went into the City day + after day and did their business there, whatever it was, and in their + leisure moments bought shares, and houses, and ate dinners, and played + games, as he was told, it would have seemed to him ridiculous to suppose + that there were any who would run risks for the sake of anything so + recondite, so figurative, as passion. + </p> + <p> + Passion! He seemed, indeed, to have heard of it, and rules such as “A + young man and a young woman ought never to be trusted together” were + fixed in his mind as the parallels of latitude are fixed on a map (for all + Forsytes, when it comes to “bed-rock” matters of fact, have + quite a fine taste in realism); but as to anything else—well, he + could only appreciate it at all through the catch-word “scandal.” + </p> + <p> + Ah! but there was no truth in it—could not be. He was not afraid; + she was really a good little thing. But there it was when you got a thing + like that into your mind. And James was of a nervous temperament—one + of those men whom things will not leave alone, who suffer tortures from + anticipation and indecision. For fear of letting something slip that he + might otherwise secure, he was physically unable to make up his mind until + absolutely certain that, by not making it up, he would suffer loss. + </p> + <p> + In life, however, there were many occasions when the business of making up + his mind did not even rest with himself, and this was one of them. + </p> + <p> + What could he do? Talk it over with Soames? That would only make matters + worse. And, after all, there was nothing in it, he felt sure. + </p> + <p> + It was all that house. He had mistrusted the idea from the first. What did + Soames want to go into the country for? And, if he must go spending a lot + of money building himself a house, why not have a first-rate man, instead + of this young Bosinney, whom nobody knew anything about? He had told them + how it would be. And he had heard that the house was costing Soames a + pretty penny beyond what he had reckoned on spending. + </p> + <p> + This fact, more than any other, brought home to James the real danger of + the situation. It was always like this with these “artistic” + chaps; a sensible man should have nothing to say to them. He had warned + Irene, too. And see what had come of it! + </p> + <p> + And it suddenly sprang into James’s mind that he ought to go and see + for himself. In the midst of that fog of uneasiness in which his mind was + enveloped the notion that he could go and look at the house afforded him + inexplicable satisfaction. It may have been simply the decision to do + something—more possibly the fact that he was going to look at a + house—that gave him relief. He felt that in staring at an edifice of + bricks and mortar, of wood and stone, built by the suspected man himself, + he would be looking into the heart of that rumour about Irene. + </p> + <p> + Without saying a word, therefore, to anyone, he took a hansom to the + station and proceeded by train to Robin Hill; thence—there being no + “flies,” in accordance with the custom of the neighbourhood—he + found himself obliged to walk. + </p> + <p> + He started slowly up the hill, his angular knees and high shoulders bent + complainingly, his eyes fixed on his feet, yet, neat for all that, in his + high hat and his frock-coat, on which was the speckless gloss imparted by + perfect superintendence. Emily saw to that; that is, she did not, of + course, see to it—people of good position not seeing to each other’s + buttons, and Emily was of good position—but she saw that the butler + saw to it. + </p> + <p> + He had to ask his way three times; on each occasion he repeated the + directions given him, got the man to repeat them, then repeated them a + second time, for he was naturally of a talkative disposition, and one + could not be too careful in a new neighbourhood. + </p> + <p> + He kept assuring them that it was a new house he was looking for; it was + only, however, when he was shown the roof through the trees that he could + feel really satisfied that he had not been directed entirely wrong. + </p> + <p> + A heavy sky seemed to cover the world with the grey whiteness of a + whitewashed ceiling. There was no freshness or fragrance in the air. On + such a day even British workmen scarcely cared to do more then they were + obliged, and moved about their business without the drone of talk which + whiles away the pangs of labour. + </p> + <p> + Through spaces of the unfinished house, shirt-sleeved figures worked + slowly, and sounds arose—spasmodic knockings, the scraping of metal, + the sawing of wood, with the rumble of wheelbarrows along boards; now and + again the foreman’s dog, tethered by a string to an oaken beam, + whimpered feebly, with a sound like the singing of a kettle. + </p> + <p> + The fresh-fitted window-panes, daubed each with a white patch in the + centre, stared out at James like the eyes of a blind dog. + </p> + <p> + And the building chorus went on, strident and mirthless under the + grey-white sky. But the thrushes, hunting amongst the fresh-turned earth + for worms, were silent quite. + </p> + <p> + James picked his way among the heaps of gravel—the drive was being + laid—till he came opposite the porch. Here he stopped and raised his + eyes. There was but little to see from this point of view, and that little + he took in at once; but he stayed in this position many minutes, and who + shall know of what he thought. + </p> + <p> + His china-blue eyes under white eyebrows that jutted out in little horns, + never stirred; the long upper lip of his wide mouth, between the fine + white whiskers, twitched once or twice; it was easy to see from that + anxious rapt expression, whence Soames derived the handicapped look which + sometimes came upon his face. James might have been saying to himself: + “I don’t know—life’s a tough job.” + </p> + <p> + In this position Bosinney surprised him. + </p> + <p> + James brought his eyes down from whatever bird’s-nest they had been + looking for in the sky to Bosinney’s face, on which was a kind of + humorous scorn. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Mr. Forsyte? Come down to see for yourself?” + </p> + <p> + It was exactly what James, as we know, had come for, and he was made + correspondingly uneasy. He held out his hand, however, saying: + </p> + <p> + “How are you?” without looking at Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + The latter made way for him with an ironical smile. + </p> + <p> + James scented something suspicious in this courtesy. “I should like + to walk round the outside first,” he said, “and see what you’ve + been doing!” + </p> + <p> + A flagged terrace of rounded stones with a list of two or three inches to + port had been laid round the south-east and south-west sides of the house, + and ran with a bevelled edge into mould, which was in preparation for + being turfed; along this terrace James led the way. + </p> + <p> + “Now what did <i>this</i> cost?” he asked, when he saw the terrace + extending round the corner. + </p> + <p> + “What should you think?” inquired Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + “How should I know?” replied James somewhat nonplussed; + “two or three hundred, I dare say!” + </p> + <p> + “The exact sum!” + </p> + <p> + James gave him a sharp look, but the architect appeared unconscious, and + he put the answer down to mishearing. + </p> + <p> + On arriving at the garden entrance, he stopped to look at the view. + </p> + <p> + “That ought to come down,” he said, pointing to the oak-tree. + </p> + <p> + “You think so? You think that with the tree there you don’t + get enough view for your money.” + </p> + <p> + Again James eyed him suspiciously—this young man had a peculiar way + of putting things: “Well!” he said, with a perplexed, nervous, + emphasis, “I don’t see what you want with a tree.” + </p> + <p> + “It shall come down to-morrow,” said Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + James was alarmed. “Oh,” he said, “don’t go saying + I said it was to come down! <i>I</i> know nothing about it!” + </p> + <p> + “No?” + </p> + <p> + James went on in a fluster: “Why, what should I know about it? It’s + nothing to do with me! You do it on your own responsibility.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll allow me to mention your name?” + </p> + <p> + James grew more and more alarmed: “I don’t know what you want + mentioning my name for,” he muttered; “you’d better + leave the tree alone. It’s not your tree!” + </p> + <p> + He took out a silk handkerchief and wiped his brow. They entered the + house. Like Swithin, James was impressed by the inner court-yard. + </p> + <p> + “You must have spent a deuce of a lot of money here,” he said, + after staring at the columns and gallery for some time. “Now, what + did it cost to put up those columns?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell you off-hand,” thoughtfully answered + Bosinney, “but I know it was a deuce of a lot!” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so,” said James. “I should....” He + caught the architect’s eye, and broke off. And now, whenever he came + to anything of which he desired to know the cost, he stifled that + curiosity. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney appeared determined that he should see everything, and had not + James been of too “noticing” a nature, he would certainly have + found himself going round the house a second time. He seemed so anxious to + be asked questions, too, that James felt he must be on his guard. He began + to suffer from his exertions, for, though wiry enough for a man of his + long build, he was seventy-five years old. + </p> + <p> + He grew discouraged; he seemed no nearer to anything, had not obtained + from his inspection any of the knowledge he had vaguely hoped for. He had + merely increased his dislike and mistrust of this young man, who had tired + him out with his politeness, and in whose manner he now certainly detected + mockery. + </p> + <p> + The fellow was sharper than he had thought, and better-looking than he had + hoped. He had a—a “don’t care” appearance that + James, to whom risk was the most intolerable thing in life, did not + appreciate; a peculiar smile, too, coming when least expected; and very + queer eyes. He reminded James, as he said afterwards, of a hungry cat. + This was as near as he could get, in conversation with Emily, to a + description of the peculiar exasperation, velvetiness, and mockery, of + which Bosinney’s manner had been composed. + </p> + <p> + At last, having seen all that was to be seen, he came out again at the + door where he had gone in; and now, feeling that he was wasting time and + strength and money, all for nothing, he took the courage of a Forsyte in + both hands, and, looking sharply at Bosinney, said: + </p> + <p> + “I dare say you see a good deal of my daughter-in-law; now, what + does <i>she</i> think of the house? But she hasn’t seen it, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + This he said, knowing all about Irene’s visit not, of course, that + there was anything in the visit, except that extraordinary remark she had + made about “not caring to get home”—and the story of how + June had taken the news! + </p> + <p> + He had determined, by this way of putting the question, to give Bosinney a + chance, as he said to himself. + </p> + <p> + The latter was long in answering, but kept his eyes with uncomfortable + steadiness on James. + </p> + <p> + “She <i>has</i> seen the house, but I can’t tell you what she thinks + of it.” + </p> + <p> + Nervous and baffled, James was constitutionally prevented from letting the + matter drop. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said, “she has seen it? Soames brought her + down, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney smilingly replied: “Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “What, did she come down alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Then—who brought her?” + </p> + <p> + “I really don’t know whether I ought to tell you who brought + her.” + </p> + <p> + To James, who knew that it was Swithin, this answer appeared + incomprehensible. + </p> + <p> + “Why!” he stammered, “you know that....” but he + stopped, suddenly perceiving his danger. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “if you don’t want to tell me I + suppose you won’t! Nobody tells me anything.” + </p> + <p> + Somewhat to his surprise Bosinney asked him a question. + </p> + <p> + “By the by,” he said, “could you tell me if there are + likely to be any more of you coming down? I should like to be on the spot!” + </p> + <p> + “Any more?” said James bewildered, “who should there be + more? I don’t know of any more. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Looking at the ground he held out his hand, crossed the palm of it with + Bosinney’s, and taking his umbrella just above the silk, walked away + along the terrace. + </p> + <p> + Before he turned the corner he glanced back, and saw Bosinney following + him slowly—“slinking along the wall” as he put it to + himself, “like a great cat.” He paid no attention when the + young fellow raised his hat. + </p> + <p> + Outside the drive, and out of sight, he slackened his pace still more. + Very slowly, more bent than when he came, lean, hungry, and disheartened, + he made his way back to the station. + </p> + <p> + The Buccaneer, watching him go so sadly home, felt sorry perhaps for his + behaviour to the old man. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"></a> + CHAPTER V<br/>SOAMES AND BOSINNEY CORRESPOND + </h2> + <p> + James said nothing to his son of this visit to the house; but, having + occasion to go to Timothy’s one morning on a matter connected with a + drainage scheme which was being forced by the sanitary authorities on his + brother, he mentioned it there. + </p> + <p> + It was not, he said, a bad house. He could see that a good deal could be + made of it. The fellow was clever in his way, though what it was going to + cost Soames before it was done with he didn’t know. + </p> + <p> + Euphemia Forsyte, who happened to be in the room—she had come round + to borrow the Rev. Mr. Scoles’ last novel, “Passion and + Paregoric”, which was having such a vogue—chimed in. + </p> + <p> + “I saw Irene yesterday at the Stores; she and Mr. Bosinney were + having a nice little chat in the Groceries.” + </p> + <p> + It was thus, simply, that she recorded a scene which had really made a + deep and complicated impression on her. She had been hurrying to the silk + department of the Church and Commercial Stores—that Institution than + which, with its admirable system, admitting only guaranteed persons on a + basis of payment before delivery, no emporium can be more highly + recommended to Forsytes—to match a piece of prunella silk for her + mother, who was waiting in the carriage outside. + </p> + <p> + Passing through the Groceries her eye was unpleasantly attracted by the + back view of a very beautiful figure. It was so charmingly proportioned, + so balanced, and so well clothed, that Euphemia’s instinctive + propriety was at once alarmed; such figures, she knew, by intuition rather + than experience, were rarely connected with virtue—certainly never + in her mind, for her own back was somewhat difficult to fit. + </p> + <p> + Her suspicions were fortunately confirmed. A young man coming from the + Drugs had snatched off his hat, and was accosting the lady with the + unknown back. + </p> + <p> + It was then that she saw with whom she had to deal; the lady was + undoubtedly Mrs. Soames, the young man Mr. Bosinney. Concealing herself + rapidly over the purchase of a box of Tunisian dates, for she was + impatient of awkwardly meeting people with parcels in her hands, and at + the busy time of the morning, she was quite unintentionally an interested + observer of their little interview. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Soames, usually somewhat pale, had a delightful colour in her cheeks; + and Mr. Bosinney’s manner was strange, though attractive (she + thought him rather a distinguished-looking man, and George’s name + for him, “The Buccaneer”—about which there was something + romantic—quite charming). He seemed to be pleading. Indeed, they + talked so earnestly—or, rather, he talked so earnestly, for Mrs. + Soames did not say much—that they caused, inconsiderately, an eddy + in the traffic. One nice old General, going towards Cigars, was obliged to + step quite out of the way, and chancing to look up and see Mrs. Soames’s + face, he actually took off his hat, the old fool! So like a man! + </p> + <p> + But it was Mrs. Soames’ eyes that worried Euphemia. She never once + looked at Mr. Bosinney until he moved on, and then she looked after him. + And, oh, that look! + </p> + <p> + On that look Euphemia had spent much anxious thought. It is not too much + to say that it had hurt her with its dark, lingering softness, for all the + world as though the woman wanted to drag him back, and unsay something she + had been saying. + </p> + <p> + Ah, well, she had had no time to go deeply into the matter just then, with + that prunella silk on her hands; but she was “very <i>intriguée</i>”—very! + She had just nodded to Mrs. Soames, to show her that she had seen; and, as + she confided, in talking it over afterwards, to her chum Francie (Roger’s + daughter), “Didn’t she look caught out just?...” + </p> + <p> + James, most averse at the first blush to accepting any news confirmatory + of his own poignant suspicions, took her up at once. + </p> + <p> + “Oh” he said, “they’d be after wall-papers no + doubt.” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia smiled. “In the Groceries?” she said softly; and, + taking “Passion and Paregoric” from the table, added: “And + so you’ll lend me this, dear Auntie? Good-bye!” and went away. + </p> + <p> + James left almost immediately after; he was late as it was. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the office of Forsyte, Bustard and Forsyte, he found + Soames, sitting in his revolving, chair, drawing up a defence. The latter + greeted his father with a curt good-morning, and, taking an envelope from + his pocket, said: + </p> + <p> + “It may interest you to look through this.” + </p> + <p> + James read as follows: + </p> + <p class="right"> + “309D, S<small>LOANE</small> S<small>TREET</small>,<br/> + “<i>May</i> 15, + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “D<small>EAR</small> F<small>ORSYTE</small>,<br/> + “The construction of your house being now completed, my duties as + architect have come to an end. If I am to go on with the business of + decoration, which at your request I undertook, I should like you to + clearly understand that I must have a free hand.<br/> + “You never come down without suggesting something that goes counter + to my scheme. I have here three letters from you, each of which recommends + an article I should never dream of putting in. I had your father here + yesterday afternoon, who made further valuable suggestions.<br/> + “Please make up your mind, therefore, whether you want me to + decorate for you, or to retire which on the whole I should prefer to do.<br/> + “But understand that, if I decorate, I decorate alone, without + interference of any sort.<br/> + “If I do the thing, I will do it thoroughly, but I must have a free hand. + </p> + <p class="right"> + “Yours truly,<br/> + “P<small>HILIP</small> B<small>OSINNEY</small>.” + </p> + <p> + The exact and immediate cause of this letter cannot, of course, be told, + though it is not improbable that Bosinney may have been moved by some + sudden revolt against his position towards Soames—that eternal + position of Art towards Property—which is so admirably summed up, on + the back of the most indispensable of modern appliances, in a sentence + comparable to the very finest in Tacitus: + </p> + <p class="letter"> + T<small>HOS</small>. T. S<small>ORROW</small>,<br/> + Inventor. + </p> + <p class="letter"> + B<small>ERT</small> M. P<small>ADLAND</small>,<br/> + Proprietor. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to say to him?” James asked. + </p> + <p> + Soames did not even turn his head. “I haven’t made up my mind,” + he said, and went on with his defence. + </p> + <p> + A client of his, having put some buildings on a piece of ground that did + not belong to him, had been suddenly and most irritatingly warned to take + them off again. After carefully going into the facts, however, Soames had + seen his way to advise that his client had what was known as a title by + possession, and that, though undoubtedly the ground did not belong to him, + he was entitled to keep it, and had better do so; and he was now following + up this advice by taking steps to—as the sailors say—“make + it so.” + </p> + <p> + He had a distinct reputation for sound advice; people saying of him: + “Go to young Forsyte—a long-headed fellow!” and he + prized this reputation highly. + </p> + <p> + His natural taciturnity was in his favour; nothing could be more + calculated to give people, especially people with property (Soames had no + other clients), the impression that he was a safe man. And he was safe. + Tradition, habit, education, inherited aptitude, native caution, all + joined to form a solid professional honesty, superior to temptation—from + the very fact that it was built on an innate avoidance of risk. How could + he fall, when his soul abhorred circumstances which render a fall possible—a + man cannot fall off the floor! + </p> + <p> + And those countless Forsytes, who, in the course of innumerable + transactions concerned with property of all sorts (from wives to water + rights), had occasion for the services of a safe man, found it both + reposeful and profitable to confide in Soames. That slight + superciliousness of his, combined with an air of mousing amongst + precedents, was in his favour too—a man would not be supercilious + unless he knew! + </p> + <p> + He was really at the head of the business, for though James still came + nearly every day to, see for himself, he did little now but sit in his + chair, twist his legs, slightly confuse things already decided, and + presently go away again, and the other partner, Bustard, was a poor thing, + who did a great deal of work, but whose opinion was never taken. + </p> + <p> + So Soames went steadily on with his defence. Yet it would be idle to say + that his mind was at ease. He was suffering from a sense of impending + trouble, that had haunted him for some time past. He tried to think it + physical—a condition of his liver—but knew that it was not. + </p> + <p> + He looked at his watch. In a quarter of an hour he was due at the General + Meeting of the New Colliery Company—one of Uncle Jolyon’s + concerns; he should see Uncle Jolyon there, and say something to him about + Bosinney—he had not made up his mind what, but something—in + any case he should not answer this letter until he had seen Uncle Jolyon. + He got up and methodically put away the draft of his defence. Going into a + dark little cupboard, he turned up the light, washed his hands with a + piece of brown Windsor soap, and dried them on a roller towel. Then he + brushed his hair, paying strict attention to the parting, turned down the + light, took his hat, and saying he would be back at half-past two, stepped + into the Poultry. + </p> + <p> + It was not far to the Offices of the New Colliery Company in Ironmonger + Lane, where, and not at the Cannon Street Hotel, in accordance with the + more ambitious practice of other companies, the General Meeting was always + held. Old Jolyon had from the first set his face against the Press. What + business—he said—had the Public with his concerns! + </p> + <p> + Soames arrived on the stroke of time, and took his seat alongside the + Board, who, in a row, each Director behind his own ink-pot, faced their + Shareholders. + </p> + <p> + In the centre of this row old Jolyon, conspicuous in his black, + tightly-buttoned frock-coat and his white moustaches, was leaning back + with finger tips crossed on a copy of the Directors’ report and + accounts. + </p> + <p> + On his right hand, always a little larger than life, sat the Secretary, + “Down-by-the-starn” Hemmings; an all-too-sad sadness beaming + in his fine eyes; his iron-grey beard, in mourning like the rest of him, + giving the feeling of an all-too-black tie behind it. + </p> + <p> + The occasion indeed was a melancholy one, only six weeks having elapsed + since that telegram had come from Scorrier, the mining expert, on a + private mission to the Mines, informing them that Pippin, their + Superintendent, had committed suicide in endeavouring, after his + extraordinary two years’ silence, to write a letter to his Board. + That letter was on the table now; it would be read to the Shareholders, + who would of course be put into possession of all the facts. + </p> + <p> + Hemmings had often said to Soames, standing with his coat-tails divided + before the fireplace: + </p> + <p> + “What our Shareholders don’t know about our affairs isn’t + worth knowing. You may take that from me, Mr. Soames.” + </p> + <p> + On one occasion, old Jolyon being present, Soames recollected a little + unpleasantness. His uncle had looked up sharply and said: “Don’t + talk nonsense, Hemmings! You mean that what they <i>do</i> know isn’t worth + knowing!” Old Jolyon detested humbug. + </p> + <p> + Hemmings, angry-eyed, and wearing a smile like that of a trained poodle, + had replied in an outburst of artificial applause: “Come, now, that’s + good, sir—that’s very good. Your uncle <i>will</i> have his joke!” + </p> + <p> + The next time he had seen Soames he had taken the opportunity of saying to + him: “The chairman’s getting very old!—I can’t get + him to understand things; and he’s so wilful—but what can you + expect, with a chin like his?” + </p> + <p> + Soames had nodded. + </p> + <p> + Everyone knew that Uncle Jolyon’s chin was a caution. He was looking + worried to-day, in spite of his General Meeting look; he (Soames) should + certainly speak to him about Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + Beyond old Jolyon on the left was little Mr. Booker, and he, too, wore his + General Meeting look, as though searching for some particularly tender + shareholder. And next him was the deaf director, with a frown; and beyond + the deaf director, again, was old Mr. Bleedham, very bland, and having an + air of conscious virtue—as well he might, knowing that the + brown-paper parcel he always brought to the Board-room was concealed + behind his hat (one of that old-fashioned class, of flat-brimmed top-hats + which go with very large bow ties, clean-shaven lips, fresh cheeks, and + neat little, white whiskers). + </p> + <p> + Soames always attended the General Meeting; it was considered better that + he should do so, in case “anything should arise!” He glanced + round with his close, supercilious air at the walls of the room, where + hung plans of the mine and harbour, together with a large photograph of a + shaft leading to a working which had proved quite remarkably unprofitable. + This photograph—a witness to the eternal irony underlying commercial + enterprise—still retained its position on the wall, an effigy of the + directors’ pet, but dead, lamb. + </p> + <p> + And now old Jolyon rose, to present the report and accounts. + </p> + <p> + Veiling under a Jove-like serenity that perpetual antagonism deep-seated + in the bosom of a director towards his shareholders, he faced them calmly. + Soames faced them too. He knew most of them by sight. There was old + Scrubsole, a tar man, who always came, as Hemmings would say, “to + make himself nasty,” a cantankerous-looking old fellow with a red + face, a jowl, and an enormous low-crowned hat reposing on his knee. And + the Rev. Mr. Boms, who always proposed a vote of thanks to the chairman, + in which he invariably expressed the hope that the Board would not forget + to elevate their employees, using the word with a double e, as being more + vigorous and Anglo-Saxon (he had the strong Imperialistic tendencies of + his cloth). It was his salutary custom to buttonhole a director + afterwards, and ask him whether he thought the coming year would be good + or bad; and, according to the trend of the answer, to buy or sell three + shares within the ensuing fortnight. + </p> + <p> + And there was that military man, Major O’Bally, who could not help + speaking, if only to second the re-election of the auditor, and who + sometimes caused serious consternation by taking toasts—proposals + rather—out of the hands of persons who had been flattered with + little slips of paper, entrusting the said proposals to their care. + </p> + <p> + These made up the lot, together with four or five strong, silent + shareholders, with whom Soames could sympathize—men of business, who + liked to keep an eye on their affairs for themselves, without being fussy—good, + solid men, who came to the City every day and went back in the evening to + good, solid wives. + </p> + <p> + Good, solid wives! There was something in that thought which roused the + nameless uneasiness in Soames again. + </p> + <p> + What should he say to his uncle? What answer should he make to this + letter? + </p> + <p> + . . . . “If any shareholder has any question to put, I shall be glad + to answer it.” A soft thump. Old Jolyon had let the report and + accounts fall, and stood twisting his tortoise-shell glasses between thumb + and forefinger. + </p> + <p> + The ghost of a smile appeared on Soames’s face. They had better hurry + up with their questions! He well knew his uncle’s method (the ideal + one) of at once saying: “I propose, then, that the report and + accounts be adopted!” Never let them get their wind—shareholders + were notoriously wasteful of time! + </p> + <p> + A tall, white-bearded man, with a gaunt, dissatisfied face, arose: + </p> + <p> + “I believe I am in order, Mr. Chairman, in raising a question on + this figure of £5000 in the accounts. ‘To the widow and family’” + (he looked sourly round), “‘of our late superintendent,’ + who so—er—ill-advisedly (I say—ill-advisedly) committed + suicide, at a time when his services were of the utmost value to this + Company. You have stated that the agreement which he has so unfortunately + cut short with his own hand was for a period of five years, of which one + only had expired—I—” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon made a gesture of impatience. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I am in order, Mr. Chairman—I ask whether this + amount paid, or proposed to be paid, by the Board to the er—deceased—is + for services which might have been rendered to the Company—had he + not committed suicide?” + </p> + <p> + “It is in recognition of past services, which we all know—you + as well as any of us—to have been of vital value.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, sir, all I have to say is that the services being past, the + amount is too much.” + </p> + <p> + The shareholder sat down. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon waited a second and said: “I now propose that the report + and—” + </p> + <p> + The shareholder rose again: “May I ask if the Board realizes that it + is not their money which—I don’t hesitate to say that if it + were their money....” + </p> + <p> + A second shareholder, with a round, dogged face, whom Soames recognised as + the late superintendent’s brother-in-law, got up and said warmly: + “In my opinion, sir, the sum is not enough!” + </p> + <p> + The Rev. Mr. Boms now rose to his feet. “If I may venture to express + myself,” he said, “I should say that the fact of the—er—deceased + having committed suicide should weigh very heavily—<i>very</i> heavily with + our worthy chairman. I have no doubt it has weighed with him, for—I + say this for myself and I think for everyone present (hear, hear)—he + enjoys our confidence in a high degree. We all desire, I should hope, to + be charitable. But I feel sure” (he-looked severely at the late + superintendent’s brother-in-law) “that he will in some way, by + some written expression, or better perhaps by reducing the amount, record + our grave disapproval that so promising and valuable a life should have + been thus impiously removed from a sphere where both its own interests and—if + I may say so—our interests so imperatively demanded its continuance. + We should not—nay, we may not—countenance so grave a + dereliction of all duty, both human and divine.” + </p> + <p> + The reverend gentleman resumed his seat. The late superintendent’s + brother-in-law again rose: “What I have said I stick to,” he + said; “the amount is not enough!” + </p> + <p> + The first shareholder struck in: “I challenge the legality of the + payment. In my opinion this payment is not legal. The Company’s + solicitor is present; I believe I am in order in asking him the question.” + </p> + <p> + All eyes were now turned upon Soames. Something had arisen! + </p> + <p> + He stood up, close-lipped and cold; his nerves inwardly fluttered, his + attention tweaked away at last from contemplation of that cloud looming on + the horizon of his mind. + </p> + <p> + “The point,” he said in a low, thin voice, “is by no + means clear. As there is no possibility of future consideration being + received, it is doubtful whether the payment is strictly legal. If it is + desired, the opinion of the court could be taken.” + </p> + <p> + The superintendent’s brother-in-law frowned, and said in a meaning + tone: “We have no doubt the opinion of the court could be taken. May + I ask the name of the gentleman who has given us that striking piece of + information? Mr. Soames Forsyte? Indeed!” He looked from Soames to + old Jolyon in a pointed manner. + </p> + <p> + A flush coloured Soames’s pale cheeks, but his superciliousness did + not waver. Old Jolyon fixed his eyes on the speaker. + </p> + <p> + “If,” he said, “the late superintendents brother-in-law + has nothing more to say, I propose that the report and accounts....” + </p> + <p> + At this moment, however, there rose one of those five silent, stolid + shareholders, who had excited Soames’s sympathy. He said: + </p> + <p> + “I deprecate the proposal altogether. We are expected to give + charity to this man’s wife and children, who, you tell us, were + dependent on him. They may have been; I do not care whether they were or + not. I object to the whole thing on principle. It is high time a stand was + made against this sentimental humanitarianism. The country is eaten up + with it. I object to my money being paid to these people of whom I know + nothing, who have done nothing to earn it. I object <i>in toto;</i> it is not + business. I now move that the report and accounts be put back, and amended + by striking out the grant altogether.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon had remained standing while the strong, silent man was + speaking. The speech awoke an echo in all hearts, voicing, as it did, the + worship of strong men, the movement against generosity, which had at that + time already commenced among the saner members of the community. + </p> + <p> + The words “it is not business” had moved even the Board; + privately everyone felt that indeed it was not. But they knew also the + chairman’s domineering temper and tenacity. He, too, at heart must + feel that it was not business; but he was committed to his own + proposition. Would he go back upon it? It was thought to be unlikely. + </p> + <p> + All waited with interest. Old Jolyon held up his hand; dark-rimmed glasses + depending between his finger and thumb quivered slightly with a suggestion + of menace. + </p> + <p> + He addressed the strong, silent shareholder. + </p> + <p> + “Knowing, as you do, the efforts of our late superintendent upon the + occasion of the explosion at the mines, do you seriously wish me to put + that amendment, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon put the amendment. + </p> + <p> + “Does anyone second this?” he asked, looking calmly round. + </p> + <p> + And it was then that Soames, looking at his uncle, felt the power of will + that was in that old man. No one stirred. Looking straight into the eyes + of the strong, silent shareholder, old Jolyon said: + </p> + <p> + “I now move, ‘That the report and accounts for the year 1886 + be received and adopted.’ You second that? Those in favour signify + the same in the usual way. Contrary—no. Carried. The next business, + gentlemen....” + </p> + <p> + Soames smiled. Certainly Uncle Jolyon had a way with him! + </p> + <p> + But now his attention relapsed upon Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + Odd how that fellow haunted his thoughts, even in business hours. + </p> + <p> + Irene’s visit to the house—but there was nothing in that, + except that she might have told him; but then, again, she never did tell + him anything. She was more silent, more touchy, every day. He wished to + God the house were finished, and they were in it, away from London. Town + did not suit her; her nerves were not strong enough. That nonsense of the + separate room had cropped up again! + </p> + <p> + The meeting was breaking up now. Underneath the photograph of the lost + shaft Hemmings was buttonholed by the Rev. Mr. Boms. Little Mr. Booker, + his bristling eyebrows wreathed in angry smiles, was having a parting + turn-up with old Scrubsole. The two hated each other like poison. There + was some matter of a tar-contract between them, little Mr. Booker having + secured it from the Board for a nephew of his, over old Scrubsole’s + head. Soames had heard that from Hemmings, who liked a gossip, more + especially about his directors, except, indeed, old Jolyon, of whom he was + afraid. + </p> + <p> + Soames awaited his opportunity. The last shareholder was vanishing through + the door, when he approached his uncle, who was putting on his hat. + </p> + <p> + “Can I speak to you for a minute, Uncle Jolyon?” + </p> + <p> + It is uncertain what Soames expected to get out of this interview. + </p> + <p> + Apart from that somewhat mysterious awe in which Forsytes in general held + old Jolyon, due to his philosophic twist, or perhaps—as Hemmings + would doubtless have said—to his chin, there was, and always had + been, a subtle antagonism between the younger man and the old. It had + lurked under their dry manner of greeting, under their non-committal + allusions to each other, and arose perhaps from old Jolyon’s + perception of the quiet tenacity (“obstinacy,” he rather + naturally called it) of the young man, of a secret doubt whether he could + get his own way with him. + </p> + <p> + Both these Forsytes, wide asunder as the poles in many respects, possessed + in their different ways—to a greater degree than the rest of the + family—that essential quality of tenacious and prudent insight into + “affairs,” which is the highwater mark of their great class. + Either of them, with a little luck and opportunity, was equal to a lofty + career; either of them would have made a good financier, a great + contractor, a statesman, though old Jolyon, in certain of his moods when + under the influence of a cigar or of Nature—would have been capable + of, not perhaps despising, but certainly of questioning, his own high + position, while Soames, who never smoked cigars, would not. + </p> + <p> + Then, too, in old Jolyon’s mind there was always the secret ache, + that the son of James—of James, whom he had always thought such a + poor thing, should be pursuing the paths of success, while his own son...! + </p> + <p> + And last, not least—for he was no more outside the radiation of + family gossip than any other Forsyte—he had now heard the sinister, + indefinite, but none the less disturbing rumour about Bosinney, and his + pride was wounded to the quick. + </p> + <p> + Characteristically, his irritation turned not against Irene but against + Soames. The idea that his nephew’s wife (why couldn’t the + fellow take better care of her—Oh! quaint injustice! as though + Soames could possibly take more care!)—should be drawing to herself + Jun’s lover, was intolerably humiliating. And seeing the danger, he + did not, like James, hide it away in sheer nervousness, but owned with the + dispassion of his broader outlook, that it was not unlikely; there was + something very attractive about Irene! + </p> + <p> + He had a presentiment on the subject of Soames’s communication as + they left the Board Room together, and went out into the noise and hurry + of Cheapside. They walked together a good minute without speaking, Soames + with his mousing, mincing step, and old Jolyon upright and using his + umbrella languidly as a walking-stick. + </p> + <p> + They turned presently into comparative quiet, for old Jolyon’s way + to a second Board led him in the direction of Moorage Street. + </p> + <p> + Then Soames, without lifting his eyes, began: “I’ve had this + letter from Bosinney. You see what he says; I thought I’d let you + know. I’ve spent a lot more than I intended on this house, and I + want the position to be clear.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon ran his eyes unwillingly over the letter: “What he says + is clear enough,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “He talks about ‘a free hand,’” replied Soames. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon looked at him. The long-suppressed irritation and antagonism + towards this young fellow, whose affairs were beginning to intrude upon + his own, burst from him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you don’t trust him, why do you employ him?” + </p> + <p> + Soames stole a sideway look: “It’s much too late to go into + that,” he said, “I only want it to be quite understood that if + I give him a free hand, he doesn’t let me in. I thought if you were + to speak to him, it would carry more weight!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said old Jolyon abruptly; “I’ll have nothing + to do with it!” + </p> + <p> + The words of both uncle and nephew gave the impression of unspoken + meanings, far more important, behind. And the look they interchanged was + like a revelation of this consciousness. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Soames; “I thought, for Jun’s sake, + I’d tell you, that’s all; I thought you’d better know I + shan’t stand any nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + “What is that to me?” old Jolyon took him up. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I don’t know,” said Soames, and flurried by that + sharp look he was unable to say more. “Don’t say I didn’t + tell you,” he added sulkily, recovering his composure. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me!” said old Jolyon; “I don’t know what you + mean. You come worrying me about a thing like this. <i>I</i> don’t want to + hear about your affairs; you must manage them yourself!” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Soames immovably, “I will!” + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, then,” said old Jolyon, and they parted. + </p> + <p> + Soames retraced his steps, and going into a celebrated eating-house, asked + for a plate of smoked salmon and a glass of Chablis; he seldom ate much in + the middle of the day, and generally ate standing, finding the position + beneficial to his liver, which was very sound, but to which he desired to + put down all his troubles. + </p> + <p> + When he had finished he went slowly back to his office, with bent head, + taking no notice of the swarming thousands on the pavements, who in their + turn took no notice of him. + </p> + <p> + The evening post carried the following reply to Bosinney: + </p> + <p class="right"> + “F<small>ORSYTE</small>, B<small>USTARD AND</small> F<small>ORSYTE</small>,<br/> + “Commissioners for Oaths,<br/> + “92001, B<small>RANCH</small> L<small>ANE</small>, P<small>OULTRY</small>, E.C.,<br/> + “<i>May</i> 17, 1887. + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “D<small>EAR</small> B<small>OSINNEY</small>,<br/> + “I have, received your letter, the terms of which not a little + surprise me. I was under the impression that you had, and have had all + along, a “free hand”; for I do not recollect that any + suggestions I have been so unfortunate as to make have met with your + approval. In giving you, in accordance with your request, this “free + hand,” I wish you to clearly understand that the total cost of the + house as handed over to me completely decorated, inclusive of your fee (as + arranged between us), must not exceed twelve thousand pounds—£12,000. + This gives you an ample margin, and, as you know, is far more than I + originally contemplated. + </p> + <p class="right"> + “I am,<br/> + “Yours truly,<br/> + “S<small>OAMES</small> F<small>ORSYTE</small>.” + </p> + <p> + On the following day he received a note from Bosinney: + </p> + <p class="right"> + “P<small>HILIP</small> B<small>AYNES</small> B<small>OSINNEY</small>,<br/> + “Architect,<br/> + “309D, S<small>LOANE</small> S<small>TREET</small>, S.W.,<br/> + “<i>May</i> 18. + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “D<small>EAR</small> F<small>ORSYTE</small>,<br/> + “If you think that in such a delicate matter as decoration I can + bind myself to the exact pound, I am afraid you are mistaken. I can see + that you are tired of the arrangement, and of me, and I had better, + therefore, resign. + </p> + <p class="right"> + “Yours faithfully,<br/> + “P<small>HILIP</small> B<small>AYNES</small> B<small>OSINNEY</small>.” + </p> + <p> + Soames pondered long and painfully over his answer, and late at night in + the dining-room, when Irene had gone to bed, he composed the following: + </p> + <p class="right"> + “62, M<small>ONTPELLIER</small> S<small>QUARE</small>, S.W.,<br/> + “<i>May</i> 19, 1887. + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “D<small>EAR</small> B<small>OSINNEY</small>,<br/> + “I think that in both our interests it would be extremely + undesirable that matters should be so left at this stage. I did not mean + to say that if you should exceed the sum named in my letter to you by ten + or twenty or even fifty pounds, there would be any difficulty between us. + This being so, I should like you to reconsider your answer. You have a + “free hand” in the terms of this correspondence, and I hope + you will see your way to completing the decorations, in the matter of + which I know it is difficult to be absolutely exact. + </p> + <p class="right"> + “Yours truly,<br/> + “S<small>OAMES</small> F<small>ORSYTE</small>.” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney’s answer, which came in the course of the next day, was: + </p> + <p class="right"> + “<i>May</i> 20. + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “D<small>EAR</small> F<small>ORSYTE</small>,<br/> + “Very well. + </p> + <p class="right"> + “P<small>H</small>. B<small>OSINNEY</small>.” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"></a> + CHAPTER VI<br/>OLD JOLYON AT THE ZOO + </h2> + <p> + Old Jolyon disposed of his second Meeting—an ordinary Board—summarily. + He was so dictatorial that his fellow directors were left in cabal over + the increasing domineeringness of old Forsyte, which they were far from + intending to stand much longer, they said. + </p> + <p> + He went out by Underground to Portland Road Station, whence he took a cab + and drove to the Zoo. + </p> + <p> + He had an assignation there, one of those assignations that had lately + been growing more frequent, to which his increasing uneasiness about June + and the “change in her,” as he expressed it, was driving him. + </p> + <p> + She buried herself away, and was growing thin; if he spoke to her he got + no answer, or had his head snapped off, or she looked as if she would + burst into tears. She was as changed as she could be, all through this + Bosinney. As for telling him about anything, not a bit of it! + </p> + <p> + And he would sit for long spells brooding, his paper unread before him, a + cigar extinct between his lips. She had been such a companion to him ever + since she was three years old! And he loved her so! + </p> + <p> + Forces regardless of family or class or custom were beating down his + guard; impending events over which he had no control threw their shadows + on his head. The irritation of one accustomed to have his way was roused + against he knew not what. + </p> + <p> + Chafing at the slowness of his cab, he reached the Zoo door; but, with his + sunny instinct for seizing the good of each moment, he forgot his vexation + as he walked towards the tryst. + </p> + <p> + From the stone terrace above the bear-pit his son and his two + grandchildren came hastening down when they saw old Jolyon coming, and led + him away towards the lion-house. They supported him on either side, + holding one to each of his hands,—whilst Jolly, perverse like his + father, carried his grandfather’s umbrella in such a way as to catch + people’s legs with the crutch of the handle. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon followed. + </p> + <p> + It was as good as a play to see his father with the children, but such a + play as brings smiles with tears behind. An old man and two small children + walking together can be seen at any hour of the day; but the sight of old + Jolyon, with Jolly and Holly seemed to young Jolyon a special peep-show of + the things that lie at the bottom of our hearts. The complete surrender of + that erect old figure to those little figures on either hand was too + poignantly tender, and, being a man of an habitual reflex action, young + Jolyon swore softly under his breath. The show affected him in a way + unbecoming to a Forsyte, who is nothing if not undemonstrative. + </p> + <p> + Thus they reached the lion-house. + </p> + <p> + There had been a morning fête at the Botanical Gardens, and a large number + of Forsy—that is, of well-dressed people who kept + carriages had brought them on to the Zoo, so as to have more, if possible, + for their money, before going back to Rutland Gate or Bryanston Square. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go on to the Zoo,” they had said to each other; + “it’ll be great fun!” It was a shilling day; and there + would not be all those horrid common people. + </p> + <p> + In front of the long line of cages they were collected in rows, watching + the tawny, ravenous beasts behind the bars await their only pleasure of + the four-and-twenty hours. The hungrier the beast, the greater the + fascination. But whether because the spectators envied his appetite, or, + more humanely, because it was so soon to be satisfied, young Jolyon could + not tell. Remarks kept falling on his ears: “That’s a + nasty-looking brute, that tiger!” “Oh, what a love! Look at + his little mouth!” “Yes, he’s rather nice! Don’t + go too near, mother.” + </p> + <p> + And frequently, with little pats, one or another would clap their hands to + their pockets behind and look round, as though expecting young Jolyon or + some disinterested-looking person to relieve them of the contents. + </p> + <p> + A well-fed man in a white waistcoat said slowly through his teeth: “It’s + all greed; they can’t be hungry. Why, they take no exercise.” + At these words a tiger snatched a piece of bleeding liver, and the fat man + laughed. His wife, in a Paris model frock and gold nose-nippers, reproved + him: “How can you laugh, Harry? Such a horrid sight!” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon frowned. + </p> + <p> + The circumstances of his life, though he had ceased to take a too personal + view of them, had left him subject to an intermittent contempt; and the + class to which he had belonged—the carriage class—especially + excited his sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + To shut up a lion or tiger in confinement was surely a horrible barbarity. + But no cultivated person would admit this. + </p> + <p> + The idea of its being barbarous to confine wild animals had probably never + even occurred to his father for instance; he belonged to the old school, + who considered it at once humanizing and educational to confine baboons + and panthers, holding the view, no doubt, that in course of time they + might induce these creatures not so unreasonably to die of misery and + heart-sickness against the bars of their cages, and put the society to the + expense of getting others! In his eyes, as in the eyes of all Forsytes, + the pleasure of seeing these beautiful creatures in a state of captivity + far outweighed the inconvenience of imprisonment to beasts whom God had so + improvidently placed in a state of freedom! It was for the animals’ good, + removing them at once from the countless dangers of open air and exercise, + and enabling them to exercise their functions in the guaranteed seclusion + of a private compartment! Indeed, it was doubtful what wild animals were + made for but to be shut up in cages! + </p> + <p> + But as young Jolyon had in his constitution the elements of impartiality, + he reflected that to stigmatize as barbarity that which was merely lack of + imagination must be wrong; for none who held these views had been placed + in a similar position to the animals they caged, and could not, therefore, + be expected to enter into their sensations. It was not until they were + leaving the gardens—Jolly and Holly in a state of blissful delirium—that + old Jolyon found an opportunity of speaking to his son on the matter next + his heart. “I don’t know what to make of it,” he said; + “if she’s to go on as she’s going on now, I can’t + tell what’s to come. I wanted her to see the doctor, but she won’t. + She’s not a bit like me. She’s your mother all over. Obstinate + as a mule! If she doesn’t want to do a thing, she won’t, and + there’s an end of it!” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon smiled; his eyes had wandered to his father’s chin. + “A pair of you,” he thought, but he said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “And then,” went on old Jolyon, “there’s this + Bosinney. I should like to punch the fellow’s head, but I can’t, + I suppose, though—I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” + he added doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “What has he done? Far better that it should come to an end, if they + don’t hit it off!” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon looked at his son. Now they had actually come to discuss a + subject connected with the relations between the sexes he felt + distrustful. Jo would be sure to hold some loose view or other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know what you think,” he said; “I + dare say your sympathy’s with him—shouldn’t be + surprised; but I think he’s behaving precious badly, and if he comes + my way I shall tell him so.” He dropped the subject. + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to discuss with his son the true nature and meaning of + Bosinney’s defection. Had not his son done the very same thing + (worse, if possible) fifteen years ago? There seemed no end to the + consequences of that piece of folly. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon also was silent; he had quickly penetrated his father’s + thought, for, dethroned from the high seat of an obvious and uncomplicated + view of things, he had become both perceptive and subtle. + </p> + <p> + The attitude he had adopted towards sexual matters fifteen years before, + however, was too different from his father’s. There was no bridging + the gulf. + </p> + <p> + He said coolly: “I suppose he’s fallen in love with some other + woman?” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon gave him a dubious look: “I can’t tell,” he + said; “they say so!” + </p> + <p> + “Then, it’s probably true,” remarked young Jolyon + unexpectedly; “and I suppose <i>they’ve</i> told you who she is?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said old Jolyon, “Soames’s wife!” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon did not whistle: The circumstances of his own life had + rendered him incapable of whistling on such a subject, but he looked at + his father, while the ghost of a smile hovered over his face. + </p> + <p> + If old Jolyon saw, he took no notice. + </p> + <p> + “She and June were bosom friends!” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “Poor little June!” said young Jolyon softly. He thought of + his daughter still as a babe of three. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon came to a sudden halt. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe a word of it,” he said, “it’s + some old woman’s tale. Get me a cab, Jo, I’m tired to death!” + </p> + <p> + They stood at a corner to see if an empty cab would come along, while + carriage after carriage drove past, bearing Forsytes of all descriptions + from the Zoo. The harness, the liveries, the gloss on the horses’ + coats, shone and glittered in the May sunlight, and each equipage, landau, + sociable, barouche, Victoria, or brougham, seemed to roll out proudly from + its wheels: + </p> + <p class="poem"> + “I and my horses and my men you know,<br/> + Indeed the whole turn-out have cost a pot.<br/> + But we were worth it every penny. Look<br/> + At Master and at Missis now, the dawgs!<br/> + Ease with security—ah! that’s the ticket!” + </p> + <p> + And such, as everyone knows, is fit accompaniment for a perambulating + Forsyte. + </p> + <p> + Amongst these carriages was a barouche coming at a greater pace than the + others, drawn by a pair of bright bay horses. It swung on its high + springs, and the four people who filled it seemed rocked as in a cradle. + </p> + <p> + This chariot attracted young Jolyon’s attention; and suddenly, on + the back seat, he recognised his Uncle James, unmistakable in spite of the + increased whiteness of his whiskers; opposite, their backs defended by + sunshades, Rachel Forsyte and her elder but married sister, Winifred + Dartie, in irreproachable toilettes, had posed their heads haughtily, like + two of the birds they had been seeing at the Zoo; while by James’ + side reclined Dartie, in a brand-new frock-coat buttoned tight and square, + with a large expanse of carefully shot linen protruding below each + wristband. + </p> + <p> + An extra, if subdued, sparkle, an added touch of the best gloss or varnish + characterized this vehicle, and seemed to distinguish it from all the + others, as though by some happy extravagance—like that which marks + out the real “work of art” from the ordinary “picture”—it + were designated as the typical car, the very throne of Forsytedom. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon did not see them pass; he was petting poor Holly who was tired, + but those in the carriage had taken in the little group; the ladies’ + heads tilted suddenly, there was a spasmodic screening movement of + parasols; James’ face protruded naively, like the head of a long + bird, his mouth slowly opening. The shield-like rounds of the parasols + grew smaller and smaller, and vanished. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon saw that he had been recognised, even by Winifred, who could + not have been more than fifteen when he had forfeited the right to be + considered a Forsyte. + </p> + <p> + There was not much change in <i>them!</i> He remembered the exact look of their + turn-out all that time ago: Horses, men, carriage—all different now, + no doubt—but of the precise stamp of fifteen years before; the same + neat display, the same nicely calculated arrogance ease with security! The + swing exact, the pose of the sunshades exact, exact the spirit of the + whole thing. + </p> + <p> + And in the sunlight, defended by the haughty shields of parasols, carriage + after carriage went by. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle James has just passed, with his female folk,” said + young Jolyon. + </p> + <p> + His father looked black. “Did your uncle see us? Yes? Hmph! What’s + <i>he</i> want, coming down into these parts?” + </p> + <p> + An empty cab drove up at this moment, and old Jolyon stopped it. + </p> + <p> + “I shall see you again before long, my boy!” he said. “Don’t + you go paying any attention to what I’ve been saying about young + Bosinney—I don’t believe a word of it!” + </p> + <p> + Kissing the children, who tried to detain him, he stepped in and was borne + away. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon, who had taken Holly up in his arms, stood motionless at the + corner, looking after the cab. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"></a> + CHAPTER VII<br/>AFTERNOON AT TIMOTHY’S + </h2> + <p> + If old Jolyon, as he got into his cab, had said: “I <i>won’t</i> + believe a word of it!” he would more truthfully have expressed his + sentiments. + </p> + <p> + The notion that James and his womankind had seen him in the company of his + son had awakened in him not only the impatience he always felt when + crossed, but that secret hostility natural between brothers, the roots of + which—little nursery rivalries—sometimes toughen and deepen as + life goes on, and, all hidden, support a plant capable of producing in + season the bitterest fruits. + </p> + <p> + Hitherto there had been between these six brothers no more unfriendly + feeling than that caused by the secret and natural doubt that the others + might be richer than themselves; a feeling increased to the pitch of + curiosity by the approach of death—that end of all handicaps—and + the great “closeness” of their man of business, who, with some + sagacity, would profess to Nicholas ignorance of James’ income, to + James ignorance of old Jolyon’s, to Jolyon ignorance of Roger’s, + to Roger ignorance of Swithin’s, while to Swithin he would say most + irritatingly that Nicholas must be a rich man. Timothy alone was exempt, + being in gilt-edged securities. + </p> + <p> + But now, between two of them at least, had arisen a very different sense + of injury. From the moment when James had the impertinence to pry into his + affairs—as he put it—old Jolyon no longer chose to credit this + story about Bosinney. His grand-daughter slighted through a member of + “that fellow’s” family! He made up his mind that + Bosinney was maligned. There must be some other reason for his defection. + </p> + <p> + June had flown out at him, or something; she was as touchy as she could + be! + </p> + <p> + He would, however, let Timothy have a bit of his mind, and see if he would + go on dropping hints! And he would not let the grass grow under his feet + either, he would go there at once, and take very good care that he didn’t + have to go again on the same errand. + </p> + <p> + He saw James’ carriage blocking the pavement in front of “The + Bower”. So they had got there before him—cackling about having + seen him, he dared say! And further on, Swithin’s greys were turning + their noses towards the noses of James’ bays, as though in conclave + over the family, while their coachmen were in conclave above. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon, depositing his hat on the chair in the narrow hall, where that + hat of Bosinney’s had so long ago been mistaken for a cat, passed + his thin hand grimly over his face with its great drooping white + moustaches, as though to remove all traces of expression, and made his way + upstairs. + </p> + <p> + He found the front drawing-room full. It was full enough at the best of + times—without visitors—without any one in it—for Timothy + and his sisters, following the tradition of their generation, considered + that a room was not quite “nice” unless it was “properly” + furnished. It held, therefore, eleven chairs, a sofa, three tables, two + cabinets, innumerable knicknacks, and part of a large grand piano. And + now, occupied by Mrs. Small, Aunt Hester, by Swithin, James, Rachel, + Winifred, Euphemia, who had come in again to return “Passion and + Paregoric” which she had read at lunch, and her chum Frances, Roger’s + daughter (the musical Forsyte, the one who composed songs), there was only + one chair left unoccupied, except, of course, the two that nobody ever sat + on—and the only standing room was occupied by the cat, on whom old + Jolyon promptly stepped. + </p> + <p> + In these days it was by no means unusual for Timothy to have so many + visitors. The family had always, one and all, had a real respect for Aunt + Ann, and now that she was gone, they were coming far more frequently to + The Bower, and staying longer. + </p> + <p> + Swithin had been the first to arrive, and seated torpid in a red satin + chair with a gilt back, he gave every appearance of lasting the others + out. And symbolizing Bosinney’s name “the big one,” with + his great stature and bulk, his thick white hair, his puffy immovable + shaven face, he looked more primeval than ever in the highly upholstered + room. + </p> + <p> + His conversation, as usual of late, had turned at once upon Irene, and he + had lost no time in giving Aunts Juley and Hester his opinion with regard + to this rumour he heard was going about. No—as he said—she + might want a bit of flirtation—a pretty woman must have her fling; + but more than that he did not believe. Nothing open; she had too much good + sense, too much proper appreciation of what was due to her position, and + to the family! No sc—, he was going to say “scandal” but + the very idea was so preposterous that he waved his hand as though to say—“but + let that pass!” + </p> + <p> + Granted that Swithin took a bachelor’s view of the situation—still + what indeed was not due to that family in which so many had done so well + for themselves, had attained a certain position? If he <i>had</i> heard in dark, + pessimistic moments the words “yeomen” and “very small + beer” used in connection with his origin, did he believe them? + </p> + <p> + No! he cherished, hugging it pathetically to his bosom the secret theory + that there was something distinguished somewhere in his ancestry. + </p> + <p> + “Must be,” he once said to young Jolyon, before the latter + went to the bad. “Look at us, <i>we’ve</i> got on! There must be good + blood in us somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + He had been fond of young Jolyon: the boy had been in a good set at + College, had known that old ruffian Sir Charles Fiste’s sons—a + pretty rascal one of them had turned out, too; and there was style about + him—it was a thousand pities he had run off with that half-foreign + governess! If he must go off like that why couldn’t he have chosen + someone who would have done them credit! And what was he now?—an + underwriter at Lloyd’s; they said he even painted pictures—pictures! + Damme! he might have ended as Sir Jolyon Forsyte, Bart., with a seat in + Parliament, and a place in the country! + </p> + <p> + It was Swithin who, following the impulse which sooner or later urges + thereto some member of every great family, went to the Heralds’ + Office, where they assured him that he was undoubtedly of the same family + as the well-known Forsites with an “i,” whose arms were + “three dexter buckles on a sable ground gules,” hoping no + doubt to get him to take them up. + </p> + <p> + Swithin, however, did not do this, but having ascertained that the crest + was a “pheasant proper,” and the motto “For Forsite,” + he had the pheasant proper placed upon his carriage and the buttons of his + coachman, and both crest and motto on his writing-paper. The arms he + hugged to himself, partly because, not having paid for them, he thought it + would look ostentatious to put them on his carriage, and he hated + ostentation, and partly because he, like any practical man all over the + country, had a secret dislike and contempt for things he could not + understand he found it hard, as anyone might, to swallow “three + dexter buckles on a sable ground gules.” + </p> + <p> + He never forgot, however, their having told him that if he paid for them + he would be entitled to use them, and it strengthened his conviction that + he was a gentleman. Imperceptibly the rest of the family absorbed the + “pheasant proper,” and some, more serious than others, adopted + the motto; old Jolyon, however, refused to use the latter, saying that it + was humbug meaning nothing, so far as he could see. + </p> + <p> + Among the older generation it was perhaps known at bottom from what great + historical event they derived their crest; and if pressed on the subject, + sooner than tell a lie—they did not like telling lies, having an + impression that only Frenchmen and Russians told them—they would + confess hurriedly that Swithin had got hold of it somehow. + </p> + <p> + Among the younger generation the matter was wrapped in a discretion + proper. They did not want to hurt the feelings of their elders, nor to + feel ridiculous themselves; they simply used the crest.... + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Swithin, “he had had an opportunity of seeing + for himself, and what he should say was, that there was nothing in her + manner to that young Buccaneer or Bosinney or whatever his name was, + different from her manner to himself; in fact, he should rather say....” + But here the entrance of Frances and Euphemia put an unfortunate stop to + the conversation, for this was not a subject which could be discussed + before young people. + </p> + <p> + And though Swithin was somewhat upset at being stopped like this on the + point of saying something important, he soon recovered his affability. He + was rather fond of Frances—Francie, as she was called in the family. + She was so smart, and they told him she made a pretty little pot of + pin-money by her songs; he called it very clever of her. + </p> + <p> + He rather prided himself indeed on a liberal attitude towards women, not + seeing any reason why they shouldn’t paint pictures, or write tunes, + or books even, for the matter of that, especially if they could turn a + useful penny by it; not at all—kept them out of mischief. It was not + as if they were men! + </p> + <p> + “Little Francie,” as she was usually called with good-natured + contempt, was an important personage, if only as a standing illustration + of the attitude of Forsytes towards the Arts. She was not really “little,” + but rather tall, with dark hair for a Forsyte, which, together with a grey + eye, gave her what was called “a Celtic appearance.” She wrote + songs with titles like “Breathing Sighs,” or “Kiss me, + Mother, ere I die,” with a refrain like an anthem: + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Kiss me, Mother, ere I die;<br/> + Kiss me-kiss me, Mother, ah!<br/> + Kiss, ah! kiss me e-ere I—<br/> + Kiss me, Mother, ere I d-d-die!” +</p> + <p> + She wrote the words to them herself, and other poems. In lighter moments + she wrote waltzes, one of which, the “Kensington Coil,” was + almost national to Kensington, having a sweet dip in it. Thus: + </p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/fig01.jpg" width="398" height="98" alt="" /> +</div> + + <p> + It was very original. Then there were her “Songs for Little People,” + at once educational and witty, especially “Gran’ma’s + Porgie,” and that ditty, almost prophetically imbued with the coming + Imperial spirit, entitled “Black Him In His Little Eye.” + </p> + <p> + Any publisher would take these, and reviews like “High Living,” + and the “Ladies’ Genteel Guide” went into raptures over: + “Another of Miss Francie Forsyte’s spirited ditties, sparkling + and pathetic. We ourselves were moved to tears and laughter. Miss Forsyte + should go far.” + </p> + <p> + With the true instinct of her breed, Francie had made a point of knowing + the right people—people who would write about her, and talk about + her, and people in Society, too—keeping a mental register of just + where to exert her fascinations, and an eye on that steady scale of rising + prices, which in her mind’s eye represented the future. In this way + she caused herself to be universally respected. + </p> + <p> + Once, at a time when her emotions were whipped by an attachment—for + the tenor of Roger’s life, with its whole-hearted collection of + house property, had induced in his only daughter a tendency towards + passion—she turned to great and sincere work, choosing the sonata + form, for the violin. This was the only one of her productions that + troubled the Forsytes. They felt at once that it would not sell. + </p> + <p> + Roger, who liked having a clever daughter well enough, and often alluded + to the amount of pocket-money she made for herself, was upset by this + violin sonata. + </p> + <p> + “Rubbish like that!” he called it. Francie had borrowed young + Flageoletti from Euphemia, to play it in the drawing-room at Prince’s + Gardens. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact Roger was right. It was rubbish, but—annoying! + the sort of rubbish that wouldn’t sell. As every Forsyte knows, + rubbish that sells is not rubbish at all—far from it. + </p> + <p> + And yet, in spite of the sound common sense which fixed the worth of art + at what it would fetch, some of the Forsytes—Aunt Hester, for + instance, who had always been musical—could not help regretting + that Francie’s music was not “classical”. the same with her + poems. But then, as Aunt Hester said, they didn’t see any poetry + nowadays, all the poems were “little light things.” There was + nobody who could write a poem like “Paradise Lost,” or + “Childe Harold”; either of which made you feel that you + really had read something. Still, it was nice for Francie to have + something to occupy her; while other girls were spending money shopping + she was making it! + </p> + <p> + And both Aunt Hester and Aunt Juley were always ready to listen to the + latest story of how Francie had got her price increased. + </p> + <p> + They listened now, together with Swithin, who sat pretending not to, for + these young people talked so fast and mumbled so, he never could catch + what they said. + </p> + <p> + “And I can’t think,” said Mrs. Septimus, “how you + do it. I should never have the audacity!” + </p> + <p> + Francie smiled lightly. “I’d much rather deal with a man than + a woman. Women are so sharp!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” cried Mrs. Small, “I’m sure we’re + not.” + </p> + <p> + Euphemia went off into her silent laugh, and, ending with the squeak, + said, as though being strangled: “Oh, you’ll kill me some day, + auntie.” + </p> + <p> + Swithin saw no necessity to laugh; he detested people laughing when he + himself perceived no joke. Indeed, he detested Euphemia altogether, to + whom he always alluded as “Nick’s daughter, what’s she + called—the pale one?” He had just missed being her god-father—indeed, + would have been, had he not taken a firm stand against her outlandish + name. He hated becoming a godfather. Swithin then said to Francie with + dignity: “It’s a fine day—er—for the time of year.” + But Euphemia, who knew perfectly well that he had refused to be her + godfather, turned to Aunt Hester, and began telling her how she had seen + Irene—Mrs. Soames—at the Church and Commercial Stores. + </p> + <p> + “And Soames was with her?” said Aunt Hester, to whom Mrs. + Small had as yet had no opportunity of relating the incident. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Soames</i> with her? Of <i>course</i> not!” + </p> + <p> + “But was she all alone in London?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; there was Mr. Bosinney with her. She was <i>perfectly</i> dressed.” + </p> + <p> + But Swithin, hearing the name Irene, looked severely at Euphemia, who, it + is true, never did look well in a dress, whatever she may have done on + other occasions, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Dressed like a lady, I’ve no doubt. It’s a pleasure to + see her.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment James and his daughters were announced. Dartie, feeling + badly in want of a drink, had pleaded an appointment with his dentist, + and, being put down at the Marble Arch, had got into a hansom, and was + already seated in the window of his club in Piccadilly. + </p> + <p> + His wife, he told his cronies, had wanted to take him to pay some calls. + It was not in his line—not exactly. Haw! + </p> + <p> + Hailing the waiter, he sent him out to the hall to see what had won the + 4.30 race. He was dog-tired, he said, and that was a fact; had been drivin’ + about with his wife to “shows” all the afternoon. Had put his + foot down at last. A fellow must live his own life. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, glancing out of the bay window—for he loved this + seat whence he could see everybody pass—his eye unfortunately, or + perhaps fortunately, chanced to light on the figure of Soames, who was + mousing across the road from the Green Park-side, with the evident + intention of coming in, for he, too, belonged to “The Iseeum.” + </p> + <p> + Dartie sprang to his feet; grasping his glass, he muttered something about + “that 4.30 race,” and swiftly withdrew to the card-room, where + Soames never came. Here, in complete isolation and a dim light, he lived + his own life till half past seven, by which hour he knew Soames must + certainly have left the club. + </p> + <p> + It would not do, as he kept repeating to himself whenever he felt the + impulse to join the gossips in the bay-window getting too strong for him—it + absolutely would not do, with finances as low as his, and the “old + man” (James) rusty ever since that business over the oil shares, + which was no fault of his, to risk a row with Winifred. + </p> + <p> + If Soames were to see him in the club it would be sure to come round to + her that he wasn’t at the dentist’s at all. He never knew a + family where things “came round” so. Uneasily, amongst the + green baize card-tables, a frown on his olive coloured face, his check + trousers crossed, and patent-leather boots shining through the gloom, he + sat biting his forefinger, and wondering where the deuce he was to get the + money if Erotic failed to win the Lancashire Cup. + </p> + <p> + His thoughts turned gloomily to the Forsytes. What a set they were! There + was no getting anything out of them—at least, it was a matter of + extreme difficulty. They were so d—-d particular about money + matters; not a sportsman amongst the lot, unless it were George. That + fellow Soames, for instance, would have a fit if you tried to borrow a + tenner from him, or, if he didn’t have a fit, he looked at you with + his cursed supercilious smile, as if you were a lost soul because you were + in want of money. + </p> + <p> + And that wife of his (Dartie’s mouth watered involuntarily), he had + tried to be on good terms with her, as one naturally would with any pretty + sister-in-law, but he would be cursed if the (he mentally used a coarse + word)—would have anything to say to him—she looked at him, + indeed, as if he were dirt—and yet she could go far enough, he + wouldn’t mind betting. He knew women; they weren’t made with + soft eyes and figures like that for nothing, as that fellow Soames would + jolly soon find out, if there were anything in what he had heard about + this Buccaneer Johnny. + </p> + <p> + Rising from his chair, Dartie took a turn across the room, ending in front + of the looking-glass over the marble chimney-piece; and there he stood for + a long time contemplating in the glass the reflection of his face. It had + that look, peculiar to some men, of having been steeped in linseed oil, + with its waxed dark moustaches and the little distinguished commencements + of side whiskers; and concernedly he felt the promise of a pimple on the + side of his slightly curved and fattish nose. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime old Jolyon had found the remaining chair in Timothy’s + commodious drawing-room. His advent had obviously put a stop to the + conversation, decided awkwardness having set in. Aunt Juley, with her + well-known kindheartedness, hastened to set people at their ease again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Jolyon,” she said, “we were just saying that you + haven’t been here for a long time; but we mustn’t be + surprised. You’re busy, of course? James was just saying what a busy + time of year....” + </p> + <p> + “Was he?” said old Jolyon, looking hard at James. “It + wouldn’t be half so busy if everybody minded their own business.” + </p> + <p> + James, brooding in a small chair from which his knees ran uphill, shifted + his feet uneasily, and put one of them down on the cat, which had unwisely + taken refuge from old Jolyon beside him. + </p> + <p> + “Here, you’ve got a cat here,” he said in an injured + voice, withdrawing his foot nervously as he felt it squeezing into the + soft, furry body. + </p> + <p> + “Several,” said old Jolyon, looking at one face and another; + “I trod on one just now.” + </p> + <p> + A silence followed. + </p> + <p> + Then Mrs. Small, twisting her fingers and gazing round with “pathetic + calm”, asked: “And how is dear June?” + </p> + <p> + A twinkle of humour shot through the sternness of old Jolyon’s eyes. + Extraordinary old woman, Juley! No one quite like her for saying the wrong + thing! + </p> + <p> + “Bad!” he said; “London don’t agree with her—too + many people about, too much clatter and chatter by half.” He laid + emphasis on the words, and again looked James in the face. + </p> + <p> + Nobody spoke. + </p> + <p> + A feeling of its being too dangerous to take a step in any direction, or + hazard any remark, had fallen on them all. Something of the sense of the + impending, that comes over the spectator of a Greek tragedy, had entered + that upholstered room, filled with those white-haired, frock-coated old + men, and fashionably attired women, who were all of the same blood, + between all of whom existed an unseizable resemblance. + </p> + <p> + Not that they were conscious of it—the visits of such fateful, + bitter spirits are only felt. + </p> + <p> + Then Swithin rose. He would not sit there, feeling like that—he was + not to be put down by anyone! And, manoeuvring round the room with added + pomp, he shook hands with each separately. + </p> + <p> + “You tell Timothy from me,” he said, “that he coddles + himself too much!” Then, turning to Francie, whom he considered + “smart,” he added: “You come with me for a drive one of + these days.” But this conjured up the vision of that other eventful + drive which had been so much talked about, and he stood quite still for a + second, with glassy eyes, as though waiting to catch up with the + significance of what he himself had said; then, suddenly recollecting that + he didn’t care a damn, he turned to old Jolyon: “Well, + good-bye, Jolyon! You shouldn’t go about without an overcoat; you’ll + be getting sciatica or something!” And, kicking the cat slightly + with the pointed tip of his patent leather boot, he took his huge form + away. + </p> + <p> + When he had gone everyone looked secretly at the others, to see how they + had taken the mention of the word “drive”—the word which + had become famous, and acquired an overwhelming importance, as the only + official—so to speak—news in connection with the vague and + sinister rumour clinging to the family tongue. + </p> + <p> + Euphemia, yielding to an impulse, said with a short laugh: “I’m + glad Uncle Swithin doesn’t ask me to go for drives.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Small, to reassure her and smooth over any little awkwardness the + subject might have, replied: “My dear, he likes to take somebody + well dressed, who will do him a little credit. I shall never forget the + drive he took me. It was an experience!” And her chubby round old + face was spread for a moment with a strange contentment; then broke into + pouts, and tears came into her eyes. She was thinking of that long ago + driving tour she had once taken with Septimus Small. + </p> + <p> + James, who had relapsed into his nervous brooding in the little chair, + suddenly roused himself: “He’s a funny fellow, Swithin,” + he said, but in a half-hearted way. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon’s silence, his stern eyes, held them all in a kind of + paralysis. He was disconcerted himself by the effect of his own words—an + effect which seemed to deepen the importance of the very rumour he had + come to scotch; but he was still angry. + </p> + <p> + He had not done with them yet—No, no—he would give them + another rub or two. + </p> + <p> + He did not wish to rub his nieces, he had no quarrel with them—a + young and presentable female always appealed to old Jolyon’s + clemency—but that fellow James, and, in a less degree perhaps, those + others, deserved all they would get. And he, too, asked for Timothy. + </p> + <p> + As though feeling that some danger threatened her younger brother, Aunt + Juley suddenly offered him tea: “There it is,” she said, + “all cold and nasty, waiting for you in the back drawing room, but + Smither shall make you some fresh.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon rose: “Thank you,” he said, looking straight at + James, “but I’ve no time for tea, and—scandal, and the + rest of it! It’s time I was at home. Good-bye, Julia; good-bye, + Hester; good-bye, Winifred.” + </p> + <p> + Without more ceremonious adieux, he marched out. + </p> + <p> + Once again in his cab, his anger evaporated, for so it ever was with his + wrath—when he had rapped out, it was gone. Sadness came over his + spirit. He had stopped their mouths, maybe, but at what a cost! At the + cost of certain knowledge that the rumour he had been resolved not to + believe was true. June was abandoned, and for the wife of that fellow’s + son! He felt it was true, and hardened himself to treat it as if it were + not; but the pain he hid beneath this resolution began slowly, surely, to + vent itself in a blind resentment against James and his son. + </p> + <p> + The six women and one man left behind in the little drawing-room began + talking as easily as might be after such an occurrence, for though each + one of them knew for a fact that he or she never talked scandal, each one + of them also knew that the other six did; all were therefore angry and at + a loss. James only was silent, disturbed, to the bottom of his soul. + </p> + <p> + Presently Francie said: “Do you know, I think Uncle Jolyon is + terribly changed this last year. What do you think, Aunt Hester?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hester made a little movement of recoil: “Oh, ask your Aunt + Julia!” she said; “I know nothing about it.” + </p> + <p> + No one else was afraid of assenting, and James muttered gloomily at the + floor: “He’s not half the man he was.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve noticed it a long time,” went on Francie; “he’s + aged tremendously.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Juley shook her head; her face seemed suddenly to have become one + immense pout. + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear Jolyon,” she said, “somebody ought to see to + it for him!” + </p> + <p> + There was again silence; then, as though in terror of being left + solitarily behind, all five visitors rose simultaneously, and took their + departure. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Small, Aunt Hester, and their cat were left once more alone, the + sound of a door closing in the distance announced the approach of Timothy. + </p> + <p> + That evening, when Aunt Hester had just got off to sleep in the back + bedroom that used to be Aunt Juley’s before Aunt Juley took Aunt Ann’s, + her door was opened, and Mrs. Small, in a pink night-cap, a candle in her + hand, entered: “Hester!” she said. “Hester!” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hester faintly rustled the sheet. + </p> + <p> + “Hester,” repeated Aunt Juley, to make quite sure that she had + awakened her, “I am quite troubled about poor dear Jolyon. <i>What</i>,” + Aunt Juley dwelt on the word, “do you think ought to be done?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hester again rustled the sheet, her voice was heard faintly pleading: + “Done? How should I know?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Juley turned away satisfied, and closing the door with extra + gentleness so as not to disturb dear Hester, let it slip through her + fingers and fall to with a “crack.” + </p> + <p> + Back in her own room, she stood at the window gazing at the moon over the + trees in the Park, through a chink in the muslin curtains, close drawn + lest anyone should see. And there, with her face all round and pouting in + its pink cap, and her eyes wet, she thought of “dear Jolyon,” + so old and so lonely, and how she could be of some use to him; and how he + would come to love her, as she had never been loved since—since poor + Septimus went away. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"></a> + CHAPTER VIII<br/>DANCE AT ROGER’S + </h2> + <p> + Roger’s house in Prince’s Gardens was brilliantly alight. + Large numbers of wax candles had been collected and placed in cut-glass + chandeliers, and the parquet floor of the long, double drawing-room + reflected these constellations. An appearance of real spaciousness had + been secured by moving out all the furniture on to the upper landings, and + enclosing the room with those strange appendages of civilization known as + “rout” seats. In a remote corner, embowered in palms, was a + cottage piano, with a copy of the “Kensington Coil” open on + the music-stand. + </p> + <p> + Roger had objected to a band. He didn’t see in the least what they + wanted with a band; he wouldn’t go to the expense, and there was an + end of it. Francie (her mother, whom Roger had long since reduced to + chronic dyspepsia, went to bed on such occasions), had been obliged to + content herself with supplementing the piano by a young man who played the + cornet, and she so arranged with palms that anyone who did not look into + the heart of things might imagine there were several musicians secreted + there. She made up her mind to tell them to play loud—there was a + lot of music in a cornet, if the man would only put his soul into it. + </p> + <p> + In the more cultivated American tongue, she was “through” at + last—through that tortuous labyrinth of make-shifts, which must be + traversed before fashionable display can be combined with the sound + economy of a Forsyte. Thin but brilliant, in her maize-coloured frock with + much tulle about the shoulders, she went from place to place, fitting on + her gloves, and casting her eye over it all. + </p> + <p> + To the hired butler (for Roger only kept maids) she spoke about the wine. + Did he quite understand that Mr. Forsyte wished a dozen bottles of the + champagne from Whiteley’s to be put out? But if that were finished + (she did not suppose it would be, most of the ladies would drink water, no + doubt), but if it were, there was the champagne cup, and he must do the + best he could with that. + </p> + <p> + She hated having to say this sort of thing to a butler, it was so <i>infra + dig.;</i> but what could you do with father? Roger, indeed, after making + himself consistently disagreeable about the dance, would come down + presently, with his fresh colour and bumpy forehead, as though he had been + its promoter; and he would smile, and probably take the prettiest woman in + to supper; and at two o’clock, just as they were getting into the + swing, he would go up secretly to the musicians and tell them to play + “God Save the Queen,” and go away. + </p> + <p> + Francie devoutly hoped he might soon get tired, and slip off to bed. + </p> + <p> + The three or four devoted girl friends who were staying in the house for + this dance had partaken with her, in a small, abandoned room upstairs, of + tea and cold chicken-legs, hurriedly served; the men had been sent out to + dine at Eustace’s Club, it being felt that they must be fed up. + </p> + <p> + Punctually on the stroke of nine arrived Mrs. Small alone. She made + elaborate apologies for the absence of Timothy, omitting all mention of + Aunt Hester, who, at the last minute, had said she could not be bothered. + Francie received her effusively, and placed her on a rout seat, where she + left her, pouting and solitary in lavender-coloured satin—the first + time she had worn colour since Aunt Ann’s death. + </p> + <p> + The devoted maiden friends came now from their rooms, each by magic + arrangement in a differently coloured frock, but all with the same liberal + allowance of tulle on the shoulders and at the bosom—for they were, + by some fatality, lean to a girl. They were all taken up to Mrs. Small. + None stayed with her more than a few seconds, but clustering together + talked and twisted their programmes, looking secretly at the door for the + first appearance of a man. + </p> + <p> + Then arrived in a group a number of Nicholases, always punctual—the + fashion up Ladbroke Grove way; and close behind them Eustace and his men, + gloomy and smelling rather of smoke. + </p> + <p> + Three or four of Francie’s lovers now appeared, one after the other; + she had made each promise to come early. They were all clean-shaven and + sprightly, with that peculiar kind of young-man sprightliness which had + recently invaded Kensington; they did not seem to mind each other’s + presence in the least, and wore their ties bunching out at the ends, white + waistcoats, and socks with clocks. All had handkerchiefs concealed in + their cuffs. They moved buoyantly, each armoured in professional gaiety, + as though he had come to do great deeds. Their faces when they danced, far + from wearing the traditional solemn look of the dancing Englishman, were + irresponsible, charming, suave; they bounded, twirling their partners at + great pace, without pedantic attention to the rhythm of the music. + </p> + <p> + At other dancers they looked with a kind of airy scorn—they, the + light brigade, the heroes of a hundred Kensington “hops”—from + whom alone could the right manner and smile and step be hoped. + </p> + <p> + After this the stream came fast; chaperones silting up along the wall + facing the entrance, the volatile element swelling the eddy in the larger + room. + </p> + <p> + Men were scarce, and wallflowers wore their peculiar, pathetic expression, + a patient, sourish smile which seemed to say: “Oh, no! don’t + mistake me, <i>I</i> know you are not coming up to me. I can hardly expect that!” + And Francie would plead with one of her lovers, or with some callow youth: + “Now, to please me, do let me introduce you to Miss Pink; such a + nice girl, really!” and she would bring him up, and say: “Miss + Pink—Mr. Gathercole. Can you spare him a dance?” Then Miss + Pink, smiling her forced smile, colouring a little, answered: “Oh! I + think so!” and screening her empty card, wrote on it the name of + Gathercole, spelling it passionately in the district that he proposed, + about the second extra. + </p> + <p> + But when the youth had murmured that it was hot, and passed, she relapsed + into her attitude of hopeless expectation, into her patient, sourish + smile. + </p> + <p> + Mothers, slowly fanning their faces, watched their daughters, and in their + eyes could be read all the story of those daughters’ fortunes. As + for themselves, to sit hour after hour, dead tired, silent, or talking + spasmodically—what did it matter, so long as the girls were having a + good time! But to see them neglected and passed by! Ah! they smiled, but + their eyes stabbed like the eyes of an offended swan; they longed to pluck + young Gathercole by the slack of his dandified breeches, and drag him to + their daughters—the jackanapes! + </p> + <p> + And all the cruelties and hardness of life, its pathos and unequal + chances, its conceit, self-forgetfulness, and patience, were presented on + the battle-field of this Kensington ball-room. + </p> + <p> + Here and there, too, lovers—not lovers like Francie’s, a + peculiar breed, but simply lovers—trembling, blushing, silent, + sought each other by flying glances, sought to meet and touch in the mazes + of the dance, and now and again dancing together, struck some beholder by + the light in their eyes. + </p> + <p> + Not a second before ten o’clock came the Jameses—Emily, + Rachel, Winifred (Dartie had been left behind, having on a former occasion + drunk too much of Roger’s champagne), and Cicely, the youngest, + making her debut; behind them, following in a hansom from the paternal + mansion where they had dined, Soames and Irene. + </p> + <p> + All these ladies had shoulder-straps and no tulle—thus showing at + once, by a bolder exposure of flesh, that they came from the more + fashionable side of the Park. + </p> + <p> + Soames, sidling back from the contact of the dancers, took up a position + against the wall. Guarding himself with his pale smile, he stood watching. + Waltz after waltz began and ended, couple after couple brushed by with + smiling lips, laughter, and snatches of talk; or with set lips, and eyes + searching the throng; or again, with silent, parted lips, and eyes on each + other. And the scent of festivity, the odour of flowers, and hair, of + essences that women love, rose suffocatingly in the heat of the summer + night. + </p> + <p> + Silent, with something of scorn in his smile, Soames seemed to notice + nothing; but now and again his eyes, finding that which they sought, would + fix themselves on a point in the shifting throng, and the smile die off + his lips. + </p> + <p> + He danced with no one. Some fellows danced with their wives; his sense of + “form” had never permitted him to dance with Irene since their + marriage, and the God of the Forsytes alone can tell whether this was a + relief to him or not. + </p> + <p> + She passed, dancing with other men, her dress, iris-coloured, floating + away from her feet. She danced well; he was tired of hearing women say + with an acid smile: “How beautifully your wife dances, Mr. Forsyte—it’s + quite a pleasure to watch her!” Tired of answering them with his + sidelong glance: “You think so?” + </p> + <p> + A young couple close by flirted a fan by turns, making an unpleasant + draught. Francie and one of her lovers stood near. They were talking of + love. + </p> + <p> + He heard Roger’s voice behind, giving an order about supper to a + servant. Everything was very second-class! He wished that he had not come! + He had asked Irene whether she wanted him; she had answered with that + maddening smile of hers “Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + Why <i>had</i> he come? For the last quarter of an hour he had not even seen her. + Here was George advancing with his Quilpish face; it was too late to get + out of his way. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen ‘The Buccaneer’.” said this + licensed wag; “he’s on the warpath—hair cut and + everything!” + </p> + <p> + Soames said he had not, and crossing the room, half-empty in an interval + of the dance, he went out on the balcony, and looked down into the street. + </p> + <p> + A carriage had driven up with late arrivals, and round the door hung some + of those patient watchers of the London streets who spring up to the call + of light or music; their faces, pale and upturned above their black and + rusty figures, had an air of stolid watching that annoyed Soames. Why were + they allowed to hang about; why didn’t the bobby move them on? + </p> + <p> + But the policeman took no notice of them; his feet were planted apart on + the strip of crimson carpet stretched across the pavement; his face, under + the helmet, wore the same stolid, watching look as theirs. + </p> + <p> + Across the road, through the railings, Soames could see the branches of + trees shining, faintly stirring in the breeze, by the gleam of the street + lamps; beyond, again, the upper lights of the houses on the other side, so + many eyes looking down on the quiet blackness of the garden; and over all, + the sky, that wonderful London sky, dusted with the innumerable reflection + of countless lamps; a dome woven over between its stars with the + refraction of human needs and human fancies—immense mirror of pomp + and misery that night after night stretches its kindly mocking over miles + of houses and gardens, mansions and squalor, over Forsytes, policemen, and + patient watchers in the streets. + </p> + <p> + Soames turned away, and, hidden in the recess, gazed into the lighted + room. It was cooler out there. He saw the new arrivals, June and her + grandfather, enter. What had made them so late? They stood by the doorway. + They looked fagged. Fancy Uncle Jolyon turning out at this time of night! + Why hadn’t June come to Irene, as she usually did, and it occurred + to him suddenly that he had seen nothing of June for a long time now. + </p> + <p> + Watching her face with idle malice, he saw it change, grow so pale that he + thought she would drop, then flame out crimson. Turning to see at what she + was looking, he saw his wife on Bosinney’s arm, coming from the + conservatory at the end of the room. Her eyes were raised to his, as + though answering some question he had asked, and he was gazing at her + intently. + </p> + <p> + Soames looked again at June. Her hand rested on old Jolyon’s arm; + she seemed to be making a request. He saw a surprised look on his uncle’s + face; they turned and passed through the door out of his sight. + </p> + <p> + The music began again—a waltz—and, still as a statue in the + recess of the window, his face unmoved, but no smile on his lips, Soames + waited. Presently, within a yard of the dark balcony, his wife and + Bosinney passed. He caught the perfume of the gardenias that she wore, saw + the rise and fall of her bosom, the languor in her eyes, her parted lips, + and a look on her face that he did not know. To the slow, swinging measure + they danced by, and it seemed to him that they clung to each other; he saw + her raise her eyes, soft and dark, to Bosinney’s, and drop them + again. + </p> + <p> + Very white, he turned back to the balcony, and leaning on it, gazed down + on the Square; the figures were still there looking up at the light with + dull persistency, the policeman’s face, too, upturned, and staring, + but he saw nothing of them. Below, a carriage drew up, two figures got in, + and drove away.... + </p> + <p> + That evening June and old Jolyon sat down to dinner at the usual hour. The + girl was in her customary high-necked frock, old Jolyon had not dressed. + </p> + <p> + At breakfast she had spoken of the dance at Uncle Roger’s, she + wanted to go; she had been stupid enough, she said, not to think of asking + anyone to take her. It was too late now. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon lifted his keen eyes. June was used to go to dances with Irene + as a matter of course! and deliberately fixing his gaze on her, he asked: + “Why don’t you get Irene?” + </p> + <p> + No! June did not want to ask Irene; she would only go if—if her + grandfather wouldn’t mind just for once for a little time! + </p> + <p> + At her look, so eager and so worn, old Jolyon had grumblingly consented. + He did not know what she wanted, he said, with going to a dance like this, + a poor affair, he would wager; and she no more fit for it than a cat! What + she wanted was sea air, and after his general meeting of the Globular Gold + Concessions he was ready to take her. She didn’t want to go away? + Ah! she would knock herself up! Stealing a mournful look at her, he went + on with his breakfast. + </p> + <p> + June went out early, and wandered restlessly about in the heat. Her little + light figure that lately had moved so languidly about its business, was + all on fire. She bought herself some flowers. She wanted—she meant + to look her best. <i>He</i> would be there! She knew well enough that he had a + card. She would show him that she did not care. But deep down in her heart + she resolved that evening to win him back. She came in flushed, and talked + brightly all lunch; old Jolyon was there, and he was deceived. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon she was overtaken by a desperate fit of sobbing. She + strangled the noise against the pillows of her bed, but when at last it + ceased she saw in the glass a swollen face with reddened eyes, and violet + circles round them. She stayed in the darkened room till dinner time. + </p> + <p> + All through that silent meal the struggle went on within her. + </p> + <p> + She looked so shadowy and exhausted that old Jolyon told “Sankey” + to countermand the carriage, he would not have her going out.... She was + to go to bed! She made no resistance. She went up to her room, and sat in + the dark. At ten o’clock she rang for her maid. + </p> + <p> + “Bring some hot water, and go down and tell Mr. Forsyte that I feel + perfectly rested. Say that if he’s too tired I can go to the dance + by myself.” + </p> + <p> + The maid looked askance, and June turned on her imperiously. “Go,” + she said, “bring the hot water at once!” + </p> + <p> + Her ball-dress still lay on the sofa, and with a sort of fierce care she + arrayed herself, took the flowers in her hand, and went down, her small + face carried high under its burden of hair. She could hear old Jolyon in + his room as she passed. + </p> + <p> + Bewildered and vexed, he was dressing. It was past ten, they would not get + there till eleven; the girl was mad. But he dared not cross her—the + expression of her face at dinner haunted him. + </p> + <p> + With great ebony brushes he smoothed his hair till it shone like silver + under the light; then he, too, came out on the gloomy staircase. + </p> + <p> + June met him below, and, without a word, they went to the carriage. + </p> + <p> + When, after that drive which seemed to last for ever, she entered Roger’s + drawing-room, she disguised under a mask of resolution a very torment of + nervousness and emotion. The feeling of shame at what might be called + “running after him” was smothered by the dread that he might + not be there, that she might not see him after all, and by that dogged + resolve—somehow, she did not know how—to win him back. + </p> + <p> + The sight of the ballroom, with its gleaming floor, gave her a feeling of + joy, of triumph, for she loved dancing, and when dancing she floated, so + light was she, like a strenuous, eager little spirit. He would surely ask + her to dance, and if he danced with her it would all be as it was before. + She looked about her eagerly. + </p> + <p> + The sight of Bosinney coming with Irene from the conservatory, with that + strange look of utter absorption on his face, struck her too suddenly. + They had not seen—no one should see—her distress, not even her + grandfather. + </p> + <p> + She put her hand on Jolyon’s arm, and said very low: + </p> + <p> + “I must go home, Gran; I feel ill.” + </p> + <p> + He hurried her away, grumbling to himself that he had known how it would + be. + </p> + <p> + To her he said nothing; only when they were once more in the carriage, + which by some fortunate chance had lingered near the door, he asked her: + “What is it, my darling?” + </p> + <p> + Feeling her whole slender body shaken by sobs, he was terribly alarmed. + She must have Blank to-morrow. He would insist upon it. He could not have + her like this.... There, there! + </p> + <p> + June mastered her sobs, and squeezing his hand feverishly, she lay back in + her corner, her face muffled in a shawl. + </p> + <p> + He could only see her eyes, fixed and staring in the dark, but he did not + cease to stroke her hand with his thin fingers. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"></a> + CHAPTER IX<br/>EVENING AT RICHMOND + </h2> + <p> + Other eyes besides the eyes of June and of Soames had seen “those + two” (as Euphemia had already begun to call them) coming from the + conservatory; other eyes had noticed the look on Bosinney’s face. + </p> + <p> + There are moments when Nature reveals the passion hidden beneath the + careless calm of her ordinary moods—violent spring flashing white on + almond-blossom through the purple clouds; a snowy, moonlit peak, with its + single star, soaring up to the passionate blue; or against the flames of + sunset, an old yew-tree standing dark guardian of some fiery secret. + </p> + <p> + There are moments, too, when in a picture-gallery, a work, noted by the + casual spectator as “* * *Titian—remarkably fine,” + breaks through the defences of some Forsyte better lunched perhaps than + his fellows, and holds him spellbound in a kind of ecstasy. There are + things, he feels—there are things here which—well, which are + things. Something unreasoning, unreasonable, is upon him; when he tries to + define it with the precision of a practical man, it eludes him, slips + away, as the glow of the wine he has drunk is slipping away, leaving him + cross, and conscious of his liver. He feels that he has been extravagant, + prodigal of something; virtue has gone out of him. He did not desire this + glimpse of what lay under the three stars of his catalogue. God forbid + that he should know anything about the forces of Nature! God forbid that + he should admit for a moment that there are such things! Once admit that, + and where was he? One paid a shilling for entrance, and another for the + programme. + </p> + <p> + The look which June had seen, which other Forsytes had seen, was like the + sudden flashing of a candle through a hole in some imaginary canvas, + behind which it was being moved—the sudden flaming-out of a vague, + erratic glow, shadowy and enticing. It brought home to onlookers the + consciousness that dangerous forces were at work. For a moment they + noticed it with pleasure, with interest, then felt they must not notice it + at all. + </p> + <p> + It supplied, however, the reason of Jun’s coming so late and + disappearing again without dancing, without even shaking hands with her + lover. She was ill, it was said, and no wonder. + </p> + <p> + But here they looked at each other guiltily. They had no desire to spread + scandal, no desire to be ill-natured. Who would have? And to outsiders no + word was breathed, unwritten law keeping them silent. + </p> + <p> + Then came the news that June had gone to the seaside with old Jolyon. + </p> + <p> + He had carried her off to Broadstairs, for which place there was just then + a feeling, Yarmouth having lost caste, in spite of Nicholas, and no + Forsyte going to the sea without intending to have an air for his money + such as would render him bilious in a week. That fatally aristocratic + tendency of the first Forsyte to drink Madeira had left his descendants + undoubtedly accessible. + </p> + <p> + So June went to the sea. The family awaited developments; there was + nothing else to do. + </p> + <p> + But how far—how far had “those two” gone? How far were + they going to go? Could they really be going at all? Nothing could surely + come of it, for neither of them had any money. At the most a flirtation, + ending, as all such attachments should, at the proper time. + </p> + <p> + Soames’s sister, Winifred Dartie, who had imbibed with the breezes of + Mayfair—she lived in Green Street—more fashionable principles + in regard to matrimonial behaviour than were current, for instance, in + Ladbroke Grove, laughed at the idea of there being anything in it. The + “little thing”—Irene was taller than herself, and it was + real testimony to the solid worth of a Forsyte that she should always thus + be a “little thing”—the little thing was bored. Why + shouldn’t she amuse herself? Soames was rather tiring; and as to Mr. + Bosinney—only that buffoon George would have called him the + Buccaneer—she maintained that he was very <i>chic</i>. + </p> + <p> + This dictum—that Bosinney was <i>chic</i>—caused quite a sensation. + It failed to convince. That he was “good-looking in a way” + they were prepared to admit, but that anyone could call a man with his + pronounced cheekbones, curious eyes, and soft felt hats <i>chic</i> was only + another instance of Winifred’s extravagant way of running after + something new. + </p> + <p> + It was that famous summer when extravagance was fashionable, when the very + earth was extravagant, chestnut-trees spread with blossom, and flowers + drenched in perfume, as they had never been before; when roses blew in + every garden; and for the swarming stars the nights had hardly space; when + every day and all day long the sun, in full armour, swung his brazen + shield above the Park, and people did strange things, lunching and dining + in the open air. Unprecedented was the tale of cabs and carriages that + streamed across the bridges of the shining river, bearing the upper-middle + class in thousands to the green glories of Bushey, Richmond, Kew, and + Hampton Court. Almost every family with any pretensions to be of the + carriage-class paid one visit that year to the horse-chestnuts at Bushey, + or took one drive amongst the Spanish chestnuts of Richmond Park. Bowling + smoothly, if dustily, along, in a cloud of their own creation, they would + stare fashionably at the antlered heads which the great slow deer raised + out of a forest of bracken that promised to autumn lovers such cover as + was never seen before. And now and again, as the amorous perfume of + chestnut flowers and of fern was drifted too near, one would say to the + other: “My dear! What a peculiar scent!” + </p> + <p> + And the lime-flowers that year were of rare prime, near honey-coloured. At + the corners of London squares they gave out, as the sun went down, a + perfume sweeter than the honey bees had taken—a perfume that stirred + a yearning unnamable in the hearts of Forsytes and their peers, taking the + cool after dinner in the precincts of those gardens to which they alone + had keys. + </p> + <p> + And that yearning made them linger amidst the dim shapes of flower-beds in + the failing daylight, made them turn, and turn, and turn again, as though + lovers were waiting for them—waiting for the last light to die away + under the shadow of the branches. + </p> + <p> + Some vague sympathy evoked by the scent of the limes, some sisterly desire + to see for herself, some idea of demonstrating the soundness of her dictum + that there was “nothing in it”; or merely the craving to drive + down to Richmond, irresistible that summer, moved the mother of the little + Darties (of little Publius, of Imogen, Maud, and Benedict) to write the + following note to her sister-in-law: + </p> + <p class="right"> + “<i>June</i> 30. + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “D<small>EAR</small> I<small>RENE</small>,<br/> + “I hear that Soames is going to Henley tomorrow for the night. I + thought it would be great fun if we made up a little party and drove down + to, Richmond. Will you ask Mr. Bosinney, and I will get young Flippard.<br/> + “Emily (they called their mother Emily—it was so chic) will + lend us the carriage. I will call for you and your young man at seven o’clock. + </p> + <p class="right"> + “Your affectionate sister,<br/> + “W<small>INIFRED</small> D<small>ARTIE</small>. + </p> + <p> + “Montague believes the dinner at the Crown and Sceptre to be quite + eatable.” + </p> + <p> + Montague was Dartie’s second and better known name—his first + being Moses; for he was nothing if not a man of the world. + </p> + <p> + Her plan met with more opposition from Providence than so benevolent a + scheme deserved. In the first place young Flippard wrote: + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “D<small>EAR</small> M<small>RS</small>. D<small>ARTIE</small>,<br/> + “Awfully sorry. Engaged two deep. + </p> + <p class="right"> + “Yours,<br/> + “A<small>UGUSTUS</small> F<small>LIPPARD</small>.” + </p> + <p> + It was late to send into the by-ways and hedges to remedy this misfortune. + With the promptitude and conduct of a mother, Winifred fell back on her + husband. She had, indeed, the decided but tolerant temperament that goes + with a good deal of profile, fair hair, and greenish eyes. She was seldom + or never at a loss; or if at a loss, was always able to convert it into a + gain. + </p> + <p> + Dartie, too, was in good feather. Erotic had failed to win the Lancashire + Cup. Indeed, that celebrated animal, owned as he was by a pillar of the + turf, who had secretly laid many thousands against him, had not even + started. The forty-eight hours that followed his scratching were among the + darkest in Dartie’s life. + </p> + <p> + Visions of James haunted him day and night. Black thoughts about Soames + mingled with the faintest hopes. On the Friday night he got drunk, so + greatly was he affected. But on Saturday morning the true Stock Exchange + instinct triumphed within him. Owing some hundreds, which by no + possibility could he pay, he went into town and put them all on Concertina + for the Saltown Borough Handicap. + </p> + <p> + As he said to Major Scrotton, with whom he lunched at the Iseeum: “That + little Jew boy, Nathans, had given him the tip. He didn’t care a + cursh. He wash in—a mucker. If it didn’t come up—well + then, damme, the old man would have to pay!” + </p> + <p> + A bottle of Pol Roger to his own cheek had given him a new contempt for + James. + </p> + <p> + It came up. Concertina was squeezed home by her neck—a terrible + squeak! But, as Dartie said: There was nothing like pluck! + </p> + <p> + He was by no means averse to the expedition to Richmond. He would “stand” + it himself! He cherished an admiration for Irene, and wished to be on more + playful terms with her. + </p> + <p> + At half-past five the Park Lane footman came round to say: Mrs. Forsyte + was very sorry, but one of the horses was coughing! + </p> + <p> + Undaunted by this further blow, Winifred at once despatched little Publius + (now aged seven) with the nursery governess to Montpellier Square. + </p> + <p> + They would go down in hansoms and meet at the Crown and Sceptre at 7.45. + </p> + <p> + Dartie, on being told, was pleased enough. It was better than going down + with your back to the horses! He had no objection to driving down with + Irene. He supposed they would pick up the others at Montpellier Square, + and swop hansoms there? + </p> + <p> + Informed that the meet was at the Crown and Sceptre, and that he would + have to drive with his wife, he turned sulky, and said it was d—-d + slow! + </p> + <p> + At seven o’clock they started, Dartie offering to bet the driver + half-a-crown he didn’t do it in the three-quarters of an hour. + </p> + <p> + Twice only did husband and wife exchange remarks on the way. + </p> + <p> + Dartie said: “It’ll put Master Soames’s nose out of + joint to hear his wife’s been drivin’ in a hansom with Master + Bosinney!” + </p> + <p> + Winifred replied: “Don’t talk such nonsense, Monty!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” repeated Dartie. “You don’t know + women, my fine lady!” + </p> + <p> + On the other occasion he merely asked: “How am I looking? A bit + puffy about the gills? That fizz old George is so fond of is a windy wine!” + </p> + <p> + He had been lunching with George Forsyte at the Haversnake. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney and Irene had arrived before them. They were standing in one of + the long French windows overlooking the river. + </p> + <p> + Windows that summer were open all day long, and all night too, and day and + night the scents of flowers and trees came in, the hot scent of parching + grass, and the cool scent of the heavy dews. + </p> + <p> + To the eye of the observant Dartie his two guests did not appear to be + making much running, standing there close together, without a word. + Bosinney was a hungry-looking creature—not much go about <i>him!</i> + </p> + <p> + He left them to Winifred, however, and busied himself to order the dinner. + </p> + <p> + A Forsyte will require good, if not delicate feeding, but a Dartie will + tax the resources of a Crown and Sceptre. Living as he does, from hand to + mouth, nothing is too good for him to eat; and he will eat it. His drink, + too, will need to be carefully provided; there is much drink in this + country “not good enough” for a Dartie; he will have the best. + Paying for things vicariously, there is no reason why he should stint + himself. To stint yourself is the mark of a fool, not of a Dartie. + </p> + <p> + The best of everything! No sounder principle on which a man can base his + life, whose father-in-law has a very considerable income, and a partiality + for his grandchildren. + </p> + <p> + With his not unable eye Dartie had spotted this weakness in James the very + first year after little Publius’s arrival (an error); he had + profited by his perspicacity. Four little Darties were now a sort of + perpetual insurance. + </p> + <p> + The feature of the feast was unquestionably the red mullet. This + delectable fish, brought from a considerable distance in a state of almost + perfect preservation, was first fried, then boned, then served in ice, + with Madeira punch in place of sauce, according to a recipe known to a few + men of the world. + </p> + <p> + Nothing else calls for remark except the payment of the bill by Dartie. + </p> + <p> + He had made himself extremely agreeable throughout the meal; his bold, + admiring stare seldom abandoning Irene’s face and figure. As he was + obliged to confess to himself, he got no change out of her—she was + cool enough, as cool as her shoulders looked under their veil of creamy + lace. He expected to have caught her out in some little game with + Bosinney; but not a bit of it, she kept up her end remarkably well. As for + that architect chap, he was as glum as a bear with a sore head—Winifred + could barely get a word out of him; he ate nothing, but he certainly took + his liquor, and his face kept getting whiter, and his eyes looked queer. + </p> + <p> + It was all very amusing. + </p> + <p> + For Dartie himself was in capital form, and talked freely, with a certain + poignancy, being no fool. He told two or three stories verging on the + improper, a concession to the company, for his stories were not used to + verging. He proposed Irene’s health in a mock speech. Nobody drank + it, and Winifred said: “Don’t be such a clown, Monty!” + </p> + <p> + At her suggestion they went after dinner to the public terrace overlooking + the river. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see the common people making love,” she + said, “it’s such fun!” + </p> + <p> + There were numbers of them walking in the cool, after the day’s + heat, and the air was alive with the sound of voices, coarse and loud, or + soft as though murmuring secrets. + </p> + <p> + It was not long before Winifred’s better sense—she was the + only Forsyte present—secured them an empty bench. They sat down in a + row. A heavy tree spread a thick canopy above their heads, and the haze + darkened slowly over the river. + </p> + <p> + Dartie sat at the end, next to him Irene, then Bosinney, then Winifred. + There was hardly room for four, and the man of the world could feel Irene’s + arm crushed against his own; he knew that she could not withdraw it + without seeming rude, and this amused him; he devised every now and again + a movement that would bring her closer still. He thought: “That + Buccaneer Johnny shan’t have it all to himself! It’s a pretty + tight fit, certainly!” + </p> + <p> + From far down below on the dark river came drifting the tinkle of a + mandoline, and voices singing the old round: + </p> + <p class="poem"> + “A boat, a boat, unto the ferry,<br/> + For we’ll go over and be merry;<br/> + And laugh, and quaff, and drink brown sherry!” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly the moon appeared, young and tender, floating up on her back + from behind a tree; and as though she had breathed, the air was cooler, + but down that cooler air came always the warm odour of the limes. + </p> + <p> + Over his cigar Dartie peered round at Bosinney, who was sitting with his + arms crossed, staring straight in front of him, and on his face the look + of a man being tortured. + </p> + <p> + And Dartie shot a glance at the face between, so veiled by the overhanging + shadow that it was but like a darker piece of the darkness shaped and + breathed on; soft, mysterious, enticing. + </p> + <p> + A hush had fallen on the noisy terrace, as if all the strollers were + thinking secrets too precious to be spoken. + </p> + <p> + And Dartie thought: “Women!” + </p> + <p> + The glow died above the river, the singing ceased; the young moon hid + behind a tree, and all was dark. He pressed himself against Irene. + </p> + <p> + He was not alarmed at the shuddering that ran through the limbs he + touched, or at the troubled, scornful look of her eyes. He felt her trying + to draw herself away, and smiled. + </p> + <p> + It must be confessed that the man of the world had drunk quite as much as + was good for him. + </p> + <p> + With thick lips parted under his well-curled moustaches, and his bold eyes + aslant upon her, he had the malicious look of a satyr. + </p> + <p> + Along the pathway of sky between the hedges of the tree tops the stars + clustered forth; like mortals beneath, they seemed to shift and swarm and + whisper. Then on the terrace the buzz broke out once more, and Dartie + thought: “Ah! he’s a poor, hungry-looking devil, that + Bosinney!” and again he pressed himself against Irene. + </p> + <p> + The movement deserved a better success. She rose, and they all followed + her. + </p> + <p> + The man of the world was more than ever determined to see what she was + made of. Along the terrace he kept close at her elbow. He had within him + much good wine. There was the long drive home, the long drive and the warm + dark and the pleasant closeness of the hansom cab—with its + insulation from the world devised by some great and good man. That hungry + architect chap might drive with his wife—he wished him joy of her! + And, conscious that his voice was not too steady, he was careful not to + speak; but a smile had become fixed on his thick lips. + </p> + <p> + They strolled along toward the cabs awaiting them at the farther end. His + plan had the merit of all great plans, an almost brutal simplicity— + he would merely keep at her elbow till she got in, and get in quickly + after her. + </p> + <p> + But when Irene reached the cab she did not get in; she slipped, instead, + to the horse’s head. Dartie was not at the moment sufficiently + master of his legs to follow. She stood stroking the horse’s nose, + and, to his annoyance, Bosinney was at her side first. She turned and + spoke to him rapidly, in a low voice; the words “That man” + reached Dartie. He stood stubbornly by the cab step, waiting for her to + come back. He knew a trick worth two of that! + </p> + <p> + Here, in the lamp-light, his figure (no more than medium height), well + squared in its white evening waistcoat, his light overcoat flung over his + arm, a pink flower in his button-hole, and on his dark face that look of + confident, good-humoured insolence, he was at his best—a thorough + man of the world. + </p> + <p> + Winifred was already in her cab. Dartie reflected that Bosinney would have + a poorish time in that cab if he didn’t look sharp! Suddenly he + received a push which nearly overturned him in the road. Bosinney’s + voice hissed in his ear: “I am taking Irene back; do you understand?” + He saw a face white with passion, and eyes that glared at him like a wild + cat’s. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” he stammered. “What? Not a bit. You take my wife!” + </p> + <p> + “Get away!” hissed Bosinney—“or I’ll throw + you into the road!” + </p> + <p> + Dartie recoiled; he saw as plainly as possible that the fellow meant it. + In the space he made Irene had slipped by, her dress brushed his legs. + Bosinney stepped in after her. + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” he heard the Buccaneer cry. The cabman flicked his + horse. It sprang forward. + </p> + <p> + Dartie stood for a moment dumbfounded; then, dashing at the cab where his + wife sat, he scrambled in. + </p> + <p> + “Drive on!” he shouted to the driver, “and don’t + you lose sight of that fellow in front!” + </p> + <p> + Seated by his wife’s side, he burst into imprecations. Calming + himself at last with a supreme effort, he added: “A pretty mess you’ve + made of it, to let the Buccaneer drive home with her; why on earth couldn’t + you keep hold of him? He’s mad with love; any fool can see that!” + </p> + <p> + He drowned Winifred’s rejoinder with fresh calls to the Almighty; + nor was it until they reached Barnes that he ceased a Jeremiad, in the + course of which he had abused her, her father, her brother, Irene, + Bosinney, the name of Forsyte, his own children, and cursed the day when + he had ever married. + </p> + <p> + Winifred, a woman of strong character, let him have his say, at the end of + which he lapsed into sulky silence. His angry eyes never deserted the back + of that cab, which, like a lost chance, haunted the darkness in front of + him. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately he could not hear Bosinney’s passionate pleading—that + pleading which the man of the world’s conduct had let loose like a + flood; he could not see Irene shivering, as though some garment had been + torn from her, nor her eyes, black and mournful, like the eyes of a beaten + child. He could not hear Bosinney entreating, entreating, always + entreating; could not hear her sudden, soft weeping, nor see that poor, + hungry-looking devil, awed and trembling, humbly touching her hand. + </p> + <p> + In Montpellier Square their cabman, following his instructions to the + letter, faithfully drew up behind the cab in front. The Darties saw + Bosinney spring out, and Irene follow, and hasten up the steps with bent + head. She evidently had her key in her hand, for she disappeared at once. + It was impossible to tell whether she had turned to speak to Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + The latter came walking past their cab; both husband and wife had an + admirable view of his face in the light of a street lamp. It was working + with violent emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Mr. Bosinney!” called Winifred. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney started, clawed off his hat, and hurried on. He had obviously + forgotten their existence. + </p> + <p> + “There!” said Dartie, “did you see the beast’s + face? What did I say? Fine games!” He improved the occasion. + </p> + <p> + There had so clearly been a crisis in the cab that Winifred was unable to + defend her theory. + </p> + <p> + She said: “I shall say nothing about it. I don’t see any use + in making a fuss!” + </p> + <p> + With that view Dartie at once concurred; looking upon James as a private + preserve, he disapproved of his being disturbed by the troubles of others. + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” he said; “let Soames look after himself. + He’s jolly well able to!” + </p> + <p> + Thus speaking, the Darties entered their habitat in Green Street, the rent + of which was paid by James, and sought a well-earned rest. The hour was + midnight, and no Forsytes remained abroad in the streets to spy out + Bosinney’s wanderings; to see him return and stand against the rails + of the Square garden, back from the glow of the street lamp; to see him + stand there in the shadow of trees, watching the house where in the dark + was hidden she whom he would have given the world to see for a single + minute—she who was now to him the breath of the lime-trees, the + meaning of the light and the darkness, the very beating of his own heart. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"></a> + CHAPTER X<br/>DIAGNOSIS OF A FORSYTE + </h2> + <p> + It is in the nature of a Forsyte to be ignorant that he is a Forsyte; but + young Jolyon was well aware of being one. He had not known it till after + the decisive step which had made him an outcast; since then the knowledge + had been with him continually. He felt it throughout his alliance, + throughout all his dealings with his second wife, who was emphatically not + a Forsyte. + </p> + <p> + He knew that if he had not possessed in great measure the eye for what he + wanted, the tenacity to hold on to it, the sense of the folly of wasting + that for which he had given so big a price—in other words, the + “sense of property” he could never have retained her (perhaps + never would have desired to retain her) with him through all the financial + troubles, slights, and misconstructions of those fifteen years; never have + induced her to marry him on the death of his first wife; never have lived + it all through, and come up, as it were, thin, but smiling. + </p> + <p> + He was one of those men who, seated cross-legged like miniature Chinese + idols in the cages of their own hearts, are ever smiling at themselves a + doubting smile. Not that this smile, so intimate and eternal, interfered + with his actions, which, like his chin and his temperament, were quite a + peculiar blend of softness and determination. + </p> + <p> + He was conscious, too, of being a Forsyte in his work, that painting of + water-colours to which he devoted so much energy, always with an eye on + himself, as though he could not take so unpractical a pursuit quite + seriously, and always with a certain queer uneasiness that he did not make + more money at it. + </p> + <p> + It was, then, this consciousness of what it meant to be a Forsyte, that + made him receive the following letter from old Jolyon, with a mixture of + sympathy and disgust: + </p> + <p class="right"> + “S<small>HELDRAKE</small> H<small>OUSE</small>,<br/> + “B<small>ROADSTAIRS</small>,<br/> + “<i>July</i> 1. + </p> + <p class="letter"> + “M<small>Y</small> D<small>EAR</small> J<small>O</small>,”<br/> + (The Dad’s handwriting had altered very little in the thirty odd + years that he remembered it.)<br/> + “We have been here now a fortnight, and have had good weather on the + whole. The air is bracing, but my liver is out of order, and I shall be + glad enough to get back to town. I cannot say much for June, her health + and spirits are very indifferent, and I don’t see what is to come of + it. She says nothing, but it is clear that she is harping on this + engagement, which is an engagement and no engagement, and—goodness + knows what. I have grave doubts whether she ought to be allowed to return + to London in the present state of affairs, but she is so self-willed that + she might take it into her head to come up at any moment. The fact is + someone ought to speak to Bosinney and ascertain what he means. I’m + afraid of this myself, for I should certainly rap him over the knuckles, + but I thought that you, knowing him at the Club, might put in a word, and + get to ascertain what the fellow is about. You will of course in no way + commit June. I shall be glad to hear from you in the course of a few days + whether you have succeeded in gaining any information. The situation is + very distressing to me, I worry about it at night. With my love to Jolly and Holly. + </p> + <p class="right"> + “I am,<br/> + “Your affect. father,<br/> + “J<small>OLYON</small> F<small>ORSYTE</small>.” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon pondered this letter so long and seriously that his wife + noticed his preoccupation, and asked him what was the matter. He replied: + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + It was a fixed principle with him never to allude to June. She might take + alarm, he did not know what she might think; he hastened, therefore, to + banish from his manner all traces of absorption, but in this he was about + as successful as his father would have been, for he had inherited all old + Jolyon’s transparency in matters of domestic finesse; and young Mrs. + Jolyon, busying herself over the affairs of the house, went about with + tightened lips, stealing at him unfathomable looks. + </p> + <p> + He started for the Club in the afternoon with the letter in his pocket, + and without having made up his mind. + </p> + <p> + To sound a man as to “his intentions” was peculiarly + unpleasant to him; nor did his own anomalous position diminish this + unpleasantness. It was so like his family, so like all the people they + knew and mixed with, to enforce what they called their rights over a man, + to bring him up to the mark; so like them to carry their business + principles into their private relations. + </p> + <p> + And how that phrase in the letter—“You will, of course, in no + way commit June”—gave the whole thing away. + </p> + <p> + Yet the letter, with the personal grievance, the concern for June, the + “rap over the knuckles,” was all so natural. No wonder his + father wanted to know what Bosinney meant, no wonder he was angry. + </p> + <p> + It was difficult to refuse! But why give the thing to him to do? That was + surely quite unbecoming; but so long as a Forsyte got what he was after, + he was not too particular about the means, provided appearances were + saved. + </p> + <p> + How should he set about it, or how refuse? Both seemed impossible. So, + young Jolyon! + </p> + <p> + He arrived at the Club at three o’clock, and the first person he saw + was Bosinney himself, seated in a corner, staring out of the window. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon sat down not far off, and began nervously to reconsider his + position. He looked covertly at Bosinney sitting there unconscious. He did + not know him very well, and studied him attentively for perhaps the first + time; an unusual looking man, unlike in dress, face, and manner to most of + the other members of the Club—young Jolyon himself, however + different he had become in mood and temper, had always retained the neat + reticence of Forsyte appearance. He alone among Forsytes was ignorant of + Bosinney’s nickname. The man was unusual, not eccentric, but + unusual; he looked worn, too, haggard, hollow in the cheeks beneath those + broad, high cheekbones, though without any appearance of ill-health, for + he was strongly built, with curly hair that seemed to show all the + vitality of a fine constitution. + </p> + <p> + Something in his face and attitude touched young Jolyon. He knew what + suffering was like, and this man looked as if he were suffering. + </p> + <p> + He got up and touched his arm. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney started, but exhibited no sign of embarrassment on seeing who it + was. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon sat down. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t seen you for a long time,” he said. “How + are you getting on with my cousin’s house?” + </p> + <p> + “It’ll be finished in about a week.” + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you!” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks—I don’t know that it’s much of a subject + for congratulation.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” queried young Jolyon; “I should have thought you’d + be glad to get a long job like that off your hands; but I suppose you feel + it much as I do when I part with a picture—a sort of child?” + </p> + <p> + He looked kindly at Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the latter more cordially, “it goes out from + you and there’s an end of it. I didn’t know you painted.” + </p> + <p> + “Only water-colours; I can’t say I believe in my work.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t believe in it? There—how can you do it? Work’s + no use unless you believe in it!” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said young Jolyon; “it’s exactly what I’ve + always said. By-the-bye, have you noticed that whenever one says ‘Good,’ + one always adds ‘it’s exactly what I’ve always said’. + But if you ask me how I do it, I answer, because I’m a Forsyte.” + </p> + <p> + “A Forsyte! I never thought of you as one!” + </p> + <p> + “A Forsyte,” replied young Jolyon, “is not an uncommon + animal. There are hundreds among the members of this Club. Hundreds out + there in the streets; you meet them wherever you go!” + </p> + <p> + “And how do you tell them, may I ask?” said Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + “By their sense of property. A Forsyte takes a practical—one + might say a commonsense—view of things, and a practical view of + things is based fundamentally on a sense of property. A Forsyte, you will + notice, never gives himself away.” + </p> + <p> + “Joking?” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon’s eye twinkled. + </p> + <p> + “Not much. As a Forsyte myself, I have no business to talk. But I’m + a kind of thoroughbred mongrel; now, there’s no mistaking you: You’re + as different from me as I am from my Uncle James, who is the perfect + specimen of a Forsyte. His sense of property is extreme, while you have + practically none. Without me in between, you would seem like a different + species. I’m the missing link. We are, of course, all of us the + slaves of property, and I admit that it’s a question of degree, but + what I call a ‘Forsyte’ is a man who is decidedly more than + less a slave of property. He knows a good thing, he knows a safe thing, + and his grip on property—it doesn’t matter whether it be + wives, houses, money, or reputation—is his hall-mark.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” murmured Bosinney. “You should patent the word.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like,” said young Jolyon, “to lecture on it: + </p> + <p> + “Properties and quality of a Forsyte: This little animal, disturbed + by the ridicule of his own sort, is unaffected in his motions by the + laughter of strange creatures (you or I). Hereditarily disposed to myopia, + he recognises only the persons of his own species, amongst which he passes + an existence of competitive tranquillity.” + </p> + <p> + “You talk of them,” said Bosinney, “as if they were half + England.” + </p> + <p> + “They are,” repeated young Jolyon, “half England, and + the better half, too, the safe half, the three per cent. half, the half + that counts. It’s their wealth and security that makes everything + possible; makes your art possible, makes literature, science, even + religion, possible. Without Forsytes, who believe in none of these things, + and habitats but turn them all to use, where should we be? My dear sir, + the Forsytes are the middlemen, the commercials, the pillars of society, + the cornerstones of convention; everything that is admirable!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know whether I catch your drift,” said + Bosinney, “but I fancy there are plenty of Forsytes, as you call + them, in my profession.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” replied young Jolyon. “The great majority + of architects, painters, or writers have no principles, like any other + Forsytes. Art, literature, religion, survive by virtue of the few cranks + who really believe in such things, and the many Forsytes who make a + commercial use of them. At a low estimate, three-fourths of our Royal + Academicians are Forsytes, seven-eighths of our novelists, a large + proportion of the press. Of science I can’t speak; they are + magnificently represented in religion; in the House of Commons perhaps + more numerous than anywhere; the aristocracy speaks for itself. But I’m + not laughing. It is dangerous to go against the majority and what a + majority!” He fixed his eyes on Bosinney: “It’s + dangerous to let anything carry you away—a house, a picture, a—woman!” + </p> + <p> + They looked at each other.—And, as though he had done that which no + Forsyte did—given himself away, young Jolyon drew into his shell. + Bosinney broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you take your own people as the type?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “My people,” replied young Jolyon, “are not very + extreme, and they have their own private peculiarities, like every other + family, but they possess in a remarkable degree those two qualities which + are the real tests of a Forsyte—the power of never being able to + give yourself up to anything soul and body, and the ‘sense of + property’.” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney smiled: “How about the big one, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean Swithin?” asked young Jolyon. “Ah! in + Swithin there’s something primeval still. The town and middle-class + life haven’t digested him yet. All the old centuries of farm work + and brute force have settled in him, and there they’ve stuck, for + all he’s so distinguished.” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney seemed to ponder. “Well, you’ve hit your cousin + Soames off to the life,” he said suddenly. “<i>He’ll</i> never + blow his brains out.” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon shot at him a penetrating glance. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said; “he won’t. That’s why he’s + to be reckoned with. Look out for their grip! It’s easy to laugh, + but don’t mistake me. It doesn’t do to despise a Forsyte; it + doesn’t do to disregard them!” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you’ve done it yourself!” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon acknowledged the hit by losing his smile. + </p> + <p> + “You forget,” he said with a queer pride, “I can hold + on, too—I’m a Forsyte myself. We’re all in the path of + great forces. The man who leaves the shelter of the wall—well—you + know what I mean. I don’t,” he ended very low, as though + uttering a threat, “recommend every man to-go-my-way. It depends.” + </p> + <p> + The colour rushed into Bosinney’s face, but soon receded, leaving it + sallow-brown as before. He gave a short laugh, that left his lips fixed in + a queer, fierce smile; his eyes mocked young Jolyon. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” he said. “It’s deuced kind of you. But + you’re not the only chaps that can hold on.” He rose. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon looked after him as he walked away, and, resting his head on + his hand, sighed. + </p> + <p> + In the drowsy, almost empty room the only sounds were the rustle of + newspapers, the scraping of matches being struck. He stayed a long time + without moving, living over again those days when he, too, had sat long + hours watching the clock, waiting for the minutes to pass—long hours + full of the torments of uncertainty, and of a fierce, sweet aching; and + the slow, delicious agony of that season came back to him with its old + poignancy. The sight of Bosinney, with his haggard face, and his restless + eyes always wandering to the clock, had roused in him a pity, with which + was mingled strange, irresistible envy. + </p> + <p> + He knew the signs so well. Whither was he going—to what sort of + fate? What kind of woman was it who was drawing him to her by that + magnetic force which no consideration of honour, no principle, no interest + could withstand; from which the only escape was flight. + </p> + <p> + Flight! But why should Bosinney fly? A man fled when he was in danger of + destroying hearth and home, when there were children, when he felt himself + trampling down ideals, breaking something. But here, so he had heard, it + was all broken to his hand. + </p> + <p> + He himself had not fled, nor would he fly if it were all to come over + again. Yet he had gone further than Bosinney, had broken up his own + unhappy home, not someone else’s: And the old saying came back to + him: “A man’s fate lies in his own heart.” + </p> + <p> + In his own heart! The proof of the pudding was in the eating—Bosinney + had still to eat his pudding. + </p> + <p> + His thoughts passed to the woman, the woman whom he did not know, but the + outline of whose story he had heard. + </p> + <p> + An unhappy marriage! No ill-treatment—only that indefinable malaise, + that terrible blight which killed all sweetness under Heaven; and so from + day to day, from night to night, from week to week, from year to year, + till death should end it. + </p> + <p> + But young Jolyon, the bitterness of whose own feelings time had assuaged, + saw Soames’s side of the question too. Whence should a man like his + cousin, saturated with all the prejudices and beliefs of his class, draw + the insight or inspiration necessary to break up this life? It was a + question of imagination, of projecting himself into the future beyond the + unpleasant gossip, sneers, and tattle that followed on such separations, + beyond the passing pangs that the lack of the sight of her would cause, + beyond the grave disapproval of the worthy. But few men, and especially + few men of Soames’s class, had imagination enough for that. A deal of + mortals in this world, and not enough imagination to go round! And sweet + Heaven, what a difference between theory and practice; many a man, perhaps + even Soames, held chivalrous views on such matters, who when the shoe + pinched found a distinguishing factor that made of himself an exception. + </p> + <p> + Then, too, he distrusted his judgment. He had been through the experience + himself, had tasted to the dregs the bitterness of an unhappy marriage, + and how could he take the wide and dispassionate view of those who had + never been within sound of the battle? His evidence was too first-hand—like + the evidence on military matters of a soldier who has been through much + active service, against that of civilians who have not suffered the + disadvantage of seeing things too close. 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 for 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 + <i>statu quo</i>. To break up a home is at the best a dangerous experiment, and + selfish into the bargain. + </p> + <p> + This was the case for the defence, and young Jolyon sighed. + </p> + <p> + “The core of it all,” he thought, “is property, but + there are many people who would not like it put that way. To them it is + ‘the sanctity of the marriage tie’; but the sanctity of the + marriage tie is dependent on the sanctity of the family, and the sanctity + of the family is dependent on the sanctity of property. And yet I imagine + all these people are followers of One who never owned anything. It is + curious!” + </p> + <p> + And again young Jolyon sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Am I going on my way home to ask any poor devils I meet to share my + dinner, which will then be too little for myself, or, at all events, for + my wife, who is necessary to my health and happiness? It may be that after + all Soames does well to exercise his rights and support by his practice + the sacred principle of property which benefits us all, with the exception + of those who suffer by the process.” + </p> + <p> + And so he left his chair, threaded his way through the maze of seats, took + his hat, and languidly up the hot streets crowded with carriages, reeking + with dusty odours, wended his way home. + </p> + <p> + Before reaching Wistaria Avenue he removed old Jolyon’s letter from + his pocket, and tearing it carefully into tiny pieces, scattered them in + the dust of the road. + </p> + <p> + He let himself in with his key, and called his wife’s name. But she + had gone out, taking Jolly and Holly, and the house was empty; alone in + the garden the dog Balthasar lay in the shade snapping at flies. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon took his seat there, too, under the pear-tree that bore no + fruit. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"></a> + CHAPTER XI<br/>BOSINNEY ON PAROLE + </h2> + <p> + The day after the evening at Richmond Soames returned from Henley by a + morning train. Not constitutionally interested in amphibious sports, his + visit had been one of business rather than pleasure, a client of some + importance having asked him down. + </p> + <p> + He went straight to the City, but finding things slack, he left at three o’clock, + glad of this chance to get home quietly. Irene did not expect him. Not + that he had any desire to spy on her actions, but there was no harm in + thus unexpectedly surveying the scene. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + He asked: “How is it you’re in? Are you expecting somebody?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—that is, not particularly.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bosinney said he might come.” + </p> + <p> + “Bosinney. He ought to be at work.” + </p> + <p> + To this she made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Soames, “I want you to come out to the + Stores with me, and after that we’ll go to the Park.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to go out; I have a headache.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. + </p> + <p> + Soames was silent for some minutes; at last he said: “I don’t + know what your idea of a wife’s duty is. I never have known!” + </p> + <p> + He had not expected her to reply, but she did. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose fault is it, then?” He watched her askance. + </p> + <p> + “Before we were married you promised to let me go if our marriage + was not a success. Is it a success?” + </p> + <p> + Soames frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Success,” he stammered—“it would be a success if + you behaved yourself properly!” + </p> + <p> + “I have tried,” said Irene. “Will you let me go?” + </p> + <p> + Soames turned away. Secretly alarmed, he took refuge in bluster. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, you won’t let me go?” + </p> + <p> + He felt her eyes resting on him with a strange, touching look. + </p> + <p> + “Let you go!” he said; “and what on earth would you do + with yourself if I did? You’ve got no money!” + </p> + <p> + “I could manage somehow.” + </p> + <p> + He took a swift turn up and down the room; then came and stood before her. + </p> + <p> + “Understand,” he said, “once and for all, I won’t + have you say this sort of thing. Go and get your hat on!” + </p> + <p> + She did not move. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Soames, “you don’t want to miss + Bosinney if he comes!” + </p> + <p> + Irene got up slowly and left the room. She came down with her hat on. + </p> + <p> + They went out. + </p> + <p> + In the Park, the motley hour of mid-afternoon, when foreigners and other + pathetic folk drive, thinking themselves to be in fashion, had passed; the + right, the proper, hour had come, was nearly gone, before Soames and Irene + seated themselves under the Achilles statue. + </p> + <p> + It was some time since he had enjoyed her company in the Park. That was + one of the past delights of the first two seasons of his married life, + when to feel himself the possessor of this gracious creature before all + London had been his greatest, though secret, pride. How many afternoons + had he not sat beside her, extremely neat, with light grey gloves and + faint, supercilious smile, nodding to acquaintances, and now and again + removing his hat. + </p> + <p> + His light grey gloves were still on his hands, and on his lips his smile + sardonic, but where the feeling in his heart? + </p> + <p> + The seats were emptying fast, but still he kept her there, silent and + pale, as though to work out a secret punishment. Once or twice he made + some comment, and she bent her head, or answered “Yes” with a + tired smile. + </p> + <p> + Along the rails a man was walking so fast that people stared after him + when he passed. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that ass!” said Soames; “he must be mad to walk + like that in this heat!” + </p> + <p> + He turned; Irene had made a rapid movement. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” he said: “it’s our friend the Buccaneer!” + </p> + <p> + And he sat still, with his sneering smile, conscious that Irene was + sitting still, and smiling too. + </p> + <p> + “Will she bow to him?” he thought. + </p> + <p> + But she made no sign. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney reached the end of the rails, and came walking back amongst the + chairs, quartering his ground like a pointer. When he saw them he stopped + dead, and raised his hat. + </p> + <p> + The smile never left Soames’s face; he also took off his hat. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney came up, looking exhausted, like a man after hard physical + exercise; the sweat stood in drops on his brow, and Soames’ smile + seemed to say: “You’ve had a trying time, my friend.... What + are <i>you</i> doing in the Park?” he asked. “We thought you + despised such frivolity!” + </p> + <p> + Bosinney did not seem to hear; he made his answer to Irene: “I’ve + been round to your place; I hoped I should find you in.” + </p> + <p> + Somebody tapped Soames on the back, and spoke to him; and in the exchange + of those platitudes over his shoulder, he missed her answer, and took a + resolution. + </p> + <p> + “We’re just going in,” he said to Bosinney; “you’d + better come back to dinner with us.” Into that invitation he put a + strange bravado, a stranger pathos: “You, can’t deceive me,” + his look and voice seemed saying, “but see—I trust you—I’m + not afraid of you!” + </p> + <p> + They started back to Montpellier Square together, Irene between them. In + the crowded streets Soames went on in front. He did not listen to their + conversation; the strange resolution of trustfulness he had taken seemed + to animate even his secret conduct. Like a gambler, he said to himself: + “It’s a card I dare not throw away—I must play it for + what it’s worth. I have not too many chances.” + </p> + <p> + He dressed slowly, heard her leave her room and go downstairs, and, for + full five minutes after, dawdled about in his dressing-room. Then he went + down, purposely shutting the door loudly to show that he was coming. He + found them standing by the hearth, perhaps talking, perhaps not; he could + not say. + </p> + <p> + He played his part out in the farce, the long evening through—his + manner to his guest more friendly than it had ever been before; and when + at last Bosinney went, he said: “You must come again soon; Irene + likes to have you to talk about the house!” Again his voice had the + strange bravado and the stranger pathos; but his hand was cold as ice. + </p> + <p> + Loyal to his resolution, he turned away from their parting, turned away + from his wife as she stood under the hanging lamp to say good-night—away + from the sight of her golden head shining so under the light, of her + smiling mournful lips; away from the sight of Bosinney’s eyes + looking at her, so like a dog’s looking at its master. + </p> + <p> + And he went to bed with the certainty that Bosinney was in love with his + wife. + </p> + <p> + The summer night was hot, so hot and still that through every opened + window came in but hotter air. For long hours he lay listening to her + breathing. + </p> + <p> + She could sleep, but he must lie awake. And, lying awake, he hardened + himself to play the part of the serene and trusting husband. + </p> + <p> + In the small hours he slipped out of bed, and passing into his + dressing-room, leaned by the open window. + </p> + <p> + He could hardly breathe. + </p> + <p> + A night four years ago came back to him—the night but one before his + marriage; as hot and stifling as this. + </p> + <p> + He remembered how he had lain in a long cane chair in the window of his + sitting-room off Victoria Street. Down below in a side street a man had + banged at a door, a woman had cried out; he remembered, as though it were + now, the sound of the scuffle, the slam of the door, the dead silence that + followed. And then the early water-cart, cleansing the reek of the + streets, had approached through the strange-seeming, useless lamp-light; + he seemed to hear again its rumble, nearer and nearer, till it passed and + slowly died away. + </p> + <p> + He leaned far out of the dressing-room window over the little court below, + and saw the first light spread. The outlines of dark walls and roofs were + blurred for a moment, then came out sharper than before. + </p> + <p> + He remembered how that other night he had watched the lamps paling all the + length of Victoria Street; how he had hurried on his clothes and gone down + into the street, down past houses and squares, to the street where she was + staying, and there had stood and looked at the front of the little house, + as still and grey as the face of a dead man. + </p> + <p> + And suddenly it shot through his mind; like a sick man’s fancy: What’s + <i>he</i> doing?—that fellow who haunts me, who was here this evening, who’s + in love with my wife—prowling out there, perhaps, looking for her as + I know he was looking for her this afternoon; watching my house now, for + all I can tell! + </p> + <p> + He stole across the landing to the front of the house, stealthily drew + aside a blind, and raised a window. + </p> + <p> + The grey light clung about the trees of the square, as though Night, like + a great downy moth, had brushed them with her wings. The lamps were still + alight, all pale, but not a soul stirred—no living thing in sight. + </p> + <p> + Yet suddenly, very faint, far off in the deathly stillness, he heard a cry + writhing, like the voice of some wandering soul barred out of heaven, and + crying for its happiness. There it was again—again! Soames shut the + window, shuddering. + </p> + <p> + Then he thought: “Ah! it’s only the peacocks, across the + water.” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"></a> + CHAPTER XII<br/>JUNE PAYS SOME CALLS + </h2> + <p> + Jolyon stood in the narrow hall at Broadstairs, inhaling that odour of + oilcloth and herrings which permeates all respectable seaside + lodging-houses. On a chair—a shiny leather chair, displaying its + horsehair through a hole in the top left-hand corner—stood a black + despatch case. This he was filling with papers, with the <i>Times</i>, and a + bottle of Eau-de Cologne. He had meetings that day of the “Globular + Gold Concessions” and the “New Colliery Company, Limited,” + to which he was going up, for he never missed a Board; to “miss a + Board” would be one more piece of evidence that he was growing old, + and this his jealous Forsyte spirit could not bear. + </p> + <p> + His eyes, as he filled that black despatch case, looked as if at any + moment they might blaze up with anger. So gleams the eye of a schoolboy, + baited by a ring of his companions; but he controls himself, deterred by + the fearful odds against him. And old Jolyon controlled himself, keeping + down, with his masterful restraint now slowly wearing out, the irritation + fostered in him by the conditions of his life. + </p> + <p> + He had received from his son an unpractical letter, in which by rambling + generalities the boy seemed trying to get out of answering a plain + question. “I’ve seen Bosinney,” he said; “he is + not a criminal. The more I see of people the more I am convinced that they + are never good or bad—merely comic, or pathetic. You probably don’t + agree with me!” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon did not; he considered it cynical to so express oneself; he had + not yet reached that point of old age when even Forsytes, bereft of those + illusions and principles which they have cherished carefully for practical + purposes but never believed in, bereft of all corporeal enjoyment, + stricken to the very heart by having nothing left to hope for—break + through the barriers of reserve and say things they would never have + believed themselves capable of saying. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps he did not believe in “goodness” and “badness” + any more than his son; but as he would have said: He didn’t know—couldn’t + tell; there might be something in it; and why, by an unnecessary + expression of disbelief, deprive yourself of possible advantage? + </p> + <p> + Accustomed to spend his holidays among the mountains, though (like a true + Forsyte) he had never attempted anything too adventurous or too foolhardy, + he had been passionately fond of them. And when the wonderful view + (mentioned in Baedeker—“fatiguing but repaying”.—was + disclosed to him after the effort of the climb, he had doubtless felt the + existence of some great, dignified principle crowning the chaotic + strivings, the petty precipices, and ironic little dark chasms of life. + This was as near to religion, perhaps, as his practical spirit had ever + gone. + </p> + <p> + But it was many years since he had been to the mountains. He had taken + June there two seasons running, after his wife died, and had realized + bitterly that his walking days were over. + </p> + <p> + To that old mountain—given confidence in a supreme order of things + he had long been a stranger. + </p> + <p> + He knew himself to be old, yet he felt young; and this troubled him. It + troubled and puzzled him, too, to think that he, who had always been so + careful, should be father and grandfather to such as seemed born to + disaster. He had nothing to say against Jo—who could say anything + against the boy, an amiable chap?—but his position was deplorable, + and this business of Jun’s nearly as bad. It seemed like a + fatality, and a fatality was one of those things no man of his character + could either understand or put up with. + </p> + <p> + In writing to his son he did not really hope that anything would come of + it. Since the ball at Roger’s he had seen too clearly how the land + lay—he could put two and two together quicker than most men—and, + with the example of his own son before his eyes, knew better than any + Forsyte of them all that the pale flame singes men’s wings whether + they will or no. + </p> + <p> + In the days before Jun’s engagement, when she and Mrs. Soames were + always together, he had seen enough of Irene to feel the spell she cast + over men. She was not a flirt, not even a coquette—words dear to the + heart of his generation, which loved to define things by a good, broad, + inadequate word—but she was dangerous. He could not say why. Tell + him of a quality innate in some women—a seductive power beyond their + own control! He would but answer: “Humbug!” She was dangerous, + and there was an end of it. He wanted to close his eyes to that affair. If + it was, it was; <i>he</i> did not want to hear any more about it—he only + wanted to save Jun’s position and her peace of mind. He still hoped + she might once more become a comfort to himself. + </p> + <p> + And so he had written. He got little enough out of the answer. As to what + young Jolyon had made of the interview, there was practically only the + queer sentence: “I gather that he’s in the stream.” The + stream! What stream? What was this new-fangled way of talking? + </p> + <p> + He sighed, and folded the last of the papers under the flap of the bag; he + knew well enough what was meant. + </p> + <p> + June came out of the dining-room, and helped him on with his summer coat. + From her costume, and the expression of her little resolute face, he saw + at once what was coming. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going with you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, my dear; I go straight into the City. I can’t have + you racketting about!” + </p> + <p> + “I must see old Mrs. Smeech.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, your precious ‘lame ducks’!” grumbled out old + Jolyon. He did not believe her excuse, but ceased his opposition. There + was no doing anything with that pertinacity of hers. + </p> + <p> + At Victoria he put her into the carriage which had been ordered for + himself—a characteristic action, for he had no petty selfishnesses. + </p> + <p> + “Now, don’t you go tiring yourself, my darling,” he + said, and took a cab on into the city. + </p> + <p> + June went first to a back-street in Paddington, where Mrs. Smeech, her + “lame duck,” lived—an aged person, connected with the + charring interest; but after half an hour spent in hearing her habitually + lamentable recital, and dragooning her into temporary comfort, she went on + to Stanhope Gate. The great house was closed and dark. + </p> + <p> + She had decided to learn something at all costs. It was better to face the + worst, and have it over. And this was her plan: To go first to Phil’s + aunt, Mrs. Baynes, and, failing information there, to Irene herself. She + had no clear notion of what she would gain by these visits. + </p> + <p> + At three o’clock she was in Lowndes Square. With a woman’s + instinct when trouble is to be faced, she had put on her best frock, and + went to the battle with a glance as courageous as old Jolyon’s + itself. Her tremors had passed into eagerness. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Baynes, Bosinney’s aunt (Louisa was her name), was in her + kitchen when June was announced, organizing the cook, for she was an + excellent housewife, and, as Baynes always said, there was “a lot in + a good dinner.” He did his best work after dinner. It was Baynes who + built that remarkably fine row of tall crimson houses in Kensington which + compete with so many others for the title of “the ugliest in London.” + </p> + <p> + On hearing Jun’s name, she went hurriedly to her bedroom, and, + taking two large bracelets from a red morocco case in a locked drawer, put + them on her white wrists—for she possessed in a remarkable degree + that “sense of property,” which, as we know, is the touchstone + of Forsyteism, and the foundation of good morality. + </p> + <p> + Her figure, of medium height and broad build, with a tendency to + embonpoint, was reflected by the mirror of her whitewood wardrobe, in a + gown made under her own organization, of one of those half-tints, + reminiscent of the distempered walls of corridors in large hotels. She + raised her hands to her hair, which she wore <i>à la</i> Princesse de Galles, and + touched it here and there, settling it more firmly on her head, and her + eyes were full of an unconscious realism, as though she were looking in + the face one of life’s sordid facts, and making the best of it. In + youth her cheeks had been of cream and roses, but they were mottled now by + middle-age, and again that hard, ugly directness came into her eyes as she + dabbed a powder-puff across her forehead. Putting the puff down, she stood + quite still before the glass, arranging a smile over her high, important + nose, her chin, (never large, and now growing smaller with the increase of + her neck), her thin-lipped, down-drooping mouth. Quickly, not to lose the + effect, she grasped her skirts strongly in both hands, and went + downstairs. + </p> + <p> + She had been hoping for this visit for some time past. Whispers had + reached her that things were not all right between her nephew and his + fiancée. Neither of them had been near her for weeks. She had asked Phil + to dinner many times; his invariable answer had been “Too busy.” + </p> + <p> + Her instinct was alarmed, and the instinct in such matters of this + excellent woman was keen. She ought to have been a Forsyte; in young + Jolyon’s sense of the word, she certainly had that privilege, and + merits description as such. + </p> + <p> + She had married off her three daughters in a way that people said was + beyond their deserts, for they had the professional plainness only to be + found, as a rule, among the female kind of the more legal callings. Her + name was upon the committees of numberless charities connected with the + Church-dances, theatricals, or bazaars—and she never lent her name + unless sure beforehand that everything had been thoroughly organized. + </p> + <p> + She believed, as she often said, in putting things on a commercial basis; + the proper function of the Church, of charity, indeed, of everything, was + to strengthen the fabric of “Society.” Individual action, + therefore, she considered immoral. Organization was the only thing, for by + organization alone could you feel sure that you were getting a return for + your money. Organization—and again, organization! And there is no + doubt that she was what old Jolyon called her—“a ‘dab’ + at that”—he went further, he called her “a humbug.” + </p> + <p> + The enterprises to which she lent her name were organized so admirably + that by the time the takings were handed over, they were indeed skim milk + divested of all cream of human kindness. But as she often justly remarked, + sentiment was to be deprecated. She was, in fact, a little academic. + </p> + <p> + This great and good woman, so highly thought of in ecclesiastical circles, + was one of the principal priestesses in the temple of Forsyteism, keeping + alive day and night a sacred flame to the God of Property, whose altar is + inscribed with those inspiring words: “Nothing for nothing, and + really remarkably little for sixpence.” + </p> + <p> + When she entered a room it was felt that something substantial had come + in, which was probably the reason of her popularity as a patroness. People + liked something substantial when they had paid money for it; and they + would look at her—surrounded by her staff in charity ballrooms, with + her high nose and her broad, square figure, attired in an uniform covered + with sequins—as though she were a general. + </p> + <p> + The only thing against her was that she had not a double name. She was a + power in upper middle-class society, with its hundred sets and circles, + all intersecting on the common battlefield of charity functions, and on + that battlefield brushing skirts so pleasantly with the skirts of Society + with the capital “S.” She was a power in society with the + smaller “s,” that larger, more significant, and more powerful + body, where the commercially Christian institutions, maxims, and “principle,” + which Mrs. Baynes embodied, were real life-blood, circulating freely, real + business currency, not merely the sterilized imitation that flowed in the + veins of smaller Society with the larger “S.” People who knew + her felt her to be sound—a sound woman, who never gave herself away, + nor anything else, if she could possibly help it. + </p> + <p> + She had been on the worst sort of terms with Bosinney’s father, who + had not infrequently made her the object of an unpardonable ridicule. She + alluded to him now that he was gone as her “poor, dear, irreverend + brother.” + </p> + <p> + She greeted June with the careful effusion of which she was a mistress, a + little afraid of her as far as a woman of her eminence in the commercial + and Christian world could be afraid—for so slight a girl June had a + great dignity, the fearlessness of her eyes gave her that. And Mrs. + Baynes, too, shrewdly recognized that behind the uncompromising frankness + of Jun’s manner there was much of the Forsyte. If the girl had been + merely frank and courageous, Mrs. Baynes would have thought her “cranky,” + and despised her; if she had been merely a Forsyte, like Francie—let + us say—she would have patronized her from sheer weight of metal; but + June, small though she was—Mrs. Baynes habitually admired quantity—gave + her an uneasy feeling; and she placed her in a chair opposite the light. + </p> + <p> + There was another reason for her respect which Mrs. Baynes, too good a + churchwoman to be worldly, would have been the last to admit—she + often heard her husband describe old Jolyon as extremely well off, and was + biassed towards his granddaughter for the soundest of all reasons. To-day + she felt the emotion with which we read a novel describing a hero and an + inheritance, nervously anxious lest, by some frightful lapse of the + novelist, the young man should be left without it at the end. + </p> + <p> + Her manner was warm; she had never seen so clearly before how + distinguished and desirable a girl this was. She asked after old Jolyon’s + health. A wonderful man for his age; so upright, and young looking, and + how old was he? Eighty-one! She would never have thought it! They were at + the sea! Very nice for them; she supposed June heard from Phil every day? + Her light grey eyes became more prominent as she asked this question; but + the girl met the glance without flinching. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “he never writes!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Baynes’s eyes dropped; they had no intention of doing so, but + they did. They recovered immediately. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not. That’s Phil all over—he was always like + that!” + </p> + <p> + “Was he?” said June. + </p> + <p> + The brevity of the answer caused Mrs. Baynes’s bright smile a moment’s + hesitation; she disguised it by a quick movement, and spreading her skirts + afresh, said: “Why, my dear—he’s quite the most + harum-scarum person; one never pays the slightest attention to what <i>he</i> + does!” + </p> + <p> + The conviction came suddenly to June that she was wasting her time; even + were she to put a question point-blank, she would never get anything out + of this woman. + </p> + <p> + “Do you see him?” she asked, her face crimsoning. + </p> + <p> + The perspiration broke out on Mrs. Baynes’ forehead beneath the + powder. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! I don’t remember when he was here last—indeed, + we haven’t seen much of him lately. He’s so busy with your + cousin’s house; I’m told it’ll be finished directly. We + must organize a little dinner to celebrate the event; do come and stay the + night with us!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said June. Again she thought: “I’m + only wasting my time. This woman will tell me nothing.” + </p> + <p> + She got up to go. A change came over Mrs. Baynes. She rose too; her lips + twitched, she fidgeted her hands. Something was evidently very wrong, and + she did not dare to ask this girl, who stood there, a slim, straight + little figure, with her decided face, her set jaw, and resentful eyes. She + was not accustomed to be afraid of asking questions—all organization + was based on the asking of questions! + </p> + <p> + But the issue was so grave that her nerve, normally strong, was fairly + shaken; only that morning her husband had said: “Old Mr. Forsyte + must be worth well over a hundred thousand pounds!” + </p> + <p> + And this girl stood there, holding out her hand—holding out her + hand! + </p> + <p> + The chance might be slipping away—she couldn’t tell—the + chance of keeping her in the family, and yet she dared not speak. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes followed June to the door. + </p> + <p> + It closed. + </p> + <p> + Then with an exclamation Mrs. Baynes ran forward, wobbling her bulky frame + from side to side, and opened it again. + </p> + <p> + Too late! She heard the front door click, and stood still, an expression + of real anger and mortification on her face. + </p> + <p> + June went along the Square with her bird-like quickness. She detested that + woman now whom in happier days she had been accustomed to think so kind. + Was she always to be put off thus, and forced to undergo this torturing + suspense? + </p> + <p> + She would go to Phil himself, and ask him what he meant. She had the right + to know. She hurried on down Sloane Street till she came to Bosinney’s + number. Passing the swing-door at the bottom, she ran up the stairs, her + heart thumping painfully. + </p> + <p> + At the top of the third flight she paused for breath, and holding on to + the bannisters, stood listening. No sound came from above. + </p> + <p> + With a very white face she mounted the last flight. She saw the door, with + his name on the plate. And the resolution that had brought her so far + evaporated. + </p> + <p> + The full meaning of her conduct came to her. She felt hot all over; the + palms of her hands were moist beneath the thin silk covering of her + gloves. + </p> + <p> + She drew back to the stairs, but did not descend. Leaning against the rail + she tried to get rid of a feeling of being choked; and she gazed at the + door with a sort of dreadful courage. No! she refused to go down. Did it + matter what people thought of her? They would never know! No one would + help her if she did not help herself! She would go through with it. + </p> + <p> + Forcing herself, therefore, to leave the support of the wall, she rang the + bell. The door did not open, and all her shame and fear suddenly abandoned + her; she rang again and again, as though in spite of its emptiness she + could drag some response out of that closed room, some recompense for the + shame and fear that visit had cost her. It did not open; she left off + ringing, and, sitting down at the top of the stairs, buried her face in + her hands. + </p> + <p> + Presently she stole down, out into the air. She felt as though she had + passed through a bad illness, and had no desire now but to get home as + quickly as she could. The people she met seemed to know where she had + been, what she had been doing; and suddenly—over on the opposite + side, going towards his rooms from the direction of Montpellier Square—she + saw Bosinney himself. + </p> + <p> + She made a movement to cross into the traffic. Their eyes met, and he + raised his hat. An omnibus passed, obscuring her view; then, from the edge + of the pavement, through a gap in the traffic, she saw him walking on. + </p> + <p> + And June stood motionless, looking after him. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"></a> + CHAPTER XIII<br/>PERFECTION OF THE HOUSE + </h2> + <p> + “One mockturtle, clear; one oxtail; two glasses of port.” + </p> + <p> + In the upper room at French’s, where a Forsyte could still get heavy + English food, James and his son were sitting down to lunch. + </p> + <p> + Of all eating-places James liked best to come here; there was something + unpretentious, well-flavoured, and filling about it, and though he had + been to a certain extent corrupted by the necessity for being fashionable, + and the trend of habits keeping pace with an income that <i>would</i> increase, + he still hankered in quiet City moments after the tasty fleshpots of his + earlier days. Here you were served by hairy English waiters in aprons; + there was sawdust on the floor, and three round gilt looking-glasses hung + just above the line of sight. They had only recently done away with the + cubicles, too, in which you could have your chop, prime chump, with a + floury-potato, without seeing your neighbours, like a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + He tucked the top corner of his napkin behind the third button of his + waistcoat, a practice he had been obliged to abandon years ago in the West + End. He felt that he should relish his soup—the entire morning had + been given to winding up the estate of an old friend. + </p> + <p> + After filling his mouth with household bread, stale, he at once began: + “How are you going down to Robin Hill? You going to take Irene? You’d + better take her. I should think there’ll be a lot that’ll want + seeing to.” + </p> + <p> + Without looking up, Soames answered: “She won’t go.” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t go? What’s the meaning of that? She’s going + to live in the house, isn’t she?” + </p> + <p> + Soames made no reply. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what’s coming to women nowadays,” + mumbled James; “I never used to have any trouble with them. She’s + had too much liberty. She’s spoiled....” + </p> + <p> + Soames lifted his eyes: “I won’t have anything said against + her,” he said unexpectedly. + </p> + <p> + The silence was only broken now by the supping of James’s soup. + </p> + <p> + The waiter brought the two glasses of port, but Soames stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “That’s not the way to serve port,” he said; “take + them away, and bring the bottle.” + </p> + <p> + Rousing himself from his reverie over the soup, James took one of his + rapid shifting surveys of surrounding facts. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother’s in bed,” he said; “you can have the + carriage to take you down. I should think Irene’d like the drive. + This young Bosinney’ll be there, I suppose, to show you over.” + </p> + <p> + Soames nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to go and see for myself what sort of a job he’s + made finishing off,” pursued James. “I’ll just drive + round and pick you both up.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going down by train,” replied Soames. “If you like + to drive round and see, Irene might go with you, I can’t tell.” + </p> + <p> + He signed to the waiter to bring the bill, which James paid. + </p> + <p> + They parted at St. Paul’s, Soames branching off to the station, + James taking his omnibus westwards. + </p> + <p> + He had secured the corner seat next the conductor, where his long legs + made it difficult for anyone to get in, and at all who passed him he + looked resentfully, as if they had no business to be using up his air. + </p> + <p> + He intended to take an opportunity this afternoon of speaking to Irene. A + word in time saved nine; and now that she was going to live in the country + there was a chance for her to turn over a new leaf! He could see that + Soames wouldn’t stand very much more of her goings on! + </p> + <p> + It did not occur to him to define what he meant by her “goings on”. + the expression was wide, vague, and suited to a Forsyte. And James had + more than his common share of courage after lunch. + </p> + <p> + On reaching home, he ordered out the barouche, with special instructions + that the groom was to go too. He wished to be kind to her, and to give her + every chance. + </p> + <p> + When the door of No.62 was opened he could distinctly hear her singing, + and said so at once, to prevent any chance of being denied entrance. + </p> + <p> + Yes, Mrs. Soames was in, but the maid did not know if she was seeing + people. + </p> + <p> + James, moving with the rapidity that ever astonished the observers of his + long figure and absorbed expression, went forthwith into the drawing-room + without permitting this to be ascertained. He found Irene seated at the + piano with her hands arrested on the keys, evidently listening to the + voices in the hall. She greeted him without smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother-in-law’s in bed,” he began, hoping at once + to enlist her sympathy. “I’ve got the carriage here. Now, be a + good girl, and put on your hat and come with me for a drive. It’ll + do you good!” + </p> + <p> + Irene looked at him as though about to refuse, but, seeming to change her + mind, went upstairs, and came down again with her hat on. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going to take me?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll just go down to Robin Hill,” said James, + spluttering out his words very quick; “the horses want exercise, and + I should like to see what they’ve been doing down there.” + </p> + <p> + Irene hung back, but again changed her mind, and went out to the carriage, + James brooding over her closely, to make quite sure. + </p> + <p> + It was not before he had got her more than half way that he began: “Soames + is very fond of you—he won’t have anything said against you; + why don’t you show him more affection?” + </p> + <p> + Irene flushed, and said in a low voice: “I can’t show what I + haven’t got.” + </p> + <p> + James looked at her sharply; he felt that now he had her in his own + carriage, with his own horses and servants, he was really in command of + the situation. She could not put him off; nor would she make a scene in + public. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t think what you’re about,” he said. + “He’s a very good husband!” + </p> + <p> + Irene’s answer was so low as to be almost inaudible among the sounds + of traffic. He caught the words: “You are not married to him!” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that got to do with it? He’s given you + everything you want. He’s always ready to take you anywhere, and now + he’s built you this house in the country. It’s not as if you + had anything of your own.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Again James looked at her; he could not make out the expression on her + face. She looked almost as if she were going to cry, and yet.... + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure,” he muttered hastily, “we’ve all + tried to be kind to you.” + </p> + <p> + Irene’s lips quivered; to his dismay James saw a tear steal down her + cheek. He felt a choke rise in his own throat. + </p> + <p> + “We’re all fond of you,” he said, “if you’d + only”—he was going to say, “behave yourself,” but + changed it to—“if you’d only be more of a wife to him.” + </p> + <p> + Irene did not answer, and James, too, ceased speaking. There was something + in her silence which disconcerted him; it was not the silence of + obstinacy, rather that of acquiescence in all that he could find to say. + And yet he felt as if he had not had the last word. He could not + understand this. + </p> + <p> + He was unable, however, to long keep silence. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that young Bosinney,” he said, “will be + getting married to June now?” + </p> + <p> + Irene’s face changed. “I don’t know,” she said; + “you should ask <i>her</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she write to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “How’s that?” said James. “I thought you and she + were such great friends.” + </p> + <p> + Irene turned on him. “Again,” she said, “you should ask + <i>her!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” flustered James, frightened by her look, “it’s + very odd that I can’t get a plain answer to a plain question, but + there it is.” + </p> + <p> + He sat ruminating over his rebuff, and burst out at last: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve warned you. You won’t look ahead. Soames he + doesn’t say much, but I can see he won’t stand a great deal + more of this sort of thing. You’ll have nobody but yourself to + blame, and, what’s more, you’ll get no sympathy from anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Irene bent her head with a little smiling bow. “I am very much + obliged to you.” + </p> + <p> + James did not know what on earth to answer. + </p> + <p> + The bright hot morning had changed slowly to a grey, oppressive afternoon; + a heavy bank of clouds, with the yellow tinge of coming thunder, had risen + in the south, and was creeping up. + </p> + <p> + The branches of the trees dropped motionless across the road without the + smallest stir of foliage. A faint odour of glue from the heated horses + clung in the thick air; the coachman and groom, rigid and unbending, + exchanged stealthy murmurs on the box, without ever turning their heads. + </p> + <p> + To James’ great relief they reached the house at last; the silence + and impenetrability of this woman by his side, whom he had always thought + so soft and mild, alarmed him. + </p> + <p> + The carriage put them down at the door, and they entered. + </p> + <p> + The hall was cool, and so still that it was like passing into a tomb; a + shudder ran down James’s spine. He quickly lifted the heavy leather + curtains between the columns into the inner court. + </p> + <p> + He could not restrain an exclamation of approval. + </p> + <p> + The decoration was really in excellent taste. The dull ruby tiles that + extended from the foot of the walls to the verge of a circular clump of + tall iris plants, surrounding in turn a sunken basin of white marble + filled with water, were obviously of the best quality. He admired + extremely the purple leather curtains drawn along one entire side, framing + a huge white-tiled stove. The central partitions of the skylight had been + slid back, and the warm air from outside penetrated into the very heart of + the house. + </p> + <p> + He stood, his hands behind him, his head bent back on his high, narrow + shoulders, spying the tracery on the columns and the pattern of the frieze + which ran round the ivory-coloured walls under the gallery. Evidently, no + pains had been spared. It was quite the house of a gentleman. He went up + to the curtains, and, having discovered how they were worked, drew them + asunder and disclosed the picture-gallery, ending in a great window taking + up the whole end of the room. It had a black oak floor, and its walls, + again, were of ivory white. He went on throwing open doors, and peeping + in. Everything was in apple-pie order, ready for immediate occupation. + </p> + <p> + He turned round at last to speak to Irene, and saw her standing over in + the garden entrance, with her husband and Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + Though not remarkable for sensibility, James felt at once that something + was wrong. He went up to them, and, vaguely alarmed, ignorant of the + nature of the trouble, made an attempt to smooth things over. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Mr. Bosinney?” he said, holding out his hand. + “You’ve been spending money pretty freely down here, I should + say!” + </p> + <p> + Soames turned his back, and walked away. + </p> + <p> + James looked from Bosinney’s frowning face to Irene, and, in his + agitation, spoke his thoughts aloud: “Well, I can’t tell what’s + the matter. Nobody tells me anything!” And, making off after his + son, he heard Bosinney’s short laugh, and his “Well, thank + God! You look so....” Most unfortunately he lost the rest. + </p> + <p> + What had happened? He glanced back. Irene was very close to the architect, + and her face not like the face he knew of her. He hastened up to his son. + </p> + <p> + Soames was pacing the picture-gallery. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” said James. “What’s all + this?” + </p> + <p> + Soames looked at him with his supercilious calm unbroken, but James knew + well enough that he was violently angry. + </p> + <p> + “Our friend,” he said, “has exceeded his instructions + again, that’s all. So much the worse for him this time.” + </p> + <p> + He turned round and walked back towards the door. James followed + hurriedly, edging himself in front. He saw Irene take her finger from + before her lips, heard her say something in her ordinary voice, and began + to speak before he reached them. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a storm coming on. We’d better get home. We can’t + take you, I suppose, Mr. Bosinney? No, I suppose not. Then, good-bye!” + He held out his hand. Bosinney did not take it, but, turning with a laugh, + said: + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Mr. Forsyte. Don’t get caught in the storm!” + and walked away. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” began James, “I don’t know....” + </p> + <p> + But the sight of Irene’s face stopped him. Taking hold of his + daughter-in-law by the elbow, he escorted her towards the carriage. He + felt certain, quite certain, they had been making some appointment or + other.... + </p> + <p> + Nothing in this world is more sure to upset a Forsyte than the discovery + that something on which he has stipulated to spend a certain sum has cost + more. And this is reasonable, for upon the accuracy of his estimates the + whole policy of his life is ordered. If he cannot rely on definite values + of property, his compass is amiss; he is adrift upon bitter waters without + a helm. + </p> + <p> + After writing to Bosinney in the terms that have already been chronicled, + Soames had dismissed the cost of the house from his mind. He believed that + he had made the matter of the final cost so very plain that the + possibility of its being again exceeded had really never entered his head. + On hearing from Bosinney that his limit of twelve thousand pounds would be + exceeded by something like four hundred, he had grown white with anger. + His original estimate of the cost of the house completed had been ten + thousand pounds, and he had often blamed himself severely for allowing + himself to be led into repeated excesses. Over this last expenditure, + however, Bosinney had put himself completely in the wrong. How on earth a + fellow could make such an ass of himself Soames could not conceive; but he + had done so, and all the rancour and hidden jealousy that had been burning + against him for so long was now focussed in rage at this crowning piece of + extravagance. The attitude of the confident and friendly husband was gone. + To preserve property—his wife—he had assumed it, to preserve + property of another kind he lost it now. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he had said to Bosinney when he could speak, “and + I suppose you’re perfectly contented with yourself. But I may as + well tell you that you’ve altogether mistaken your man!” + </p> + <p> + What he meant by those words he did not quite know at the time, but after + dinner he looked up the correspondence between himself and Bosinney to + make quite sure. There could be no two opinions about it—the fellow + had made himself liable for that extra four hundred, or, at all events, + for three hundred and fifty of it, and he would have to make it good. + </p> + <p> + He was looking at his wife’s face when he came to this conclusion. + Seated in her usual seat on the sofa, she was altering the lace on a + collar. She had not once spoken to him all the evening. + </p> + <p> + He went up to the mantelpiece, and contemplating his face in the mirror + said: “Your friend the Buccaneer has made a fool of himself; he will + have to pay for it!” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him scornfully, and answered: “I don’t know what + you are talking about!” + </p> + <p> + “You soon will. A mere trifle, quite beneath your contempt—four + hundred pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that you are going to make him pay that towards this + hateful, house?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And you know he’s got nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are meaner than I thought you.” + </p> + <p> + Soames turned from the mirror, and unconsciously taking a china cup from + the mantelpiece, clasped his hands around it as though praying. He saw her + bosom rise and fall, her eyes darkening with anger, and taking no notice + of the taunt, he asked quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Are you carrying on a flirtation with Bosinney?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not!” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes met his, and he looked away. He neither believed nor disbelieved + her, but he knew that he had made a mistake in asking; he never had known, + never would know, what she was thinking. The sight of her inscrutable + face, the thought of all the hundreds of evenings he had seen her sitting + there like that soft and passive, but unreadable, unknown, enraged him + beyond measure. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you are made of stone,” he said, clenching his + fingers so hard that he broke the fragile cup. The pieces fell into the + grate. And Irene smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to forget,” she said, “that cup is not!” + </p> + <p> + Soames gripped her arm. “A good beating,” he said, “is + the only thing that would bring you to your senses,” but turning on + his heel, he left the room. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"></a> + CHAPTER XIV<br/>SOAMES SITS ON THE STAIRS + </h2> + <p> + Soames went up-stairs that night with the feeling that he had gone too + far. He was prepared to offer excuses for his words. + </p> + <p> + He turned out the gas still burning in the passage outside their room. + Pausing, with his hand on the knob of the door, he tried to shape his + apology, for he had no intention of letting her see that he was nervous. + </p> + <p> + But the door did not open, nor when he pulled it and turned the handle + firmly. She must have locked it for some reason, and forgotten. + </p> + <p> + Entering his dressing-room, where the gas was also lighted and burning + low, he went quickly to the other door. That too was locked. Then he + noticed that the camp bed which he occasionally used was prepared, and his + sleeping-suit laid out upon it. He put his hand up to his forehead, and + brought it away wet. It dawned on him that he was barred out. + </p> + <p> + He went back to the door, and rattling the handle stealthily, called: + “Unlock the door, do you hear? Unlock the door!” + </p> + <p> + There was a faint rustling, but no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear? Let me in at once—I insist on being let in!” + </p> + <p> + He could catch the sound of her breathing close to the door, like the + breathing of a creature threatened by danger. + </p> + <p> + There was something terrifying in this inexorable silence, in the + impossibility of getting at her. He went back to the other door, and + putting his whole weight against it, tried to burst it open. The door was + a new one—he had had them renewed himself, in readiness for their + coming in after the honeymoon. In a rage he lifted his foot to kick in the + panel; the thought of the servants restrained him, and he felt suddenly + that he was beaten. + </p> + <p> + Flinging himself down in the dressing-room, he took up a book. + </p> + <p> + But instead of the print he seemed to see his wife—with her yellow + hair flowing over her bare shoulders, and her great dark eyes—standing + like an animal at bay. And the whole meaning of her act of revolt came to + him. She meant it to be for good. + </p> + <p> + He could not sit still, and went to the door again. He could still hear + her, and he called: “Irene! Irene!” + </p> + <p> + He did not mean to make his voice pathetic. + </p> + <p> + In ominous answer, the faint sounds ceased. He stood with clenched hands, + thinking. + </p> + <p> + Presently he stole round on tiptoe, and running suddenly at the other + door, made a supreme effort to break it open. It creaked, but did not + yield. He sat down on the stairs and buried his face in his hands. + </p> + <p> + For a long time he sat there in the dark, the moon through the skylight + above laying a pale smear which lengthened slowly towards him down the + stairway. He tried to be philosophical. + </p> + <p> + Since she had locked her doors she had no further claim as a wife, and he + would console himself with other women. + </p> + <p> + It was but a spectral journey he made among such delights—he had no + appetite for these exploits. He had never had much, and he had lost the + habit. He felt that he could never recover it. His hunger could only be + appeased by his wife, inexorable and frightened, behind these shut doors. + No other woman could help him. + </p> + <p> + This conviction came to him with terrible force out there in the dark. + </p> + <p> + His philosophy left him; and surly anger took its place. Her conduct was + immoral, inexcusable, worthy of any punishment within his power. He + desired no one but her, and she refused him! + </p> + <p> + She must really hate him, then! He had never believed it yet. He did not + believe it now. It seemed to him incredible. He felt as though he had lost + for ever his power of judgment. If she, so soft and yielding as he had + always judged her, could take this decided step—what could not + happen? + </p> + <p> + Then he asked himself again if she were carrying on an intrigue with + Bosinney. He did not believe that she was; he could not afford to believe + such a reason for her conduct—the thought was not to be faced. + </p> + <p> + It would be unbearable to contemplate the necessity of making his marital + relations public property. Short of the most convincing proofs he must + still refuse to believe, for he did not wish to punish himself. And all + the time at heart—he <i>did</i> believe. + </p> + <p> + The moonlight cast a greyish tinge over his figure, hunched against the + staircase wall. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney was in love with her! He hated the fellow, and would not spare + him now. He could and would refuse to pay a penny piece over twelve + thousand and fifty pounds—the extreme limit fixed in the + correspondence; or rather he would pay, he would pay and sue him for + damages. He would go to Jobling and Boulter and put the matter in their + hands. He would ruin the impecunious beggar! And suddenly—though + what connection between the thoughts?—he reflected that Irene had no + money either. They were both beggars. This gave him a strange + satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + The silence was broken by a faint creaking through the wall. She was going + to bed at last. Ah! Joy and pleasant dreams! If she threw the door open + wide he would not go in now! + </p> + <p> + But his lips, that were twisted in a bitter smile, twitched; he covered + his eyes with his hands.... + </p> + <p class="p2"> + It was late the following afternoon when Soames stood in the dining-room + window gazing gloomily into the Square. + </p> + <p> + The sunlight still showered on the plane-trees, and in the breeze their + gay broad leaves shone and swung in rhyme to a barrel organ at the corner. + It was playing a waltz, an old waltz that was out of fashion, with a + fateful rhythm in the notes; and it went on and on, though nothing indeed + but leaves danced to the tune. + </p> + <p> + The woman did not look too gay, for she was tired; and from the tall + houses no one threw her down coppers. She moved the organ on, and three + doors off began again. + </p> + <p> + It was the waltz they had played at Roger’s when Irene had danced + with Bosinney; and the perfume of the gardenias she had worn came back to + Soames, drifted by the malicious music, as it had been drifted to him + then, when she passed, her hair glistening, her eyes so soft, drawing + Bosinney on and on down an endless ballroom. + </p> + <p> + The organ woman plied her handle slowly; she had been grinding her tune + all day—grinding it in Sloane Street hard by, grinding it perhaps to + Bosinney himself. + </p> + <p> + Soames turned, took a cigarette from the carven box, and walked back to + the window. The tune had mesmerized him, and there came into his view + Irene, her sunshade furled, hastening homewards down the Square, in a + soft, rose-coloured blouse with drooping sleeves, that he did not know. + She stopped before the organ, took out her purse, and gave the woman + money. + </p> + <p> + Soames shrank back and stood where he could see into the hall. + </p> + <p> + She came in with her latch-key, put down her sunshade, and stood looking + at herself in the glass. Her cheeks were flushed as if the sun had burned + them; her lips were parted in a smile. She stretched her arms out as + though to embrace herself, with a laugh that for all the world was like a + sob. + </p> + <p> + Soames stepped forward. + </p> + <p> + “Very-pretty!” he said. + </p> + <p> + But as though shot she spun round, and would have passed him up the + stairs. He barred the way. + </p> + <p> + “Why such a hurry?” he said, and his eyes fastened on a curl + of hair fallen loose across her ear.... + </p> + <p> + He hardly recognised her. She seemed on fire, so deep and rich the colour + of her cheeks, her eyes, her lips, and of the unusual blouse she wore. + </p> + <p> + She put up her hand and smoothed back the curl. She was breathing fast and + deep, as though she had been running, and with every breath perfume seemed + to come from her hair, and from her body, like perfume from an opening + flower. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like that blouse,” he said slowly, “it’s + a soft, shapeless thing!” + </p> + <p> + He lifted his finger towards her breast, but she dashed his hand aside. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t touch me!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + He caught her wrist; she wrenched it away. + </p> + <p> + “And where may you have been?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “In heaven—out of this house!” With those words she fled + upstairs. + </p> + <p> + Outside—in thanksgiving—at the very door, the organ-grinder + was playing the waltz. + </p> + <p> + And Soames stood motionless. What prevented him from following her? + </p> + <p> + Was it that, with the eyes of faith, he saw Bosinney looking down from + that high window in Sloane Street, straining his eyes for yet another + glimpse of Irene’s vanished figure, cooling his flushed face, + dreaming of the moment when she flung herself on his breast—the + scent of her still in the air around, and the sound of her laugh that was + like a sob? + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2H_PARTa3" id="link2H_PARTa3"></a> + PART III + </h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"></a> + CHAPTER I<br/>MRS. MACANDER’S EVIDENCE + </h2> + <p> + Many people, no doubt, including the editor of the “Ultra + Vivisectionist,” then in the bloom of its first youth, would say + that Soames was less than a man not to have removed the locks from his + wife’s doors, and, after beating her soundly, resumed wedded + happiness. + </p> + <p> + Brutality is not so deplorably diluted by humaneness as it used to be, yet + a sentimental segment of the population may still be relieved to learn + that he did none of these things. For active brutality is not popular with + Forsytes; they are too circumspect, and, on the whole, too softhearted. + And in Soames there was some common pride, not sufficient to make him do a + really generous action, but enough to prevent his indulging in an + extremely mean one, except, perhaps, in very hot blood. Above all this a + true Forsyte refused to feel himself ridiculous. Short of actually beating + his wife, he perceived nothing to be done; he therefore accepted the + situation without another word. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the summer and autumn he continued to go to the office, to sort + his pictures, and ask his friends to dinner. + </p> + <p> + He did not leave town; Irene refused to go away. The house at Robin Hill, + finished though it was, remained empty and ownerless. Soames had brought a + suit against the Buccaneer, in which he claimed from him the sum of three + hundred and fifty pounds. + </p> + <p> + A firm of solicitors, Messrs. Freak and Able, had put in a defence on + Bosinney’s behalf. Admitting the facts, they raised a point on the + correspondence which, divested of legal phraseology, amounted to this: To + speak of “a <i>free</i> hand in the terms of this correspondence” is + an Irish bull. + </p> + <p> + By a chance, fortuitous but not improbable in the close borough of legal + circles, a good deal of information came to Soames’s ear anent this + line of policy, the working partner in his firm, Bustard, happening to sit + next at dinner at Walmisley’s, the Taxing Master, to young Chankery, + of the Common Law Bar. + </p> + <p> + The necessity for talking what is known as “shop,” which comes + on all lawyers with the removal of the ladies, caused Chankery, a young + and promising advocate, to propound an impersonal conundrum to his + neighbour, whose name he did not know, for, seated as he permanently was + in the background, Bustard had practically no name. + </p> + <p> + He had, said Chankery, a case coming on with a “very nice point.” + He then explained, preserving every professional discretion, the riddle in + Soames’s case. Everyone, he said, to whom he had spoken, thought it a + nice point. The issue was small unfortunately, “though d——d + serious for his client he believed”—Walmisley’s + champagne was bad but plentiful. A Judge would make short work of it, he + was afraid. He intended to make a big effort—the point was a nice + one. What did his neighbour say? + </p> + <p> + Bustard, a model of secrecy, said nothing. He related the incident to + Soames however with some malice, for this quiet man was capable of human + feeling, ending with his own opinion that the point <i>was</i> “a very nice + one.” + </p> + <p> + In accordance with his resolve, our Forsyte had put his interests into the + hands of Jobling and Boulter. From the moment of doing so he regretted + that he had not acted for himself. On receiving a copy of Bosinney’s + defence he went over to their offices. + </p> + <p> + Boulter, who had the matter in hand, Jobling having died some years + before, told him that in his opinion it was rather a nice point; he would + like counsel’s opinion on it. + </p> + <p> + Soames told him to go to a good man, and they went to Waterbuck, Q.C., + marking him ten and one, who kept the papers six weeks and then wrote as + follows: + </p> + <p> + “In my opinion the true interpretation of this correspondence + depends very much on the intention of the parties, and will turn upon the + evidence given at the trial. I am of opinion that an attempt should be + made to secure from the architect an admission that he understood he was + not to spend at the outside more than twelve thousand and fifty pounds. + With regard to the expression, ‘a free hand in the terms of this + correspondence,’ to which my attention is directed, the point is a + nice one; but I am of opinion that upon the whole the ruling in ‘Boileau + <i>v</i>. The Blasted Cement Co., Ltd.,’ will apply.” + </p> + <p> + Upon this opinion they acted, administering interrogatories, but to their + annoyance Messrs. Freak and Able answered these in so masterly a fashion + that nothing whatever was admitted and that without prejudice. + </p> + <p> + It was on October 1 that Soames read Waterbuck’s opinion, in the + dining-room before dinner. + </p> + <p> + It made him nervous; not so much because of the case of “Boileau <i>v</i>. + The Blasted Cement Co., Ltd.,” as that the point had lately begun to + seem to him, too, a nice one; there was about it just that pleasant + flavour of subtlety so attractive to the best legal appetites. To have his + own impression confirmed by Waterbuck, Q.C., would have disturbed any man. + </p> + <p> + He sat thinking it over, and staring at the empty grate, for though autumn + had come, the weather kept as gloriously fine that jubilee year as if it + were still high August. It was not pleasant to be disturbed; he desired + too passionately to set his foot on Bosinney’s neck. + </p> + <p> + Though he had not seen the architect since the last afternoon at Robin + Hill, he was never free from the sense of his presence—never free + from the memory of his worn face with its high cheek bones and + enthusiastic eyes. It would not be too much to say that he had never got + rid of the feeling of that night when he heard the peacock’s cry at + dawn—the feeling that Bosinney haunted the house. And every man’s + shape that he saw in the dark evenings walking past, seemed that of him + whom George had so appropriately named the Buccaneer. + </p> + <p> + Irene still met him, he was certain; where, or how, he neither knew, nor + asked; deterred by a vague and secret dread of too much knowledge. It all + seemed subterranean nowadays. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes when he questioned his wife as to where she had been, which he + still made a point of doing, as every Forsyte should, she looked very + strange. Her self-possession was wonderful, but there were moments when, + behind the mask of her face, inscrutable as it had always been to him, + lurked an expression he had never been used to see there. + </p> + <p> + She had taken to lunching out too; when he asked Bilson if her mistress + had been in to lunch, as often as not she would answer: “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + He strongly disapproved of her gadding about by herself, and told her so. + But she took no notice. There was something that angered, amazed, yet + almost amused him about the calm way in which she disregarded his wishes. + It was really as if she were hugging to herself the thought of a triumph + over him. + </p> + <p> + He rose from the perusal of Waterbuck, Q.C.’s opinion, and, going + upstairs, entered her room, for she did not lock her doors till bed-time—she + had the decency, he found, to save the feelings of the servants. She was + brushing her hair, and turned to him with strange fierceness. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” she said. “Please leave my room!” + </p> + <p> + He answered: “I want to know how long this state of things between + us is to last? I have put up with it long enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you please leave my room?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you treat me as your husband?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, I shall take steps to make you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do!” + </p> + <p> + He stared, amazed at the calmness of her answer. Her lips were compressed + in a thin line; her hair lay in fluffy masses on her bare shoulders, in + all its strange golden contrast to her dark eyes—those eyes alive + with the emotions of fear, hate, contempt, and odd, haunting triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Now, please, will you leave my room?” He turned round, and + went sulkily out. + </p> + <p> + He knew very well that he had no intention of taking steps, and he saw + that she knew too—knew that he was afraid to. + </p> + <p> + It was a habit with him to tell her the doings of his day: how such and + such clients had called; how he had arranged a mortgage for Parkes; how + that long-standing suit of Fryer <i>v</i>. Forsyte was getting on, which, arising + in the preternaturally careful disposition of his property by his great + uncle Nicholas, who had tied it up so that no one could get at it at all, + seemed likely to remain a source of income for several solicitors till the + Day of Judgment. + </p> + <p> + And how he had called in at Jobson’s, and seen a Boucher sold, which + he had just missed buying of Talleyrand and Sons in Pall Mall. + </p> + <p> + He had an admiration for Boucher, Watteau, and all that school. It was a + habit with him to tell her all these matters, and he continued to do it + even now, talking for long spells at dinner, as though by the volubility + of words he could conceal from himself the ache in his heart. + </p> + <p> + Often, if they were alone, he made an attempt to kiss her when she said + good-night. He may have had some vague notion that some night she would + let him; or perhaps only the feeling that a husband ought to kiss his + wife. Even if she hated him, he at all events ought not to put himself in + the wrong by neglecting this ancient rite. + </p> + <p> + And why did she hate him? Even now he could not altogether believe it. It + was strange to be hated!—the emotion was too extreme; yet he hated + Bosinney, that Buccaneer, that prowling vagabond, that night-wanderer. For + in his thoughts Soames always saw him lying in wait—wandering. Ah, + but he must be in very low water! Young Burkitt, the architect, had seen + him coming out of a third-rate restaurant, looking terribly down in the + mouth! + </p> + <p> + During all the hours he lay awake, thinking over the situation, which + seemed to have no end—unless she should suddenly come to her senses—never + once did the thought of separating from his wife seriously enter his + head.... + </p> + <p> + And the Forsytes! What part did they play in this stage of Soames’s + subterranean tragedy? + </p> + <p> + Truth to say, little or none, for they were at the sea. + </p> + <p> + From hotels, hydropathics, or lodging-houses, they were bathing daily; + laying in a stock of ozone to last them through the winter. + </p> + <p> + Each section, in the vineyard of its own choosing, grew and culled and + pressed and bottled the grapes of a pet sea-air. + </p> + <p> + The end of September began to witness their several returns. + </p> + <p> + In rude health and small omnibuses, with considerable colour in their + cheeks, they arrived daily from the various termini. The following morning + saw them back at their vocations. + </p> + <p> + On the next Sunday Timothy’s was thronged from lunch till dinner. + </p> + <p> + Amongst other gossip, too numerous and interesting to relate, Mrs. + Septimus Small mentioned that Soames and Irene had not been away. + </p> + <p> + It remained for a comparative outsider to supply the next evidence of + interest. + </p> + <p> + It chanced that one afternoon late in September, Mrs. MacAnder, Winifred + Dartie’s greatest friend, taking a constitutional, with young + Augustus Flippard, on her bicycle in Richmond Park, passed Irene and + Bosinney walking from the bracken towards the Sheen Gate. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the poor little woman was thirsty, for she had ridden long on a + hard, dry road, and, as all London knows, to ride a bicycle and talk to + young Flippard will try the toughest constitution; or perhaps the sight of + the cool bracken grove, whence “those two” were coming down, + excited her envy. The cool bracken grove on the top of the hill, with the + oak boughs for roof, where the pigeons were raising an endless wedding + hymn, and the autumn, humming, whispered to the ears of lovers in the + fern, while the deer stole by. The bracken grove of irretrievable + delights, of golden minutes in the long marriage of heaven and earth! The + bracken grove, sacred to stags, to strange tree-stump fauns leaping around + the silver whiteness of a birch-tree nymph at summer dusk. + </p> + <p> + This lady knew all the Forsytes, and having been at Jun’s “at + home,” was not at a loss to see with whom she had to deal. Her own + marriage, poor thing, had not been successful, but having had the good + sense and ability to force her husband into pronounced error, she herself + had passed through the necessary divorce proceedings without incurring + censure. + </p> + <p> + She was therefore a judge of all that sort of thing, and lived in one of + those large buildings, where in small sets of apartments, are gathered + incredible quantities of Forsytes, whose chief recreation out of business + hours is the discussion of each other’s affairs. + </p> + <p> + Poor little woman, perhaps she was thirsty, certainly she was bored, for + Flippard was a wit. To see “those two” in so unlikely a spot + was quite a merciful “pick-me-up.” + </p> + <p> + At the MacAnder, like all London, Time pauses. + </p> + <p> + This small but remarkable woman merits attention; her all-seeing eye and + shrewd tongue were inscrutably the means of furthering the ends of + Providence. + </p> + <p> + With an air of being in at the death, she had an almost distressing power + of taking care of herself. She had done more, perhaps, in her way than any + woman about town to destroy the sense of chivalry which still clogs the + wheel of civilization. So smart she was, and spoken of endearingly as + “the little MacAnder!” + </p> + <p> + Dressing tightly and well, she belonged to a Woman’s Club, but was + by no means the neurotic and dismal type of member who was always thinking + of her rights. She took her rights unconsciously, they came natural to + her, and she knew exactly how to make the most of them without exciting + anything but admiration amongst that great class to whom she was + affiliated, not precisely perhaps by manner, but by birth, breeding, and + the true, the secret gauge, a sense of property. + </p> + <p> + The daughter of a Bedfordshire solicitor, by the daughter of a clergyman, + she had never, through all the painful experience of being married to a + very mild painter with a cranky love of Nature, who had deserted her for + an actress, lost touch with the requirements, beliefs, and inner feeling + of Society; and, on attaining her liberty, she placed herself without + effort in the very van of Forsyteism. + </p> + <p> + Always in good spirits, and “full of information,” she was + universally welcomed. She excited neither surprise nor disapprobation when + encountered on the Rhine or at Zermatt, either alone, or travelling with a + lady and two gentlemen; it was felt that she was perfectly capable of + taking care of herself; and the hearts of all Forsytes warmed to that + wonderful instinct, which enabled her to enjoy everything without giving + anything away. It was generally felt that to such women as Mrs. MacAnder + should we look for the perpetuation and increase of our best type of + woman. She had never had any children. + </p> + <p> + If there was one thing more than another that she could not stand it was + one of those soft women with what men called “charm” about + them, and for Mrs. Soames she always had an especial dislike. + </p> + <p> + Obscurely, no doubt, she felt that if charm were once admitted as the + criterion, smartness and capability must go to the wall; and she hated—with + a hatred the deeper that at times this so-called charm seemed to disturb + all calculations—the subtle seductiveness which she could not + altogether overlook in Irene. + </p> + <p> + She said, however, that she could see nothing in the woman—there was + no “go” about her—she would never be able to stand up + for herself—anyone could take advantage of her, that was plain—she + could not see in fact what men found to admire! + </p> + <p> + She was not really ill-natured, but, in maintaining her position after the + trying circumstances of her married life, she had found it so necessary to + be “full of information,” that the idea of holding her tongue + about “those two” in the Park never occurred to her. + </p> + <p> + And it so happened that she was dining that very evening at Timothy’s, + where she went sometimes to “cheer the old things up,” as she + was wont to put it. The same people were always asked to meet her: + Winifred Dartie and her husband; Francie, because she belonged to the + artistic circles, for Mrs. MacAnder was known to contribute articles on + dress to “The Ladies Kingdom Come”. and for her to flirt with, + provided they could be obtained, two of the Hayman boys, who, though they + never said anything, were believed to be fast and thoroughly intimate with + all that was latest in smart Society. + </p> + <p> + At twenty-five minutes past seven she turned out the electric light in her + little hall, and wrapped in her opera cloak with the chinchilla collar, + came out into the corridor, pausing a moment to make sure she had her + latch-key. These little self-contained flats were convenient; to be sure, + she had no light and no air, but she could shut it up whenever she liked + and go away. There was no bother with servants, and she never felt tied as + she used to when poor, dear Fred was always about, in his mooney way. She + retained no rancour against poor, dear Fred, he was such a fool; but the + thought of that actress drew from her, even now, a little, bitter, + derisive smile. + </p> + <p> + Firmly snapping the door to, she crossed the corridor, with its gloomy, + yellow-ochre walls, and its infinite vista of brown, numbered doors. The + lift was going down; and wrapped to the ears in the high cloak, with every + one of her auburn hairs in its place, she waited motionless for it to stop + at her floor. The iron gates clanked open; she entered. There were already + three occupants, a man in a great white waistcoat, with a large, smooth + face like a baby’s, and two old ladies in black, with mittened + hands. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. MacAnder smiled at them; she knew everybody; and all these three, who + had been admirably silent before, began to talk at once. This was Mrs. + MacAnder’s successful secret. She provoked conversation. + </p> + <p> + Throughout a descent of five stories the conversation continued, the lift + boy standing with his back turned, his cynical face protruding through the + bars. + </p> + <p> + At the bottom they separated, the man in the white waistcoat sentimentally + to the billiard room, the old ladies to dine and say to each other: + “A dear little woman!” “Such a rattle!” and Mrs. + MacAnder to her cab. + </p> + <p> + When Mrs. MacAnder dined at Timothy’s, the conversation (although + Timothy himself could never be induced to be present) took that wider, + man-of-the-world tone current among Forsytes at large, and this, no doubt, + was what put her at a premium there. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Small and Aunt Hester found it an exhilarating change. “If + only,” they said, “Timothy would meet her!” It was felt + that she would do him good. She could tell you, for instance, the latest + story of Sir Charles Fiste’s son at Monte Carlo; who was the real + heroine of Tynemouth Eddy’s fashionable novel that everyone was + holding up their hands over, and what they were doing in Paris about + wearing bloomers. She was so sensible, too, knowing all about that vexed + question, whether to send young Nicholas’ eldest into the navy as + his mother wished, or make him an accountant as his father thought would + be safer. She strongly deprecated the navy. If you were not exceptionally + brilliant or exceptionally well connected, they passed you over so + disgracefully, and what was it after all to look forward to, even if you + became an admiral—a pittance! An accountant had many more chances, + but let him be put with a good firm, where there was no risk at starting! + </p> + <p> + Sometimes she would give them a tip on the Stock Exchange; not that Mrs. + Small or Aunt Hester ever took it. They had indeed no money to invest; but + it seemed to bring them into such exciting touch with the realities of + life. It was an event. They would ask Timothy, they said. But they never + did, knowing in advance that it would upset him. Surreptitiously, however, + for weeks after they would look in that paper, which they took with + respect on account of its really fashionable proclivities, to see whether + “Bright’s Rubies” or “The Woollen Mackintosh + Company” were up or down. Sometimes they could not find the name of + the company at all; and they would wait until James or Roger or even + Swithin came in, and ask them in voices trembling with curiosity how that + “Bolivia Lime and Speltrate” was doing—they could not + find it in the paper. + </p> + <p> + And Roger would answer: “What do you want to know for? Some trash! + You’ll go burning your fingers—investing your money in lime, + and things you know nothing about! Who told you?” and ascertaining + what they had been told, he would go away, and, making inquiries in the + City, would perhaps invest some of his own money in the concern. + </p> + <p> + It was about the middle of dinner, just in fact as the saddle of mutton + had been brought in by Smither, that Mrs. MacAnder, looking airily round, + said: “Oh! and whom do you think I passed to-day in Richmond Park? + You’ll never guess—Mrs. Soames and—Mr. Bosinney. They + must have been down to look at the house!” + </p> + <p> + Winifred Dartie coughed, and no one said a word. It was the piece of + evidence they had all unconsciously been waiting for. + </p> + <p> + To do Mrs. MacAnder justice, she had been to Switzerland and the Italian + lakes with a party of three, and had not heard of Soames’s rupture + with his architect. She could not tell, therefore, the profound impression + her words would make. + </p> + <p> + Upright and a little flushed, she moved her small, shrewd eyes from face + to face, trying to gauge the effect of her words. On either side of her a + Hayman boy, his lean, taciturn, hungry face turned towards his plate, ate + his mutton steadily. + </p> + <p> + These two, Giles and Jesse, were so alike and so inseparable that they + were known as the Dromios. They never talked, and seemed always completely + occupied in doing nothing. It was popularly supposed that they were + cramming for an important examination. They walked without hats for long + hours in the Gardens attached to their house, books in their hands, a + fox-terrier at their heels, never saying a word, and smoking all the time. + Every morning, about fifty yards apart, they trotted down Campden Hill on + two lean hacks, with legs as long as their own, and every morning about an + hour later, still fifty yards apart, they cantered up again. Every + evening, wherever they had dined, they might be observed about half-past + ten, leaning over the balustrade of the Alhambra promenade. + </p> + <p> + They were never seen otherwise than together; in this way passing their + lives, apparently perfectly content. + </p> + <p> + Inspired by some dumb stirring within them of the feelings of gentlemen, + they turned at this painful moment to Mrs. MacAnder, and said in precisely + the same voice: “Have you seen the...?” + </p> + <p> + Such was her surprise at being thus addressed that she put down her fork; + and Smither, who was passing, promptly removed her plate. Mrs. MacAnder, + however, with presence of mind, said instantly: “I must have a + little more of that nice mutton.” + </p> + <p> + But afterwards in the drawing—room she sat down by Mrs. Small, + determined to get to the bottom of the matter. And she began: + </p> + <p> + “What a charming woman, Mrs. Soames; such a sympathetic temperament! + Soames is a really lucky man!” + </p> + <p> + Her anxiety for information had not made sufficient allowance for that + inner Forsyte skin which refuses to share its troubles with outsiders. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Septimus Small, drawing herself up with a creak and rustle of her + whole person, said, shivering in her dignity: + </p> + <p> + “My dear, it is a subject we do not talk about!” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"></a> + CHAPTER II<br/>NIGHT IN THE PARK + </h2> + <p> + Although with her infallible instinct Mrs. Small had said the very thing + to make her guest “more intriguee than ever,” it is difficult + to see how else she could truthfully have spoken. + </p> + <p> + It was not a subject which the Forsytes could talk about even among + themselves—to use the word Soames had invented to characterize to + himself the situation, it was “subterranean.” + </p> + <p> + Yet, within a week of Mrs. MacAnder’s encounter in Richmond Park, to + all of them—save Timothy, from whom it was carefully kept—to + James on his domestic beat from the Poultry to Park Lane, to George the + wild one, on his daily adventure from the bow window at the Haversnake to + the billiard room at the “Red Pottle,” was it known that + “those two” had gone to extremes. + </p> + <p> + George (it was he who invented many of those striking expressions still + current in fashionable circles) voiced the sentiment more accurately than + any one when he said to his brother Eustace that “the Buccaneer” + was “going it”. he expected Soames was about “fed up.” + </p> + <p> + It was felt that he must be, and yet, what could be done? He ought perhaps + to take steps; but to take steps would be deplorable. + </p> + <p> + Without an open scandal which they could not see their way to + recommending, it was difficult to see what steps could be taken. In this + impasse, the only thing was to say nothing to Soames, and nothing to each + other; in fact, to pass it over. + </p> + <p> + By displaying towards Irene a dignified coldness, some impression might be + made upon her; but she was seldom now to be seen, and there seemed a + slight difficulty in seeking her out on purpose to show her coldness. + Sometimes in the privacy of his bedroom James would reveal to Emily the + real suffering that his son’s misfortune caused him. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> can’t tell,” he would say; “it worries me out + of my life. There’ll be a scandal, and that’ll do him no good. + I shan’t say anything to him. There might be nothing in it. What do + you think? She’s very artistic, they tell me. What? Oh, you’re + a ‘regular Juley’! Well, I don’t know; I expect the worst. This + is what comes of having no children. I knew how it would be from the + first. They never told me they didn’t mean to have any children—nobody + tells me anything!” + </p> + <p> + On his knees by the side of the bed, his eyes open and fixed with worry, + he would breathe into the counterpane. Clad in his nightshirt, his neck + poked forward, his back rounded, he resembled some long white bird. + </p> + <p> + “Our Father—,” he repeated, turning over and over again the + thought of this possible scandal. + </p> + <p> + Like old Jolyon, he, too, at the bottom of his heart set the blame of the + tragedy down to family interference. What business had that lot—he + began to think of the Stanhope Gate branch, including young Jolyon and his + daughter, as “that lot”—to introduce a person like this + Bosinney into the family? (He had heard George’s soubriquet, “The + Buccaneer,” but he could make nothing of that—the young man + was an architect.) + </p> + <p> + He began to feel that his brother Jolyon, to whom he had always looked up + and on whose opinion he had relied, was not quite what he had expected. + </p> + <p> + Not having his eldest brother’s force of character, he was more sad + than angry. His great comfort was to go to Winifred’s, and take the + little Darties in his carriage over to Kensington Gardens, and there, by + the Round Pond, he could often be seen walking with his eyes fixed + anxiously on little Publius Dartie’s sailing-boat, which he had + himself freighted with a penny, as though convinced that it would never + again come to shore; while little Publius—who, James delighted to + say, was not a bit like his father skipping along under his lee, would try + to get him to bet another that it never would, having found that it always + did. And James would make the bet; he always paid—sometimes as many + as three or four pennies in the afternoon, for the game seemed never to + pall on little Publius—and always in paying he said: “Now, + that’s for your money-box. Why, you’re getting quite a rich + man!” The thought of his little grandson’s growing wealth was + a real pleasure to him. But little Publius knew a sweet-shop, and a trick + worth two of that. + </p> + <p> + And they would walk home across the Park, James’ figure, with high + shoulders and absorbed and worried face, exercising its tall, lean + protectorship, pathetically unregarded, over the robust child-figures of + Imogen and little Publius. + </p> + <p> + But those Gardens and that Park were not sacred to James. Forsytes and + tramps, children and lovers, rested and wandered day after day, night + after night, seeking one and all some freedom from labour, from the reek + and turmoil of the streets. + </p> + <p> + The leaves browned slowly, lingering with the sun and summer-like warmth + of the nights. + </p> + <p> + On Saturday, October 5, the sky that had been blue all day deepened after + sunset to the bloom of purple grapes. There was no moon, and a clear dark, + like some velvety garment, was wrapped around the trees, whose thinned + branches, resembling plumes, stirred not in the still, warm air. All + London had poured into the Park, draining the cup of summer to its dregs. + </p> + <p> + Couple after couple, from every gate, they streamed along the paths and + over the burnt grass, and one after another, silently out of the lighted + spaces, stole into the shelter of the feathery trees, where, blotted + against some trunk, or under the shadow of shrubs, they were lost to all + but themselves in the heart of the soft darkness. + </p> + <p> + To fresh-comers along the paths, these forerunners formed but part of that + passionate dusk, whence only a strange murmur, like the confused beating + of hearts, came forth. But when that murmur reached each couple in the + lamp-light their voices wavered, and ceased; their arms enlaced, their + eyes began seeking, searching, probing the blackness. Suddenly, as though + drawn by invisible hands, they, too, stepped over the railing, and, silent + as shadows, were gone from the light. + </p> + <p> + The stillness, enclosed in the far, inexorable roar of the town, was alive + with the myriad passions, hopes, and loves of multitudes of struggling + human atoms; for in spite of the disapproval of that great body of + Forsytes, the Municipal Council—to whom Love had long been + considered, next to the Sewage Question, the gravest danger to the + community—a process was going on that night in the Park, and in a + hundred other parks, without which the thousand factories, churches, + shops, taxes, and drains, of which they were custodians, were as arteries + without blood, a man without a heart. + </p> + <p> + The instincts of self-forgetfulness, of passion, and of love, hiding under + the trees, away from the trustees of their remorseless enemy, the “sense + of property,” were holding a stealthy revel, and Soames, returning + from Bayswater—for he had been alone to dine at Timothy’s + walking home along the water, with his mind upon that coming lawsuit, had + the blood driven from his heart by a low laugh and the sound of kisses. He + thought of writing to <i>The Times</i> the next morning, to draw the attention of + the Editor to the condition of our parks. He did not, however, for he had + a horror of seeing his name in print. + </p> + <p> + But starved as he was, the whispered sounds in the stillness, the + half-seen forms in the dark, acted on him like some morbid stimulant. He + left the path along the water and stole under the trees, along the deep + shadow of little plantations, where the boughs of chestnut trees hung + their great leaves low, and there was blacker refuge, shaping his course + in circles which had for their object a stealthy inspection of chairs side + by side, against tree-trunks, of enlaced lovers, who stirred at his + approach. + </p> + <p> + Now he stood still on the rise overlooking the Serpentine, where, in full + lamp-light, black against the silver water, sat a couple who never moved, + the woman’s face buried on the man’s neck—a single form, + like a carved emblem of passion, silent and unashamed. + </p> + <p> + And, stung by the sight, Soames hurried on deeper into the shadow of the + trees. + </p> + <p> + In this search, who knows what he thought and what he sought? Bread for + hunger—light in darkness? Who knows what he expected to find—impersonal + knowledge of the human heart—the end of his private subterranean + tragedy—for, again, who knew, but that each dark couple, unnamed, + unnameable, might not be he and she? + </p> + <p> + But it could not be such knowledge as this that he was seeking—the + wife of Soames Forsyte sitting in the Park like a common wench! Such + thoughts were inconceivable; and from tree to tree, with his noiseless + step, he passed. + </p> + <p> + Once he was sworn at; once the whisper, “If only it could always be + like this!” sent the blood flying again from his heart, and he + waited there, patient and dogged, for the two to move. But it was only a + poor thin slip of a shop-girl in her draggled blouse who passed him, + clinging to her lover’s arm. + </p> + <p> + A hundred other lovers too whispered that hope in the stillness of the + trees, a hundred other lovers clung to each other. + </p> + <p> + But shaking himself with sudden disgust, Soames returned to the path, and + left that seeking for he knew not what. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"></a> + CHAPTER III<br/>MEETING AT THE BOTANICAL + </h2> + <p> + Young Jolyon, whose circumstances were not those of a Forsyte, found at + times a difficulty in sparing the money needful for those country jaunts + and researches into Nature, without having prosecuted which no watercolour + artist ever puts brush to paper. + </p> + <p> + He was frequently, in fact, obliged to take his colour-box into the + Botanical Gardens, and there, on his stool, in the shade of a + monkey-puzzler or in the lee of some India-rubber plant, he would spend + long hours sketching. + </p> + <p> + An Art critic who had recently been looking at his work had delivered + himself as follows: + </p> + <p> + “In a way your drawings are very good; tone and colour, in some of + them certainly quite a feeling for Nature. But, you see, they’re so + scattered; you’ll never get the public to look at them. Now, if you’d + taken a definite subject, such as ‘London by Night,’ or + ‘The Crystal Palace in the Spring,’ and made a regular series, + the public would have known at once what they were looking at. I can’t + lay too much stress upon that. All the men who are making great names in + Art, like Crum Stone or Bleeder, are making them by avoiding the + unexpected; by specializing and putting their works all in the same + pigeon-hole, so that the public know at once where to go. And this stands + to reason, for if a man’s a collector he doesn’t want people + to smell at the canvas to find out whom his pictures are by; he wants them + to be able to say at once, ‘A capital Forsyte!’ It is all the + more important for you to be careful to choose a subject that they can lay + hold of on the spot, since there’s no very marked originality in + your style.” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon, standing by the little piano, where a bowl of dried rose + leaves, the only produce of the garden, was deposited on a bit of faded + damask, listened with his dim smile. + </p> + <p> + Turning to his wife, who was looking at the speaker with an angry + expression on her thin face, he said: + </p> + <p> + “You see, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “I do <i>not</i>,” she answered in her staccato voice, that still had + a little foreign accent; “your style <i>has</i> originality.” + </p> + <p> + The critic looked at her, smiled’ deferentially, and said no more. + Like everyone else, he knew their history. + </p> + <p> + The words bore good fruit with young Jolyon; they were contrary to all + that he believed in, to all that he theoretically held good in his Art, + but some strange, deep instinct moved him against his will to turn them to + profit. + </p> + <p> + He discovered therefore one morning that an idea had come to him for + making a series of watercolour drawings of London. How the idea had arisen + he could not tell; and it was not till the following year, when he had + completed and sold them at a very fair price, that in one of his + impersonal moods, he found himself able to recollect the Art critic, and + to discover in his own achievement another proof that he was a Forsyte. + </p> + <p> + He decided to commence with the Botanical Gardens, where he had already + made so many studies, and chose the little artificial pond, sprinkled now + with an autumn shower of red and yellow leaves, for though the gardeners + longed to sweep them off, they could not reach them with their brooms. The + rest of the gardens they swept bare enough, removing every morning Nature’s + rain of leaves; piling them in heaps, whence from slow fires rose the + sweet, acrid smoke that, like the cuckoo’s note for spring, the + scent of lime trees for the summer, is the true emblem of the fall. The + gardeners’ tidy souls could not abide the gold and green and russet + pattern on the grass. The gravel paths must lie unstained, ordered, + methodical, without knowledge of the realities of life, nor of that slow + and beautiful decay which flings crowns underfoot to star the earth with + fallen glories, whence, as the cycle rolls, will leap again wild spring. + </p> + <p> + Thus each leaf that fell was marked from the moment when it fluttered a + good-bye and dropped, slow turning, from its twig. + </p> + <p> + But on that little pond the leaves floated in peace, and praised Heaven + with their hues, the sunlight haunting over them. + </p> + <p> + And so young Jolyon found them. + </p> + <p> + Coming there one morning in the middle of October, he was disconcerted to + find a bench about twenty paces from his stand occupied, for he had a + proper horror of anyone seeing him at work. + </p> + <p> + A lady in a velvet jacket was sitting there, with her eyes fixed on the + ground. A flowering laurel, however, stood between, and, taking shelter + behind this, young Jolyon prepared his easel. + </p> + <p> + His preparations were leisurely; he caught, as every true artist should, + at anything that might delay for a moment the effort of his work, and he + found himself looking furtively at this unknown dame. + </p> + <p> + Like his father before him, he had an eye for a face. This face was + charming! + </p> + <p> + He saw a rounded chin nestling in a cream ruffle, a delicate face with + large dark eyes and soft lips. A black “picture” hat concealed + the hair; her figure was lightly poised against the back of the bench, her + knees were crossed; the tip of a patent-leather shoe emerged beneath her + skirt. There was something, indeed, inexpressibly dainty about the person + of this lady, but young Jolyon’s attention was chiefly riveted by + the look on her face, which reminded him of his wife. It was as though its + owner had come into contact with forces too strong for her. It troubled + him, arousing vague feelings of attraction and chivalry. Who was she? And + what doing there, alone? + </p> + <p> + Two young gentlemen of that peculiar breed, at once forward and shy, found + in the Regent’s Park, came by on their way to lawn tennis, and he + noted with disapproval their furtive stares of admiration. A loitering + gardener halted to do something unnecessary to a clump of pampas grass; + he, too, wanted an excuse for peeping. A gentleman, old, and, by his hat, + a professor of horticulture, passed three times to scrutinize her long and + stealthily, a queer expression about his lips. + </p> + <p> + With all these men young Jolyon felt the same vague irritation. She looked + at none of them, yet was he certain that every man who passed would look + at her like that. + </p> + <p> + Her face was not the face of a sorceress, who in every look holds out to + men the offer of pleasure; it had none of the “devil’s beauty” + so highly prized among the first Forsytes of the land; neither was it of + that type, no less adorable, associated with the box of chocolate; it was + not of the spiritually passionate, or passionately spiritual order, + peculiar to house-decoration and modern poetry; nor did it seem to promise + to the playwright material for the production of the interesting and + neurasthenic figure, who commits suicide in the last act. + </p> + <p> + In shape and colouring, in its soft persuasive passivity, its sensuous + purity, this woman’s face reminded him of Titian’s “Heavenly + Love,” a reproduction of which hung over the sideboard in his + dining-room. And her attraction seemed to be in this soft passivity, in + the feeling she gave that to pressure she must yield. + </p> + <p> + For what or whom was she waiting, in the silence, with the trees dropping + here and there a leaf, and the thrushes strutting close on grass, touched + with the sparkle of the autumn rime? Then her charming face grew eager, + and, glancing round, with almost a lover’s jealousy, young Jolyon + saw Bosinney striding across the grass. + </p> + <p> + Curiously he watched the meeting, the look in their eyes, the long clasp + of their hands. They sat down close together, linked for all their outward + discretion. He heard the rapid murmur of their talk; but what they said he + could not catch. + </p> + <p> + He had rowed in the galley himself! He knew the long hours of waiting and + the lean minutes of a half-public meeting; the tortures of suspense that + haunt the unhallowed lover. + </p> + <p> + It required, however, but a glance at their two faces to see that this was + none of those affairs of a season that distract men and women about town; + none of those sudden appetites that wake up ravening, and are surfeited + and asleep again in six weeks. This was the real thing! This was what had + happened to himself! Out of this anything might come! + </p> + <p> + Bosinney was pleading, and she so quiet, so soft, yet immovable in her + passivity, sat looking over the grass. + </p> + <p> + Was he the man to carry her off, that tender, passive being, who would + never stir a step for herself? Who had given him all herself, and would + die for him, but perhaps would never run away with him! + </p> + <p> + It seemed to young Jolyon that he could hear her saying: “But, + darling, it would ruin you!” For he himself had experienced to the + full the gnawing fear at the bottom of each woman’s heart that she + is a drag on the man she loves. + </p> + <p> + And he peeped at them no more; but their soft, rapid talk came to his + ears, with the stuttering song of some bird who seemed trying to remember + the notes of spring: Joy—tragedy? Which—which? + </p> + <p> + And gradually their talk ceased; long silence followed. + </p> + <p> + “And where does Soames come in?” young Jolyon thought. “People + think she is concerned about the sin of deceiving her husband! Little they + know of women! She’s eating, after starvation—taking her + revenge! And Heaven help her—for he’ll take his.” + </p> + <p> + He heard the swish of silk, and, spying round the laurel, saw them walking + away, their hands stealthily joined.... + </p> + <p> + At the end of July old Jolyon had taken his grand-daughter to the + mountains; and on that visit (the last they ever paid) June recovered to a + great extent her health and spirits. In the hotels, filled with British + Forsytes—for old Jolyon could not bear a “set of Germans,” + as he called all foreigners—she was looked upon with respect—the + only grand-daughter of that fine-looking, and evidently wealthy, old Mr. + Forsyte. She did not mix freely with people—to mix freely with + people was not Jun’s habit—but she formed some friendships, + and notably one in the Rhone Valley, with a French girl who was dying of + consumption. + </p> + <p> + Determining at once that her friend should not die, she forgot, in the + institution of a campaign against Death, much of her own trouble. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon watched the new intimacy with relief and disapproval; for this + additional proof that her life was to be passed amongst “lame ducks” + worried him. Would she never make a friendship or take an interest in + something that would be of real benefit to her? + </p> + <p> + “Taking up with a parcel of foreigners,” he called it. He + often, however, brought home grapes or roses, and presented them to + “Mam’zelle” with an ingratiating twinkle. + </p> + <p> + Towards the end of September, in spite of Jun’s disapproval, + Mademoiselle Vigor breathed her last in the little hotel at St. Luc, to + which they had moved her; and June took her defeat so deeply to heart that + old Jolyon carried her away to Paris. Here, in contemplation of the + “Venus de Milo” and the “Madeleine,” she shook off + her depression, and when, towards the middle of October, they returned to + town, her grandfather believed that he had effected a cure. + </p> + <p> + No sooner, however, had they established themselves in Stanhope Gate than + he perceived to his dismay a return of her old absorbed and brooding + manner. She would sit, staring in front of her, her chin on her hand, like + a little Norse spirit, grim and intent, while all around in the electric + light, then just installed, shone the great, drawing-room brocaded up to + the frieze, full of furniture from Baple and Pullbred’s. And in the + huge gilt mirror were reflected those Dresden china groups of young men in + tight knee breeches, at the feet of full-bosomed ladies nursing on their + laps pet lambs, which old Jolyon had bought when he was a bachelor and + thought so highly of in these days of degenerate taste. He was a man of + most open mind, who, more than any Forsyte of them all, had moved with the + times, but he could never forget that he had bought these groups at Jobson’s, + and given a lot of money for them. He often said to June, with a sort of + disillusioned contempt: + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> don’t care about them! They’re not the gimcrack + things you and your friends like, but they cost me seventy pounds!” + He was not a man who allowed his taste to be warped when he knew for solid + reasons that it was sound. + </p> + <p> + One of the first things that June did on getting home was to go round to + Timothy’s. She persuaded herself that it was her duty to call there, + and cheer him with an account of all her travels; but in reality she went + because she knew of no other place where, by some random speech, or + roundabout question, she could glean news of Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + They received her most cordially: And how was her dear grandfather? He had + not been to see them since May. Her Uncle Timothy was very poorly, he had + had a lot of trouble with the chimney-sweep in his bedroom; the stupid man + had let the soot down the chimney! It had quite upset her uncle. + </p> + <p> + June sat there a long time, dreading, yet passionately hoping, that they + would speak of Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + But paralyzed by unaccountable discretion, Mrs. Septimus Small let fall no + word, neither did she question June about him. In desperation the girl + asked at last whether Soames and Irene were in town—she had not yet + been to see anyone. + </p> + <p> + It was Aunt Hester who replied: Oh, yes, they were in town, they had not + been away at all. There was some little difficulty about the house, she + believed. June had heard, no doubt! She had better ask her Aunt Juley! + </p> + <p> + June turned to Mrs. Small, who sat upright in her chair, her hands + clasped, her face covered with innumerable pouts. In answer to the girl’s + look she maintained a strange silence, and when she spoke it was to ask + June whether she had worn night-socks up in those high hotels where it + must be so cold of a night. + </p> + <p> + June answered that she had not, she hated the stuffy things; and rose to + leave. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Small’s infallibly chosen silence was far more ominous to her + than anything that could have been said. + </p> + <p> + Before half an hour was over she had dragged the truth from Mrs. Baynes in + Lowndes Square, that Soames was bringing an action against Bosinney over + the decoration of the house. + </p> + <p> + Instead of disturbing her, the news had a strangely calming effect; as + though she saw in the prospect of this struggle new hope for herself. She + learnt that the case was expected to come on in about a month, and there + seemed little or no prospect of Bosinney’s success. + </p> + <p> + “And whatever he’ll do I can’t think,” said Mrs. + Baynes; “it’s very dreadful for him, you know—he’s + got no money—he’s very hard up. And we can’t help him, I’m + sure. I’m told the money-lenders won’t lend if you have no + security, and he has none—none at all.” + </p> + <p> + Her embonpoint had increased of late; she was in the full swing of autumn + organization, her writing-table literally strewn with the menus of charity + functions. She looked meaningly at June, with her round eyes of + parrot-grey. + </p> + <p> + The sudden flush that rose on the girl’s intent young face—she + must have seen spring up before her a great hope—the sudden + sweetness of her smile, often came back to Lady Baynes in after years + (Baynes was knighted when he built that public Museum of Art which has + given so much employment to officials, and so little pleasure to those + working classes for whom it was designed). + </p> + <p> + The memory of that change, vivid and touching, like the breaking open of a + flower, or the first sun after long winter, the memory, too, of all that + came after, often intruded itself, unaccountably, inopportunely on Lady + Baynes, when her mind was set upon the most important things. + </p> + <p> + This was the very afternoon of the day that young Jolyon witnessed the + meeting in the Botanical Gardens, and on this day, too, old Jolyon paid a + visit to his solicitors, Forsyte, Bustard, and Forsyte, in the Poultry. + Soames was not in, he had gone down to Somerset House; Bustard was buried + up to the hilt in papers and that inaccessible apartment, where he was + judiciously placed, in order that he might do as much work as possible; + but James was in the front office, biting a finger, and lugubriously + turning over the pleadings in Forsyte <i>v</i>. Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + This sound lawyer had only a sort of luxurious dread of the “nice + point,” enough to set up a pleasurable feeling of fuss; for his good + practical sense told him that if he himself were on the Bench he would not + pay much attention to it. But he was afraid that this Bosinney would go + bankrupt and Soames would have to find the money after all, and costs into + the bargain. And behind this tangible dread there was always that + intangible trouble, lurking in the background, intricate, dim, scandalous, + like a bad dream, and of which this action was but an outward and visible + sign. + </p> + <p> + He raised his head as old Jolyon came in, and muttered: “How are + you, Jolyon? Haven’t seen you for an age. You’ve been to + Switzerland, they tell me. This young Bosinney, he’s got himself + into a mess. I knew how it would be!” He held out the papers, + regarding his elder brother with nervous gloom. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon read them in silence, and while he read them James looked at + the floor, biting his fingers the while. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon pitched them down at last, and they fell with a thump amongst a + mass of affidavits in “<i>re</i> Buncombe, deceased,” one of the many + branches of that parent and profitable tree, “Fryer <i>v</i>. Forsyte.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what Soames is about,” he said, “to + make a fuss over a few hundred pounds. I thought he was a man of property.” + </p> + <p> + James’ long upper lip twitched angrily; he could not bear his son to + be attacked in such a spot. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not the money,” he began, but meeting his brother’s + glance, direct, shrewd, judicial, he stopped. + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve come in for my Will,” said old Jolyon at last, + tugging at his moustache. + </p> + <p> + James’ curiosity was roused at once. Perhaps nothing in this life + was more stimulating to him than a Will; it was the supreme deal with + property, the final inventory of a man’s belongings, the last word + on what he was worth. He sounded the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Bring in Mr. Jolyon’s Will,” he said to an anxious, + dark-haired clerk. + </p> + <p> + “You going to make some alterations?” And through his mind + there flashed the thought: “Now, am I worth as much as he?” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon put the Will in his breast pocket, and James twisted his long + legs regretfully. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve made some nice purchases lately, they tell me,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know where you get your information from,” + answered old Jolyon sharply. “When’s this action coming on? + Next month? I can’t tell what you’ve got in your minds. You + must manage your own affairs; but if you take my advice, you’ll + settle it out of Court. Good-bye!” With a cold handshake he was + gone. + </p> + <p> + James, his fixed grey-blue eye corkscrewing round some secret anxious + image, began again to bite his finger. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon took his Will to the offices of the New Colliery Company, and + sat down in the empty Board Room to read it through. He answered “Down-by-the-starn” + Hemmings so tartly when the latter, seeing his Chairman seated there, + entered with the new Superintendent’s first report, that the + Secretary withdrew with regretful dignity; and sending for the transfer + clerk, blew him up till the poor youth knew not where to look. + </p> + <p> + It was not—by George—as he (Down-by-the-starn) would have him + know, for a whippersnapper of a young fellow like him, to come down to + that office, and think that he was God Almighty. He (Down-by-the-starn) + had been head of that office for more years than a boy like him could + count, and if he thought that when he had finished all his work, he could + sit there doing nothing, he did not know him, Hemmings + (Down-by-the-starn), and so forth. + </p> + <p> + On the other side of the green baize door old Jolyon sat at the long, + mahogany-and-leather board table, his thick, loose-jointed, tortoiseshell + eye-glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his gold pencil moving down + the clauses of his Will. + </p> + <p> + It was a simple affair, for there were none of those vexatious little + legacies and donations to charities, which fritter away a man’s + possessions, and damage the majestic effect of that little paragraph in + the morning papers accorded to Forsytes who die with a hundred thousand + pounds. + </p> + <p> + A simple affair. Just a bequest to his son of twenty thousand, and “as + to the residue of my property of whatsoever kind whether realty or + personalty, or partaking of the nature of either—upon trust to pay + the proceeds rents annual produce dividends or interest thereof and + thereon to my said grand-daughter June Forsyte or her assigns during her + life to be for her sole use and benefit and without, etc... and from and + after her death or decease upon trust to convey assign transfer or make + over the said last-mentioned lands hereditaments premises trust moneys + stocks funds investments and securities or such as shall then stand for + and represent the same unto such person or persons whether one or more for + such intents purposes and uses and generally in such manner way and form + in all respects as the said June Forsyte notwithstanding coverture shall + by her last Will and Testament or any writing or writings in the nature of + a Will testament or testamentary disposition to be by her duly made signed + and published direct appoint or make over give and dispose of the same And + in default etc.... Provided always...” and so on, in seven folios of + brief and simple phraseology. + </p> + <p> + The Will had been drawn by James in his palmy days. He had foreseen almost + every contingency. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon sat a long time reading this Will; at last he took half a sheet + of paper from the rack, and made a prolonged pencil note; then buttoning + up the Will, he caused a cab to be called and drove to the offices of + Paramor and Herring, in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Jack Herring was dead, + but his nephew was still in the firm, and old Jolyon was closeted with him + for half an hour. + </p> + <p> + He had kept the hansom, and on coming out, gave the driver the address—3, + Wistaria Avenue. + </p> + <p> + He felt a strange, slow satisfaction, as though he had scored a victory + over James and the man of property. They should not poke their noses into + his affairs any more; he had just cancelled their trusteeships of his + Will; he would take the whole of his business out of their hands, and put + it into the hands of young Herring, and he would move the business of his + Companies too. If that young Soames were such a man of property, he would + never miss a thousand a year or so; and under his great white moustache + old Jolyon grimly smiled. He felt that what he was doing was in the nature + of retributive justice, richly deserved. + </p> + <p> + Slowly, surely, with the secret inner process that works the destruction + of an old tree, the poison of the wounds to his happiness, his will, his + pride, had corroded the comely edifice of his philosophy. Life had worn + him down on one side, till, like that family of which he was the head, he + had lost balance. + </p> + <p> + To him, borne northwards towards his son’s house, the thought of the + new disposition of property, which he had just set in motion, appeared + vaguely in the light of a stroke of punishment, levelled at that family + and that Society, of which James and his son seemed to him the + representatives. He had made a restitution to young Jolyon, and + restitution to young Jolyon satisfied his secret craving for + revenge—revenge against Time, sorrow, and interference, against all that + incalculable sum of disapproval that had been bestowed by the world for + fifteen years on his only son. It presented itself as the one possible way + of asserting once more the domination of his will; of forcing James, and + Soames, and the family, and all those hidden masses of Forsytes—a + great stream rolling against the single dam of his obstinacy—to + recognise once and for all that <i>he would be master</i>. It was sweet to think + that at last he was going to make the boy a richer man by far than that + son of James, that “man of property.” And it was sweet to give + to Jo, for he loved his son. + </p> + <p> + Neither young Jolyon nor his wife were in (young Jolyon indeed was not + back from the Botanical), but the little maid told him that she expected + the master at any moment: + </p> + <p> + “He’s always at ’ome to tea, sir, to play with the + children.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon said he would wait; and sat down patiently enough in the faded, + shabby drawing room, where, now that the summer chintzes were removed, the + old chairs and sofas revealed all their threadbare deficiencies. He longed + to send for the children; to have them there beside him, their supple + bodies against his knees; to hear Jolly’s: “Hallo, Gran!” + and see his rush; and feel Holly’s soft little hand stealing up + against his cheek. But he would not. There was solemnity in what he had + come to do, and until it was over he would not play. He amused himself by + thinking how with two strokes of his pen he was going to restore the look + of caste so conspicuously absent from everything in that little house; how + he could fill these rooms, or others in some larger mansion, with triumphs + of art from Baple and Pullbred’s; how he could send little Jolly to + Harrow and Oxford (he no longer had faith in Eton and Cambridge, for his + son had been there); how he could procure little Holly the best musical + instruction, the child had a remarkable aptitude. + </p> + <p> + As these visions crowded before him, causing emotion to swell his heart, + he rose, and stood at the window, looking down into the little walled + strip of garden, where the pear-tree, bare of leaves before its time, + stood with gaunt branches in the slow-gathering mist of the autumn + afternoon. The dog Balthasar, his tail curled tightly over a piebald, + furry back, was walking at the farther end, sniffing at the plants, and at + intervals placing his leg for support against the wall. + </p> + <p> + And old Jolyon mused. + </p> + <p> + What pleasure was there left but to give? It was pleasant to give, when + you could find one who would be thankful for what you gave—one of + your own flesh and blood! There was no such satisfaction to be had out of + giving to those who did not belong to you, to those who had no claim on + you! Such giving as that was a betrayal of the individualistic convictions + and actions of his life, of all his enterprise, his labour, and his + moderation, of the great and proud fact that, like tens of thousands of + Forsytes before him, tens of thousands in the present, tens of thousands + in the future, he had always made his own, and held his own, in the world. + </p> + <p> + And, while he stood there looking down on the smut-covered foliage of the + laurels, the black-stained grass-plot, the progress of the dog Balthasar, + all the suffering of the fifteen years during which he had been baulked of + legitimate enjoyment mingled its gall with the sweetness of the + approaching moment. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon came at last, pleased with his work, and fresh from long + hours in the open air. On hearing that his father was in the drawing room, + he inquired hurriedly whether Mrs. Forsyte was at home, and being informed + that she was not, heaved a sigh of relief. Then putting his painting + materials carefully in the little coat-closet out of sight, he went in. + </p> + <p> + With characteristic decision old Jolyon came at once to the point. “I’ve + been altering my arrangements, Jo,” he said. “You can cut your + coat a bit longer in the future—I’m settling a thousand a year + on you at once. June will have fifty thousand at my death; and you the + rest. That dog of yours is spoiling the garden. I shouldn’t keep a + dog, if I were you!” + </p> + <p> + The dog Balthasar, seated in the centre of the lawn, was examining his + tail. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon looked at the animal, but saw him dimly, for his eyes were + misty. + </p> + <p> + “Yours won’t come short of a hundred thousand, my boy,” + said old Jolyon; “I thought you’d better know. I haven’t + much longer to live at my age. I shan’t allude to it again. How’s + your wife? And—give her my love.” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon put his hand on his father’s shoulder, and, as neither + spoke, the episode closed. + </p> + <p> + Having seen his father into a hansom, young Jolyon came back to the + drawing-room and stood, where old Jolyon had stood, looking down on the + little garden. He tried to realize all that this meant to him, and, + Forsyte that he was, vistas of property were opened out in his brain; the + years of half rations through which he had passed had not sapped his + natural instincts. In extremely practical form, he thought of travel, of + his wife’s costume, the children’s education, a pony for + Jolly, a thousand things; but in the midst of all he thought, too, of + Bosinney and his mistress, and the broken song of the thrush. Joy—tragedy! + Which? Which? + </p> + <p> + The old past—the poignant, suffering, passionate, wonderful past, + that no money could buy, that nothing could restore in all its burning + sweetness—had come back before him. + </p> + <p> + When his wife came in he went straight up to her and took her in his arms; + and for a long time he stood without speaking, his eyes closed, pressing + her to him, while she looked at him with a wondering, adoring, doubting + look in her eyes. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"></a> + CHAPTER IV<br/>VOYAGE INTO THE INFERNO + </h2> + <p> + The morning after a certain night on which Soames at last asserted his + rights and acted like a man, he breakfasted alone. + </p> + <p> + He breakfasted by gaslight, the fog of late November wrapping the town as + in some monstrous blanket till the trees of the Square even were barely + visible from the dining-room window. + </p> + <p> + He ate steadily, but at times a sensation as though he could not swallow + attacked him. Had he been right to yield to his overmastering hunger of + the night before, and break down the resistance which he had suffered now + too long from this woman who was his lawful and solemnly constituted + helpmate? + </p> + <p> + He was strangely haunted by the recollection of her face, from before + which, to soothe her, he had tried to pull her hands—of her terrible + smothered sobbing, the like of which he had never heard, and still seemed + to hear; and he was still haunted by the odd, intolerable feeling of + remorse and shame he had felt, as he stood looking at her by the flame of + the single candle, before silently slinking away. + </p> + <p> + And somehow, now that he had acted like this, he was surprised at himself. + </p> + <p> + Two nights before, at Winifred Dartie’s, he had taken Mrs. MacAnder + into dinner. She had said to him, looking in his face with her sharp, + greenish eyes: “And so your wife is a great friend of that Mr. + Bosinney’s?” + </p> + <p> + Not deigning to ask what she meant, he had brooded over her words. + </p> + <p> + They had roused in him a fierce jealousy, which, with the peculiar + perversion of this instinct, had turned to fiercer desire. + </p> + <p> + Without the incentive of Mrs. MacAnder’s words he might never have + done what he had done. Without their incentive and the accident of finding + his wife’s door for once unlocked, which had enabled him to steal + upon her asleep. + </p> + <p> + Slumber had removed his doubts, but the morning brought them again. One + thought comforted him: No one would know—it was not the sort of + thing that she would speak about. + </p> + <p> + And, indeed, when the vehicle of his daily business life, which needed so + imperatively the grease of clear and practical thought, started rolling + once more with the reading of his letters, those nightmare-like doubts + began to assume less extravagant importance at the back of his mind. The + incident was really not of great moment; women made a fuss about it in + books; but in the cool judgment of right-thinking men, of men of the + world, of such as he recollected often received praise in the Divorce + Court, he had but done his best to sustain the sanctity of marriage, to + prevent her from abandoning her duty, possibly, if she were still seeing + Bosinney, from.... + </p> + <p> + No, he did not regret it. + </p> + <p> + Now that the first step towards reconciliation had been taken, the rest + would be comparatively—comparatively.... + </p> + <p> + He, rose and walked to the window. His nerve had been shaken. The sound of + smothered sobbing was in his ears again. He could not get rid of it. + </p> + <p> + He put on his fur coat, and went out into the fog; having to go into the + City, he took the underground railway from Sloane Square station. + </p> + <p> + In his corner of the first-class compartment filled with City men the + smothered sobbing still haunted him, so he opened <i>The Times</i> with the rich + crackle that drowns all lesser sounds, and, barricaded behind it, set + himself steadily to con the news. + </p> + <p> + He read that a Recorder had charged a grand jury on the previous day with + a more than usually long list of offences. He read of three murders, five + manslaughters, seven arsons, and as many as eleven rapes—a + surprisingly high number—in addition to many less conspicuous + crimes, to be tried during a coming Sessions; and from one piece of news + he went on to another, keeping the paper well before his face. + </p> + <p> + And still, inseparable from his reading, was the memory of Irene’s + tear-stained face, and the sounds from her broken heart. + </p> + <p> + The day was a busy one, including, in addition to the ordinary affairs of + his practice, a visit to his brokers, Messrs. Grin and Grinning, to give + them instructions to sell his shares in the New Colliery Co., Ltd., whose + business he suspected, rather than knew, was stagnating (this enterprise + afterwards slowly declined, and was ultimately sold for a song to an + American syndicate); and a long conference at Waterbuck, Q.C.’s + chambers, attended by Boulter, by Fiske, the junior counsel, and + Waterbuck, Q.C., himself. + </p> + <p> + The case of Forsyte <i>v</i>. Bosinney was expected to be reached on the morrow, + before Mr. Justice Bentham. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Justice Bentham, a man of common-sense rather than too great legal + knowledge, was considered to be about the best man they could have to try + the action. He was a “strong” Judge. + </p> + <p> + Waterbuck, Q.C., in pleasing conjunction with an almost rude neglect of + Boulter and Fiske paid to Soames a good deal of attention, by instinct or + the sounder evidence of rumour, feeling him to be a man of property. + </p> + <p> + He held with remarkable consistency to the opinion he had already + expressed in writing, that the issue would depend to a great extent on the + evidence given at the trial, and in a few well directed remarks he advised + Soames not to be too careful in giving that evidence. “A little + bluffness, Mr. Forsyte,” he said, “a little bluffness,” + and after he had spoken he laughed firmly, closed his lips tight, and + scratched his head just below where he had pushed his wig back, for all + the world like the gentleman-farmer for whom he loved to be taken. He was + considered perhaps the leading man in breach of promise cases. + </p> + <p> + Soames used the underground again in going home. + </p> + <p> + The fog was worse than ever at Sloane Square station. Through the still, + thick blur, men groped in and out; women, very few, grasped their + reticules to their bosoms and handkerchiefs to their mouths; crowned with + the weird excrescence of the driver, haloed by a vague glow of lamp-light + that seemed to drown in vapour before it reached the pavement, cabs loomed + dim-shaped ever and again, and discharged citizens, bolting like rabbits + to their burrows. + </p> + <p> + And these shadowy figures, wrapped each in his own little shroud of fog, + took no notice of each other. In the great warren, each rabbit for + himself, especially those clothed in the more expensive fur, who, afraid + of carriages on foggy days, are driven underground. + </p> + <p> + One figure, however, not far from Soames, waited at the station door. + </p> + <p> + Some buccaneer or lover, of whom each Forsyte thought: “Poor devil! + looks as if he were having a bad time!” Their kind hearts beat a + stroke faster for that poor, waiting, anxious lover in the fog; but they + hurried by, well knowing that they had neither time nor money to spare for + any suffering but their own. + </p> + <p> + Only a policeman, patrolling slowly and at intervals, took an interest in + that waiting figure, the brim of whose slouch hat half hid a face reddened + by the cold, all thin, and haggard, over which a hand stole now and again + to smooth away anxiety, or renew the resolution that kept him waiting + there. But the waiting lover (if lover he were) was used to policemen’s + scrutiny, or too absorbed in his anxiety, for he never flinched. A + hardened case, accustomed to long trysts, to anxiety, and fog, and cold, + if only his mistress came at last. Foolish lover! Fogs last until the + spring; there is also snow and rain, no comfort anywhere; gnawing fear if + you bring her out, gnawing fear if you bid her stay at home! + </p> + <p> + “Serve him right; he should arrange his affairs better!” + </p> + <p> + So any respectable Forsyte. Yet, if that sounder citizen could have + listened at the waiting lover’s heart, out there in the fog and the + cold, he would have said again: “Yes, poor devil he’s having a + bad time!” + </p> + <p> + Soames got into his cab, and, with the glass down, crept along Sloane + Street, and so along the Brompton Road, and home. He reached his house at + five. + </p> + <p> + His wife was not in. She had gone out a quarter of an hour before. Out at + such a time of night, into this terrible fog! What was the meaning of + that? + </p> + <p> + He sat by the dining-room fire, with the door open, disturbed to the soul, + trying to read the evening paper. A book was no good—in daily papers + alone was any narcotic to such worry as his. From the customary events + recorded in the journal he drew some comfort. “Suicide of an actress”—“Grave + indisposition of a Statesman” (that chronic sufferer)—“Divorce + of an army officer”—“Fire in a colliery”—he + read them all. They helped him a little—prescribed by the greatest + of all doctors, our natural taste. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly seven when he heard her come in. + </p> + <p> + The incident of the night before had long lost its importance under stress + of anxiety at her strange sortie into the fog. But now that Irene was + home, the memory of her broken-hearted sobbing came back to him, and he + felt nervous at the thought of facing her. + </p> + <p> + She was already on the stairs; her grey fur coat hung to her knees, its + high collar almost hid her face, she wore a thick veil. + </p> + <p> + She neither turned to look at him nor spoke. No ghost or stranger could + have passed more silently. + </p> + <p> + Bilson came to lay dinner, and told him that Mrs. Forsyte was not coming + down; she was having the soup in her room. + </p> + <p> + For once Soames did not “change”; it was, perhaps, the first + time in his life that he had sat down to dinner with soiled cuffs, and, + not even noticing them, he brooded long over his wine. He sent Bilson to + light a fire in his picture-room, and presently went up there himself. + </p> + <p> + Turning on the gas, he heaved a deep sigh, as though amongst these + treasures, the backs of which confronted him in stacks, around the little + room, he had found at length his peace of mind. He went straight up to the + greatest treasure of them all, an undoubted Turner, and, carrying it to + the easel, turned its face to the light. There had been a movement in + Turners, but he had not been able to make up his mind to part with it. He + stood for a long time, his pale, clean-shaven face poked forward above his + stand-up collar, looking at the picture as though he were adding it up; a + wistful expression came into his eyes; he found, perhaps, that it came to + too little. He took it down from the easel to put it back against the + wall; but, in crossing the room, stopped, for he seemed to hear sobbing. + </p> + <p> + It was nothing—only the sort of thing that had been bothering him in + the morning. And soon after, putting the high guard before the blazing + fire, he stole downstairs. + </p> + <p> + Fresh for the morrow! was his thought. It was long before he went to + sleep.... + </p> + <p> + It is now to George Forsyte that the mind must turn for light on the + events of that fog-engulfed afternoon. + </p> + <p> + The wittiest and most sportsmanlike of the Forsytes had passed the day + reading a novel in the paternal mansion at Princes’ Gardens. Since a + recent crisis in his financial affairs he had been kept on parole by + Roger, and compelled to reside “at home.” + </p> + <p> + Towards five o’clock he went out, and took train at South Kensington + Station (for everyone to-day went Underground). His intention was to dine, + and pass the evening playing billiards at the Red Pottle—that unique + hostel, neither club, hotel, nor good gilt restaurant. + </p> + <p> + He got out at Charing Cross, choosing it in preference to his more usual + St. James’s Park, that he might reach Jermyn Street by better + lighted ways. + </p> + <p> + On the platform his eyes—for in combination with a composed and + fashionable appearance, George had sharp eyes, and was always on the + look-out for fillips to his sardonic humour—his eyes were attracted + by a man, who, leaping from a first-class compartment, staggered rather + than walked towards the exit. + </p> + <p> + “So ho, my bird!” said George to himself; “why, it’s + “the Buccaneer!”” and he put his big figure on the + trail. Nothing afforded him greater amusement than a drunken man. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney, who wore a slouch hat, stopped in front of him, spun around, and + rushed back towards the carriage he had just left. He was too late. A + porter caught him by the coat; the train was already moving on. + </p> + <p> + George’s practised glance caught sight of the face of a lady clad in + a grey fur coat at the carriage window. It was Mrs. Soames—and + George felt that this was interesting! + </p> + <p> + And now he followed Bosinney more closely than ever—up the stairs, + past the ticket collector into the street. In that progress, however, his + feelings underwent a change; no longer merely curious and amused, he felt + sorry for the poor fellow he was shadowing. “The Buccaneer” + was not drunk, but seemed to be acting under the stress of violent + emotion; he was talking to himself, and all that George could catch were + the words “Oh, God!” Nor did he appear to know what he was + doing, or where going; but stared, hesitated, moved like a man out of his + mind; and from being merely a joker in search of amusement, George felt + that he must see the poor chap through. + </p> + <p> + He had “taken the knock”—“taken the knock!” + And he wondered what on earth Mrs. Soames had been saying, what on earth + she had been telling him in the railway carriage. She had looked bad + enough herself! It made George sorry to think of her travelling on with + her trouble all alone. + </p> + <p> + He followed close behind Bosinney’s elbow—tall, burly figure, + saying nothing, dodging warily—and shadowed him out into the fog. + </p> + <p> + There was something here beyond a jest! He kept his head admirably, in + spite of some excitement, for in addition to compassion, the instincts of + the chase were roused within him. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney walked right out into the thoroughfare—a vast muffled + blackness, where a man could not see six paces before him; where, all + around, voices or whistles mocked the sense of direction; and sudden + shapes came rolling slow upon them; and now and then a light showed like a + dim island in an infinite dark sea. + </p> + <p> + And fast into this perilous gulf of night walked Bosinney, and fast after + him walked George. If the fellow meant to put his “twopenny” + under a ’bus, he would stop it if he could! Across the street and + back the hunted creature strode, not groping as other men were groping in + that gloom, but driven forward as though the faithful George behind + wielded a knout; and this chase after a haunted man began to have for + George the strangest fascination. + </p> + <p> + But it was now that the affair developed in a way which ever afterwards + caused it to remain green in his mind. Brought to a stand-still in the + fog, he heard words which threw a sudden light on these proceedings. What + Mrs. Soames had said to Bosinney in the train was now no longer dark. + George understood from those mutterings that Soames had exercised his + rights over an estranged and unwilling wife in the greatest—the + supreme act of property. + </p> + <p> + His fancy wandered in the fields of this situation; it impressed him; he + guessed something of the anguish, the sexual confusion and horror in + Bosinney’s heart. And he thought: “Yes, it’s a bit + thick! I don’t wonder the poor fellow is half-cracked!” + </p> + <p> + He had run his quarry to earth on a bench under one of the lions in + Trafalgar Square, a monster sphynx astray like themselves in that gulf of + darkness. Here, rigid and silent, sat Bosinney, and George, in whose + patience was a touch of strange brotherliness, took his stand behind. He + was not lacking in a certain delicacy—a sense of form—that did + not permit him to intrude upon this tragedy, and he waited, quiet as the + lion above, his fur collar hitched above his ears concealing the fleshy + redness of his cheeks, concealing all but his eyes with their sardonic, + compassionate stare. And men kept passing back from business on the way to + their clubs—men whose figures shrouded in cocoons of fog came into + view like spectres, and like spectres vanished. Then even in his + compassion George’s Quilpish humour broke forth in a sudden longing + to pluck these spectres by the sleeve, and say: + </p> + <p> + “Hi, you Johnnies! You don’t often see a show like this! Here’s + a poor devil whose mistress has just been telling him a pretty little + story of her husband; walk up, walk up! He’s taken the knock, you + see.” + </p> + <p> + In fancy he saw them gaping round the tortured lover; and grinned as he + thought of some respectable, newly-married spectre enabled by the state of + his own affections to catch an inkling of what was going on within + Bosinney; he fancied he could see his mouth getting wider and wider, and + the fog going down and down. For in George was all that contempt of the + middle-class—especially of the married middle-class—peculiar + to the wild and sportsmanlike spirits in its ranks. + </p> + <p> + But he began to be bored. Waiting was not what he had bargained for. + </p> + <p> + “After all,” he thought, “the poor chap will get over + it; not the first time such a thing has happened in this little city!” + But now his quarry again began muttering words of violent hate and anger. + And following a sudden impulse George touched him on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Bosinney spun round. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you? What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + George could have stood it well enough in the light of the gas lamps, in + the light of that everyday world of which he was so hardy a connoisseur; + but in this fog, where all was gloomy and unreal, where nothing had that + matter-of-fact value associated by Forsytes with earth, he was a victim to + strange qualms, and as he tried to stare back into the eyes of this + maniac, he thought: + </p> + <p> + “If I see a bobby, I’ll hand him over; he’s not fit to + be at large.” + </p> + <p> + But waiting for no answer, Bosinney strode off into the fog, and George + followed, keeping perhaps a little further off, yet more than ever set on + tracking him down. + </p> + <p> + “He can’t go on long like this,” he thought. “It’s + God’s own miracle he’s not been run over already.” He + brooded no more on policemen, a sportsman’s sacred fire alive again + within him. + </p> + <p> + Into a denser gloom than ever Bosinney held on at a furious pace; but his + pursuer perceived more method in his madness—he was clearly making + his way westwards. + </p> + <p> + “He’s really going for Soames!” thought George. The idea + was attractive. It would be a sporting end to such a chase. He had always + disliked his cousin. + </p> + <p> + The shaft of a passing cab brushed against his shoulder and made him leap + aside. He did not intend to be killed for the Buccaneer, or anyone. Yet, + with hereditary tenacity, he stuck to the trail through vapour that + blotted out everything but the shadow of the hunted man and the dim moon + of the nearest lamp. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly, with the instinct of a town-stroller, George knew himself + to be in Piccadilly. Here he could find his way blindfold; and freed from + the strain of geographical uncertainty, his mind returned to Bosinney’s + trouble. + </p> + <p> + Down the long avenue of his man-about-town experience, bursting, as it + were, through a smirch of doubtful amours, there stalked to him a memory + of his youth. A memory, poignant still, that brought the scent of hay, the + gleam of moonlight, a summer magic, into the reek and blackness of this + London fog—the memory of a night when in the darkest shadow of a + lawn he had overheard from a woman’s lips that he was not her sole + possessor. And for a moment George walked no longer in black Piccadilly, + but lay again, with hell in his heart, and his face to the sweet-smelling, + dewy grass, in the long shadow of poplars that hid the moon. + </p> + <p> + A longing seized him to throw his arm round the Buccaneer, and say, + “Come, old boy. Time cures all. Let’s go and drink it off!” + </p> + <p> + But a voice yelled at him, and he started back. A cab rolled out of + blackness, and into blackness disappeared. And suddenly George perceived + that he had lost Bosinney. He ran forward and back, felt his heart + clutched by a sickening fear, the dark fear which lives in the wings of + the fog. Perspiration started out on his brow. He stood quite still, + listening with all his might. + </p> + <p> + “And then,” as he confided to Dartie the same evening in the + course of a game of billiards at the Red Pottle, “I lost him.” + </p> + <p> + Dartie twirled complacently at his dark moustache. He had just put + together a neat break of twenty-three,—failing at a “Jenny.” + “And who was <i>she?</i>” he asked. + </p> + <p> + George looked slowly at the “man of the world’s” + fattish, sallow face, and a little grim smile lurked about the curves of + his cheeks and his heavy-lidded eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, my fine fellow,” he thought, “I’m not + going to tell <i>you</i>.” For though he mixed with Dartie a good deal, he + thought him a bit of a cad. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, some little love-lady or other,” he said, and chalked his + cue. + </p> + <p> + “A love-lady!” exclaimed Dartie—he used a more + figurative expression. “I made sure it was our friend Soa....” + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” said George curtly. “Then damme you’ve + made an error.” + </p> + <p> + He missed his shot. He was careful not to allude to the subject again + till, towards eleven o’clock, having, in his poetic phraseology, + “looked upon the drink when it was yellow,” he drew aside the + blind, and gazed out into the street. The murky blackness of the fog was + but faintly broken by the lamps of the “Red Pottle,” and no + shape of mortal man or thing was in sight. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t help thinking of that poor Buccaneer,” he said. + “He may be wandering out there now in that fog. If he’s not a + corpse,” he added with strange dejection. + </p> + <p> + “Corpse!” said Dartie, in whom the recollection of his defeat + at Richmond flared up. “<i>He’s</i> all right. Ten to one if he wasn’t + tight!” + </p> + <p> + George turned on him, looking really formidable, with a sort of savage + gloom on his big face. + </p> + <p> + “Dry up!” he said. “Don’t I tell you he’s + ‘taken the knock!’” + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"></a> + CHAPTER V<br/>THE TRIAL + </h2> + <p> + In the morning of his case, which was second in the list, Soames was again + obliged to start without seeing Irene, and it was just as well, for he had + not as yet made up his mind what attitude to adopt towards her. + </p> + <p> + He had been requested to be in court by half-past ten, to provide against + the event of the first action (a breach of promise) collapsing, which + however it did not, both sides showing a courage that afforded Waterbuck, + Q.C., an opportunity for improving his already great reputation in this + class of case. He was opposed by Ram, the other celebrated breach of + promise man. It was a battle of giants. + </p> + <p> + The court delivered judgment just before the luncheon interval. The jury + left the box for good, and Soames went out to get something to eat. He met + James standing at the little luncheon-bar, like a pelican in the + wilderness of the galleries, bent over a sandwich with a glass of sherry + before him. The spacious emptiness of the great central hall, over which + father and son brooded as they stood together, was marred now and then for + a fleeting moment by barristers in wig and gown hurriedly bolting across, + by an occasional old lady or rusty-coated man, looking up in a frightened + way, and by two persons, bolder than their generation, seated in an + embrasure arguing. The sound of their voices arose, together with a scent + as of neglected wells, which, mingling with the odour of the galleries, + combined to form the savour, like nothing but the emanation of a refined + cheese, so indissolubly connected with the administration of British + Justice. + </p> + <p> + It was not long before James addressed his son. + </p> + <p> + “When’s your case coming on? I suppose it’ll be on + directly. I shouldn’t wonder if this Bosinney’d say anything; + I should think he’d have to. He’ll go bankrupt if it goes + against him.” He took a large bite at his sandwich and a mouthful of + sherry. “Your mother,” he said, “wants you and Irene to + come and dine to-night.” + </p> + <p> + A chill smile played round Soames’s lips; he looked back at his + father. Anyone who had seen the look, cold and furtive, thus interchanged, + might have been pardoned for not appreciating the real understanding + between them. James finished his sherry at a draught. + </p> + <p> + “How much?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + On returning to the court Soames took at once his rightful seat on the + front bench beside his solicitor. He ascertained where his father was + seated with a glance so sidelong as to commit nobody. + </p> + <p> + James, sitting back with his hands clasped over the handle of his + umbrella, was brooding on the end of the bench immediately behind counsel, + whence he could get away at once when the case was over. He considered + Bosinney’s conduct in every way outrageous, but he did not wish to + run up against him, feeling that the meeting would be awkward. + </p> + <p> + Next to the Divorce Court, this court was, perhaps, the favourite emporium + of justice, libel, breach of promise, and other commercial actions being + frequently decided there. Quite a sprinkling of persons unconnected with + the law occupied the back benches, and the hat of a woman or two could be + seen in the gallery. + </p> + <p> + The two rows of seats immediately in front of James were gradually filled + by barristers in wigs, who sat down to make pencil notes, chat, and attend + to their teeth; but his interest was soon diverted from these lesser + lights of justice by the entrance of Waterbuck, Q.C., with the wings of + his silk gown rustling, and his red, capable face supported by two short, + brown whiskers. The famous Q.C. looked, as James freely admitted, the very + picture of a man who could heckle a witness. + </p> + <p> + For all his experience, it so happened that he had never seen Waterbuck, + Q.C., before, and, like many Forsytes in the lower branch of the + profession, he had an extreme admiration for a good cross-examiner. The + long, lugubrious folds in his cheeks relaxed somewhat after seeing him, + especially as he now perceived that Soames alone was represented by silk. + </p> + <p> + Waterbuck, Q.C., had barely screwed round on his elbow to chat with his + Junior before Mr. Justice Bentham himself appeared—a thin, rather + hen-like man, with a little stoop, clean-shaven under his snowy wig. Like + all the rest of the court, Waterbuck rose, and remained on his feet until + the judge was seated. James rose but slightly; he was already comfortable, + and had no opinion of Bentham, having sat next but one to him at dinner + twice at the Bumley Tomms’. Bumley Tomm was rather a poor thing, + though he had been so successful. James himself had given him his first + brief. He was excited, too, for he had just found out that Bosinney was + not in court. + </p> + <p> + “Now, what’s he mean by that?” he kept on thinking. + </p> + <p> + The case having been called on, Waterbuck, Q.C., pushing back his papers, + hitched his gown on his shoulder, and, with a semi-circular look around + him, like a man who is going to bat, arose and addressed the Court. + </p> + <p> + The facts, he said, were not in dispute, and all that his Lordship would + be asked was to interpret the correspondence which had taken place between + his client and the defendant, an architect, with reference to the + decoration of a house. He would, however, submit that this correspondence + could only mean one very plain thing. After briefly reciting the history + of the house at Robin Hill, which he described as a mansion, and the + actual facts of expenditure, he went on as follows: + </p> + <p> + “My client, Mr. Soames Forsyte, is a gentleman, a man of property, + who would be the last to dispute any legitimate claim that might be made + against him, but he has met with such treatment from his architect in the + matter of this house, over which he has, as your lordship has heard, + already spent some twelve—some twelve thousand pounds, a sum + considerably in advance of the amount he had originally contemplated, that + as a matter of principle—and this I cannot too strongly emphasize—as + a matter of principle, and in the interests of others, he has felt himself + compelled to bring this action. The point put forward in defence by the + architect I will suggest to your lordship is not worthy of a moment’s + serious consideration.” He then read the correspondence. + </p> + <p> + His client, “a man of recognised position,” was prepared to go + into the box, and to swear that he never did authorize, that it was never + in his mind to authorize, the expenditure of any money beyond the extreme + limit of twelve thousand and fifty pounds, which he had clearly fixed; and + not further to waste the time of the court, he would at once call Mr. + Forsyte. + </p> + <p> + Soames then went into the box. His whole appearance was striking in its + composure. His face, just supercilious enough, pale and clean-shaven, with + a little line between the eyes, and compressed lips; his dress in + unostentatious order, one hand neatly gloved, the other bare. He answered + the questions put to him in a somewhat low, but distinct voice. His + evidence under cross-examination savoured of taciturnity. + </p> + <p> + Had he not used the expression, “a free hand”? No. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come!” + </p> + <p> + The expression he had used was “a free hand in the terms of this + correspondence.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you tell the Court that that was English?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say it means?” + </p> + <p> + “What it says!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you prepared to deny that it is a contradiction in terms?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not an Irishman?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you a well-educated man?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you persist in that statement?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Throughout this and much more cross-examination, which turned again and + again around the “nice point,” James sat with his hand behind + his ear, his eyes fixed upon his son. + </p> + <p> + He was proud of him! He could not but feel that in similar circumstances + he himself would have been tempted to enlarge his replies, but his + instinct told him that this taciturnity was the very thing. He sighed with + relief, however, when Soames, slowly turning, and without any change of + expression, descended from the box. + </p> + <p> + When it came to the turn of Bosinney’s Counsel to address the Judge, + James redoubled his attention, and he searched the Court again and again + to see if Bosinney were not somewhere concealed. + </p> + <p> + Young Chankery began nervously; he was placed by Bosinney’s absence + in an awkward position. He therefore did his best to turn that absence to + account. + </p> + <p> + He could not but fear—he said—that his client had met with an + accident. He had fully expected him there to give evidence; they had sent + round that morning both to Mr. Bosinney’s office and to his rooms + (though he knew they were one and the same, he thought it was as well not + to say so), but it was not known where he was, and this he considered to + be ominous, knowing how anxious Mr. Bosinney had been to give his + evidence. He had not, however, been instructed to apply for an + adjournment, and in default of such instruction he conceived it his duty + to go on. The plea on which he somewhat confidently relied, and which his + client, had he not unfortunately been prevented in some way from + attending, would have supported by his evidence, was that such an + expression as a “free hand” could not be limited, fettered, + and rendered unmeaning, by any verbiage which might follow it. He would go + further and say that the correspondence showed that whatever he might have + said in his evidence, Mr. Forsyte had in fact never contemplated + repudiating liability on any of the work ordered or executed by his + architect. The defendant had certainly never contemplated such a + contingency, or, as was demonstrated by his letters, he would never have + proceeded with the work—a work of extreme delicacy, carried out with + great care and efficiency, to meet and satisfy the fastidious taste of a + connoisseur, a rich man, a man of property. He felt strongly on this + point, and feeling strongly he used, perhaps, rather strong words when he + said that this action was of a most unjustifiable, unexpected, indeed—unprecedented + character. If his Lordship had had the opportunity that he himself had + made it his duty to take, to go over this very fine house and see the + great delicacy and beauty of the decorations executed by his client—an + artist in his most honourable profession—he felt convinced that not + for one moment would his Lordship tolerate this, he would use no stronger + word than daring attempt to evade legitimate responsibility. + </p> + <p> + Taking the text of Soames’s letters, he lightly touched on “Boileau + <i>v</i>. The Blasted Cement Company, Limited.” “It is doubtful,” + he said, “what that authority has decided; in any case I would + submit that it is just as much in my favour as in my friend’s.” + He then argued the “nice point” closely. With all due + deference he submitted that Mr. Forsyte’s expression nullified + itself. His client not being a rich man, the matter was a serious one for + him; he was a very talented architect, whose professional reputation was + undoubtedly somewhat at stake. He concluded with a perhaps too personal + appeal to the Judge, as a lover of the arts, to show himself the protector + of artists, from what was occasionally—he said occasionally—the + too iron hand of capital. “What,” he said, “will be the + position of the artistic professions, if men of property like this Mr. + Forsyte refuse, and are allowed to refuse, to carry out the obligations of + the commissions which they have given.” He would now call his + client, in case he should at the last moment have found himself able to be + present. + </p> + <p> + The name Philip Baynes Bosinney was called three times by the Ushers, and + the sound of the calling echoed with strange melancholy throughout the + Court and Galleries. + </p> + <p> + The crying of this name, to which no answer was returned, had upon James a + curious effect: it was like calling for your lost dog about the streets. + And the creepy feeling that it gave him, of a man missing, grated on his + sense of comfort and security—on his cosiness. Though he could not have + said why, it made him feel uneasy. + </p> + <p> + He looked now at the clock—a quarter to three! It would be all over + in a quarter of an hour. Where could the young fellow be? + </p> + <p> + It was only when Mr. Justice Bentham delivered judgment that he got over + the turn he had received. + </p> + <p> + Behind the wooden erection, by which he was fenced from more ordinary + mortals, the learned Judge leaned forward. The electric light, just turned + on above his head, fell on his face, and mellowed it to an orange hue + beneath the snowy crown of his wig; the amplitude of his robes grew before + the eye; his whole figure, facing the comparative dusk of the Court, + radiated like some majestic and sacred body. He cleared his throat, took a + sip of water, broke the nib of a quill against the desk, and, folding his + bony hands before him, began. + </p> + <p> + To James he suddenly loomed much larger than he had ever thought Bentham + would loom. It was the majesty of the law; and a person endowed with a + nature far less matter-of-fact than that of James might have been excused + for failing to pierce this halo, and disinter therefrom the somewhat + ordinary Forsyte, who walked and talked in every-day life under the name + of Sir Walter Bentham. + </p> + <p> + He delivered judgment in the following words: + </p> + <p> + “The facts in this case are not in dispute. On May 15 last the + defendant wrote to the plaintiff, requesting to be allowed to withdraw + from his professional position in regard to the decoration of the + plaintiff’s house, unless he were given ‘a free hand.’ + The plaintiff, on May 17, wrote back as follows: ‘In giving you, in + accordance with your request, this free hand, I wish you to clearly + understand that the total cost of the house as handed over to me + completely decorated, inclusive of your fee (as arranged between us) must + not exceed twelve thousand pounds.’ To this letter the defendant + replied on May 18: ‘If you think that in such a delicate matter as + decoration I can bind myself to the exact pound, I am afraid you are + mistaken.’ On May 19 the plaintiff wrote as follows: ‘I did + not mean to say that if you should exceed the sum named in my letter to + you by ten or twenty or even fifty pounds there would be any difficulty + between us. You have a free hand in the terms of this correspondence, and + I hope you will see your way to completing the decorations.’ On May + 20 the defendant replied thus shortly: ‘Very well.’ + </p> + <p> + “In completing these decorations, the defendant incurred liabilities + and expenses which brought the total cost of this house up to the sum of + twelve thousand four hundred pounds, all of which expenditure has been + defrayed by the plaintiff. This action has been brought by the plaintiff + to recover from the defendant the sum of three hundred and fifty pounds + expended by him in excess of a sum of twelve thousand and fifty pounds, + alleged by the plaintiff to have been fixed by this correspondence as the + maximum sum that the defendant had authority to expend. + </p> + <p> + “The question for me to decide is whether or no the defendant is + liable to refund to the plaintiff this sum. In my judgment he is so + liable. + </p> + <p> + “What in effect the plaintiff has said is this ‘I give you a + free hand to complete these decorations, provided that you keep within a + total cost to me of twelve thousand pounds. If you exceed that sum by as + much as fifty pounds, I will not hold you responsible; beyond that point + you are no agent of mine, and I shall repudiate liability.’ It is + not quite clear to me whether, had the plaintiff in fact repudiated + liability under his agent’s contracts, he would, under all the + circumstances, have been successful in so doing; but he has not adopted + this course. He has accepted liability, and fallen back upon his rights + against the defendant under the terms of the latter’s engagement. + </p> + <p> + “In my judgment the plaintiff is entitled to recover this sum from + the defendant. + </p> + <p> + “It has been sought, on behalf of the defendant, to show that no + limit of expenditure was fixed or intended to be fixed by this + correspondence. If this were so, I can find no reason for the plaintiff’s + importation into the correspondence of the figures of twelve thousand + pounds and subsequently of fifty pounds. The defendant’s contention + would render these figures meaningless. It is manifest to me that by his + letter of May 20 he assented to a very clear proposition, by the terms of + which he must be held to be bound. + </p> + <p> + “For these reasons there will be judgment for the plaintiff for the + amount claimed with costs.” + </p> + <p> + James sighed, and stooping, picked up his umbrella which had fallen with a + rattle at the words “importation into this correspondence.” + </p> + <p> + Untangling his legs, he rapidly left the Court; without waiting for his + son, he snapped up a hansom cab (it was a clear, grey afternoon) and drove + straight to Timothy’s where he found Swithin; and to him, Mrs. + Septimus Small, and Aunt Hester, he recounted the whole proceedings, + eating two muffins not altogether in the intervals of speech. + </p> + <p> + “Soames did very well,” he ended; “he’s got his + head screwed on the right way. This won’t please Jolyon. It’s + a bad business for that young Bosinney; he’ll go bankrupt, I shouldn’t + wonder,” and then after a long pause, during which he had stared + disquietly into the fire, he added: + </p> + <p> + “He wasn’t there—now why?” + </p> + <p> + There was a sound of footsteps. The figure of a thick-set man, with the + ruddy brown face of robust health, was seen in the back drawing-room. The + forefinger of his upraised hand was outlined against the black of his + frock coat. He spoke in a grudging voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, James,” he said, “I can’t—I can’t + stop,” and turning round, he walked out. + </p> + <p> + It was Timothy. + </p> + <p> + James rose from his chair. “There!” he said, “there! I + knew there was something wro....” He checked himself, and was + silent, staring before him, as though he had seen a portent. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"></a> + CHAPTER VI<br/>SOAMES BREAKS THE NEWS + </h2> + <p> + In leaving the Court Soames did not go straight home. He felt disinclined + for the City, and drawn by need for sympathy in his triumph, he, too, made + his way, but slowly and on foot, to Timothy’s in the Bayswater Road. + </p> + <p> + His father had just left; Mrs. Small and Aunt Hester, in possession of the + whole story, greeted him warmly. They were sure he was hungry after all + that evidence. Smither should toast him some more muffins, his dear father + had eaten them all. He must put his legs up on the sofa; and he must have + a glass of prune brandy too. It was so strengthening. + </p> + <p> + Swithin was still present, having lingered later than his wont, for he + felt in want of exercise. On hearing this suggestion, he “pished.” + A pretty pass young men were coming to! His own liver was out of order, + and he could not bear the thought of anyone else drinking prune brandy. + </p> + <p> + He went away almost immediately, saying to Soames: “And how’s + your wife? You tell her from me that if she’s dull, and likes to + come and dine with me quietly, I’ll give her such a bottle of + champagne as she doesn’t get every day.” Staring down from his + height on Soames he contracted his thick, puffy, yellow hand as though + squeezing within it all this small fry, and throwing out his chest he + waddled slowly away. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Small and Aunt Hester were left horrified. Swithin was so droll! + </p> + <p> + They themselves were longing to ask Soames how Irene would take the + result, yet knew that they must not; he would perhaps say something of his + own accord, to throw some light on this, the present burning question in + their lives, the question that from necessity of silence tortured them + almost beyond bearing; for even Timothy had now been told, and the effect + on his health was little short of alarming. And what, too, would June do? + This, also, was a most exciting, if dangerous speculation! + </p> + <p> + They had never forgotten old Jolyon’s visit, since when he had not + once been to see them; they had never forgotten the feeling it gave all + who were present, that the family was no longer what it had been—that + the family was breaking up. + </p> + <p> + But Soames gave them no help, sitting with his knees crossed, talking of + the Barbizon school of painters, whom he had just discovered. These were + the coming men, he said; he should not wonder if a lot of money were made + over them; he had his eye on two pictures by a man called Corot, charming + things; if he could get them at a reasonable price he was going to buy + them—they would, he thought, fetch a big price some day. + </p> + <p> + Interested as they could not but be, neither Mrs. Septimus Small nor Aunt + Hester could entirely acquiesce in being thus put off. + </p> + <p> + It was interesting—most interesting—and then Soames was so + clever that they were sure he would do something with those pictures if + anybody could; but what was his plan now that he had won his case; was he + going to leave London at once, and live in the country, or what was he + going to do? + </p> + <p> + Soames answered that he did not know, he thought they should be moving + soon. He rose and kissed his aunts. + </p> + <p> + No sooner had Aunt Juley received this emblem of departure than a change + came over her, as though she were being visited by dreadful courage; every + little roll of flesh on her face seemed trying to escape from an + invisible, confining mask. + </p> + <p> + She rose to the full extent of her more than medium height, and said: + “It has been on my mind a long time, dear, and if nobody else will + tell you, I have made up my mind that....” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hester interrupted her: “Mind, Julia, you do it....” she + gasped—“on your own responsibility!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Small went on as though she had not heard: “I think you <i>ought</i> + to know, dear, that Mrs. MacAnder saw Irene walking in Richmond Park with + Mr. Bosinney.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hester, who had also risen, sank back in her chair, and turned her + face away. Really Juley was too—she should not do such things when + she—Aunt Hester, was in the room; and, breathless with anticipation, + she waited for what Soames would answer. + </p> + <p> + He had flushed the peculiar flush which always centred between his eyes; + lifting his hand, and, as it were, selecting a finger, he bit a nail + delicately; then, drawling it out between set lips, he said: “Mrs. + MacAnder is a cat!” + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for any reply, he left the room. + </p> + <p> + When he went into Timothy’s he had made up his mind what course to + pursue on getting home. He would go up to Irene and say: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve won my case, and there’s an end of it! I don’t + want to be hard on Bosinney; I’ll see if we can’t come to some + arrangement; he shan’t be pressed. And now let’s turn over a + new leaf! We’ll let the house, and get out of these fogs. We’ll + go down to Robin Hill at once. I—I never meant to be rough with you! + Let’s shake hands—and—” Perhaps she would let him + kiss her, and forget! + </p> + <p> + When he came out of Timothy’s his intentions were no longer so + simple. The smouldering jealousy and suspicion of months blazed up within + him. He would put an end to that sort of thing once and for all; he would + not have her drag his name in the dirt! If she could not or would not love + him, as was her duty and his right—she should not play him tricks + with anyone else! He would tax her with it; threaten to divorce her! That + would make her behave; she would never face that. But—but—what + if she did? He was staggered; this had not occurred to him. + </p> + <p> + What if she did? What if she made him a confession? How would he stand + then? He would have to bring a divorce! + </p> + <p> + A divorce! Thus close, the word was paralyzing, so utterly at variance + with all the principles that had hitherto guided his life. Its lack of + compromise appalled him; he felt—like the captain of a ship, going + to the side of his vessel, and, with his own hands throwing over the most + precious of his bales. This jettisoning of his property with his own hand + seemed uncanny to Soames. It would injure him in his profession: He would + have to get rid of the house at Robin Hill, on which he had spent so much + money, so much anticipation—and at a sacrifice. And she! She would + no longer belong to him, not even in name! She would pass out of his life, + and he—he should never see her again! + </p> + <p> + He traversed in the cab the length of a street without getting beyond the + thought that he should never see her again! + </p> + <p> + But perhaps there was nothing to confess, even now very likely there was + nothing to confess. Was it wise to push things so far? Was it wise to put + himself into a position where he might have to eat his words? The result + of this case would ruin Bosinney; a ruined man was desperate, but—what + could he do? He might go abroad, ruined men always went abroad. What could + <i>they</i> do—if indeed it <i>was</i> “<i>they</i>”—without money? It + would be better to wait and see how things turned out. If necessary, he + could have her watched. The agony of his jealousy (for all the world like + the crisis of an aching tooth) came on again; and he almost cried out. But + he must decide, fix on some course of action before he got home. When the + cab drew up at the door, he had decided nothing. + </p> + <p> + He entered, pale, his hands moist with perspiration, dreading to meet her, + burning to meet her, ignorant of what he was to say or do. + </p> + <p> + The maid Bilson was in the hall, and in answer to his question: “Where + is your mistress?” told him that Mrs. Forsyte had left the house + about noon, taking with her a trunk and bag. + </p> + <p> + Snatching the sleeve of his fur coat away from her grasp, he confronted + her: + </p> + <p> + “What?” he exclaimed; “what’s that you said?” + Suddenly recollecting that he must not betray emotion, he added: “What + message did she leave?” and noticed with secret terror the startled + look of the maid’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Forsyte left no message, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “No message; very well, thank you, that will do. I shall be dining + out.” + </p> + <p> + The maid went downstairs, leaving him still in his fur coat, idly turning + over the visiting cards in the porcelain bowl that stood on the carved oak + rug chest in the hall. + </p> + <p class="letter"> + Mr. and Mrs. Bareham Culcher.<br/> + Mrs. Septimus Small.<br/> + Mrs. Baynes.<br/> + Mr. Solomon Thornworthy.<br/> + Lady Bellis.<br/> + Miss Hermione Bellis.<br/> + Miss Winifred Bellis.<br/> + Miss Ella Bellis. + </p> + <p> + Who the devil were all these people? He seemed to have forgotten all + familiar things. The words “no message—a trunk, and a bag,” + played a hide-and-seek in his brain. It was incredible that she had left + no message, and, still in his fur coat, he ran upstairs two steps at a + time, as a young married man when he comes home will run up to his wife’s + room. + </p> + <p> + Everything was dainty, fresh, sweet-smelling; everything in perfect order. + On the great bed with its lilac silk quilt, was the bag she had made and + embroidered with her own hands to hold her sleeping things; her slippers + ready at the foot; the sheets even turned over at the head as though + expecting her. + </p> + <p> + On the table stood the silver-mounted brushes and bottles from her + dressing bag, his own present. There must, then, be some mistake. What bag + had she taken? He went to the bell to summon Bilson, but remembered in + time that he must assume knowledge of where Irene had gone, take it all as + a matter of course, and grope out the meaning for himself. + </p> + <p> + He locked the doors, and tried to think, but felt his brain going round; + and suddenly tears forced themselves into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Hurriedly pulling off his coat, he looked at himself in the mirror. + </p> + <p> + He was too pale, a greyish tinge all over his face; he poured out water, + and began feverishly washing. + </p> + <p> + Her silver-mounted brushes smelt faintly of the perfumed lotion she used + for her hair; and at this scent the burning sickness of his jealousy + seized him again. + </p> + <p> + Struggling into his fur, he ran downstairs and out into the street. + </p> + <p> + He had not lost all command of himself, however, and as he went down + Sloane Street he framed a story for use, in case he should not find her at + Bosinney’s. But if he should? His power of decision again failed; he + reached the house without knowing what he should do if he did find her + there. + </p> + <p> + It was after office hours, and the street door was closed; the woman who + opened it could not say whether Mr. Bosinney were in or no; she had not + seen him that day, not for two or three days; she did not attend to him + now, nobody attended to him, he.... + </p> + <p> + Soames interrupted her, he would go up and see for himself. He went up + with a dogged, white face. + </p> + <p> + The top floor was unlighted, the door closed, no one answered his ringing, + he could hear no sound. He was obliged to descend, shivering under his + fur, a chill at his heart. Hailing a cab, he told the man to drive to Park + Lane. + </p> + <p> + On the way he tried to recollect when he had last given her a cheque; she + could not have more than three or four pounds, but there were her jewels; + and with exquisite torture he remembered how much money she could raise on + these; enough to take them abroad; enough for them to live on for months! + He tried to calculate; the cab stopped, and he got out with the + calculation unmade. + </p> + <p> + The butler asked whether Mrs. Soames was in the cab, the master had told + him they were both expected to dinner. + </p> + <p> + Soames answered: “No. Mrs. Forsyte has a cold.” + </p> + <p> + The butler was sorry. + </p> + <p> + Soames thought he was looking at him inquisitively, and remembering that + he was not in dress clothes, asked: “Anybody here to dinner, + Warmson?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody but Mr. and Mrs. Dartie, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Again it seemed to Soames that the butler was looking curiously at him. + His composure gave way. + </p> + <p> + “What are you looking at?” he said. “What’s the + matter with me, eh?” + </p> + <p> + The butler blushed, hung up the fur coat, murmured something that sounded + like: “Nothing, sir, I’m sure, sir,” and stealthily + withdrew. + </p> + <p> + Soames walked upstairs. Passing the drawing-room without a look, he went + straight up to his mother’s and father’s bedroom. + </p> + <p> + James, standing sideways, the concave lines of his tall, lean figure + displayed to advantage in shirt-sleeves and evening waistcoat, his head + bent, the end of his white tie peeping askew from underneath one white + Dundreary whisker, his eyes peering with intense concentration, his lips + pouting, was hooking the top hooks of his wife’s bodice. Soames + stopped; he felt half-choked, whether because he had come upstairs too + fast, or for some other reason. He—he himself had never—never + been asked to.... + </p> + <p> + He heard his father’s voice, as though there were a pin in his + mouth, saying: “Who’s that? Who’s there? What d’you + want?” His mother’s: “Here, Félice, come and hook this; + your master’ll never get done.” + </p> + <p> + He put his hand up to his throat, and said hoarsely: + </p> + <p> + “It’s I—Soames!” + </p> + <p> + He noticed gratefully the affectionate surprise in Emily’s: “Well, + my dear boy?” and James’, as he dropped the hook: “What, + Soames! What’s brought you up? Aren’t you well?” + </p> + <p> + He answered mechanically: “I’m all right,” and looked at + them, and it seemed impossible to bring out his news. + </p> + <p> + James, quick to take alarm, began: “You don’t look well. I + expect you’ve taken a chill—it’s liver, I shouldn’t + wonder. Your mother’ll give you....” + </p> + <p> + But Emily broke in quietly: “Have you brought Irene?” + </p> + <p> + Soames shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he stammered, “she—she’s left me!” + </p> + <p> + Emily deserted the mirror before which she was standing. Her tall, full + figure lost its majesty and became very human as she came running over to + Soames. + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy! My <i>dear</i> boy!” + </p> + <p> + She put her lips to his forehead, and stroked his hand. + </p> + <p> + James, too, had turned full towards his son; his face looked older. + </p> + <p> + “Left you?” he said. “What d’you mean—left + you? You never told me she was going to leave you.” + </p> + <p> + Soames answered surlily: “How could I tell? What’s to be done?” + </p> + <p> + James began walking up and down; he looked strange and stork-like without + a coat. “What’s to be done!” he muttered. “How + should I know what’s to be done? What’s the good of asking me? + Nobody tells me anything, and then they come and ask me what’s to be + done; and I should like to know how I’m to tell them! Here’s + your mother, there she stands; <i>she</i> doesn’t say anything. What <i>I</i> + should say you’ve got to do is to follow her..” + </p> + <p> + Soames smiled; his peculiar, supercilious smile had never before looked + pitiable. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know where she’s gone,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know where she’s gone!” said James. “How + d’you mean, don’t know where she’s gone? Where d’you + suppose she’s gone? She’s gone after that young Bosinney, that’s + where she’s gone. I knew how it would be.” + </p> + <p> + Soames, in the long silence that followed, felt his mother pressing his + hand. And all that passed seemed to pass as though his own power of + thinking or doing had gone to sleep. + </p> + <p> + His father’s face, dusky red, twitching as if he were going to cry, + and words breaking out that seemed rent from him by some spasm in his + soul. + </p> + <p> + “There’ll be a scandal; I always said so.” Then, no one + saying anything: “And there you stand, you and your mother!” + </p> + <p> + And Emily’s voice, calm, rather contemptuous: “Come, now, + James! Soames will do all that he can.” + </p> + <p> + And James, staring at the floor, a little brokenly: “Well, I can’t + help you; I’m getting old. Don’t you be in too great a hurry, + my boy.” + </p> + <p> + And his mother’s voice again: “Soames will do all he can to + get her back. We won’t talk of it. It’ll all come right, I + dare say.” + </p> + <p> + And James: “Well, I can’t see how it can come right. And if + she hasn’t gone off with that young Bosinney, my advice to you is + not to listen to her, but to follow her and get her back.” + </p> + <p> + Once more Soames felt his mother stroking his hand, in token of her + approval, and as though repeating some form of sacred oath, he muttered + between his teeth: “I will!” + </p> + <p> + All three went down to the drawing-room together. There, were gathered the + three girls and Dartie; had Irene been present, the family circle would + have been complete. + </p> + <p> + James sank into his armchair, and except for a word of cold greeting to + Dartie, whom he both despised and dreaded, as a man likely to be always in + want of money, he said nothing till dinner was announced. Soames, too, was + silent; Emily alone, a woman of cool courage, maintained a conversation + with Winifred on trivial subjects. She was never more composed in her + manner and conversation than that evening. + </p> + <p> + A decision having been come to not to speak of Irene’s flight, no + view was expressed by any other member of the family as to the right + course to be pursued; there can be little doubt, from the general tone + adopted in relation to events as they afterwards turned out, that James’s + advice: “Don’t you listen to her, follow her and get her back!” + would, with here and there an exception, have been regarded as sound, not + only in Park Lane, but amongst the Nicholases, the Rogers, and at Timothy’s. + Just as it would surely have been endorsed by that wider body of Forsytes + all over London, who were merely excluded from judgment by ignorance of + the story. + </p> + <p> + In spite then of Emily’s efforts, the dinner was served by Warmson + and the footman almost in silence. Dartie was sulky, and drank all he + could get; the girls seldom talked to each other at any time. James asked + once where June was, and what she was doing with herself in these days. No + one could tell him. He sank back into gloom. Only when Winifred recounted + how little Publius had given his bad penny to a beggar, did he brighten + up. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said, “that’s a clever little chap. I don’t + know what’ll become of him, if he goes on like this. An intelligent + little chap, I call him!” But it was only a flash. + </p> + <p> + The courses succeeded one another solemnly, under the electric light, + which glared down onto the table, but barely reached the principal + ornament of the walls, a so-called “Sea Piece by Turner,” + almost entirely composed of cordage and drowning men. + </p> + <p> + Champagne was handed, and then a bottle of James’ prehistoric port, + but as by the chill hand of some skeleton. + </p> + <p> + At ten o’clock Soames left; twice in reply to questions, he had said + that Irene was not well; he felt he could no longer trust himself. His + mother kissed him with her large soft kiss, and he pressed her hand, a + flush of warmth in his cheeks. He walked away in the cold wind, which + whistled desolately round the corners of the streets, under a sky of clear + steel-blue, alive with stars; he noticed neither their frosty greeting, + nor the crackle of the curled-up plane-leaves, nor the night-women + hurrying in their shabby furs, nor the pinched faces of vagabonds at + street corners. Winter was come! But Soames hastened home, oblivious; his + hands trembled as he took the late letters from the gilt wire cage into + which they had been thrust through the slit in the door. + </p> + <p> + None from Irene! + </p> + <p> + He went into the dining-room; the fire was bright there, his chair drawn + up to it, slippers ready, spirit case, and carven cigarette box on the + table; but after staring at it all for a minute or two, he turned out the + light and went upstairs. There was a fire too in his dressing-room, but + her room was dark and cold. It was into this room that Soames went. + </p> + <p> + He made a great illumination with candles, and for a long time continued + pacing up and down between the bed and the door. He could not get used to + the thought that she had really left him, and as though still searching + for some message, some reason, some reading of all the mystery of his + married life, he began opening every recess and drawer. + </p> + <p> + There were her dresses; he had always liked, indeed insisted, that she + should be well-dressed—she had taken very few; two or three at most, + and drawer after drawer; full of linen and silk things, was untouched. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps after all it was only a freak, and she had gone to the seaside for + a few days’ change. If only that were so, and she were really coming + back, he would never again do as he had done that fatal night before last, + never again run that risk—though it was her duty, her duty as a + wife; though she did belong to him—he would never again run that + risk; she was evidently not quite right in her head! + </p> + <p> + He stooped over the drawer where she kept her jewels; it was not locked, + and came open as he pulled; the jewel box had the key in it. This + surprised him until he remembered that it was sure to be empty. He opened + it. + </p> + <p> + It was far from empty. Divided, in little green velvet compartments, were + all the things he had given her, even her watch, and stuck into the recess + that contained the watch was a three-cornered note addressed “Soames + Forsyte,” in Irene’s handwriting: + </p> + <p> + “I think I have taken nothing that you or your people have given me.” + And that was all. + </p> + <p> + He looked at the clasps and bracelets of diamonds and pearls, at the + little flat gold watch with a great diamond set in sapphires, at the + chains and rings, each in its nest, and the tears rushed up in his eyes + and dropped upon them. + </p> + <p> + Nothing that she could have done, nothing that she <i>had</i> done, brought home + to him like this the inner significance of her act. For the moment, + perhaps, he understood nearly all there was to understand—understood + that she loathed him, that she had loathed him for years, that for all + intents and purposes they were like people living in different worlds, + that there was no hope for him, never had been; even, that she had + suffered—that she was to be pitied. + </p> + <p> + In that moment of emotion he betrayed the Forsyte in him—forgot + himself, his interests, his property—was capable of almost anything; + was lifted into the pure ether of the selfless and unpractical. + </p> + <p> + Such moments pass quickly. + </p> + <p> + And as though with the tears he had purged himself of weakness, he got up, + locked the box, and slowly, almost trembling, carried it with him into the + other room. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"></a> + CHAPTER VII<br/>JUNE’S VICTORY + </h2> + <p> + June had waited for her chance, scanning the duller columns of the + journals, morning and evening with an assiduity which at first puzzled old + Jolyon; and when her chance came, she took it with all the promptitude and + resolute tenacity of her character. + </p> + <p> + She will always remember best in her life that morning when at last she + saw amongst the reliable Cause List of the <i>Times</i> newspaper, under the + heading of Court XIII, Mr. Justice Bentham, the case of Forsyte <i>v</i>. + Bosinney. + </p> + <p> + Like a gambler who stakes his last piece of money, she had prepared to + hazard her all upon this throw; it was not her nature to contemplate + defeat. How, unless with the instinct of a woman in love, she knew that + Bosinney’s discomfiture in this action was assured, cannot be told—on + this assumption, however, she laid her plans, as upon a certainty. + </p> + <p> + Half past eleven found her at watch in the gallery of Court XIII., and + there she remained till the case of Forsyte <i>v</i>. Bosinney was over. Bosinney’s + absence did not disquiet her; she had felt instinctively that he would not + defend himself. At the end of the judgment she hastened down, and took a + cab to his rooms. + </p> + <p> + She passed the open street-door and the offices on the three lower floors + without attracting notice; not till she reached the top did her + difficulties begin. + </p> + <p> + Her ring was not answered; she had now to make up her mind whether she + would go down and ask the caretaker in the basement to let her in to await + Mr. Bosinney’s return, or remain patiently outside the door, + trusting that no one would come up. She decided on the latter course. + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour had passed in freezing vigil on the landing, before + it occurred to her that Bosinney had been used to leave the key of his + rooms under the door-mat. She looked and found it there. For some minutes + she could not decide to make use of it; at last she let herself in and + left the door open that anyone who came might see she was there on + business. + </p> + <p> + This was not the same June who had paid the trembling visit five months + ago; those months of suffering and restraint had made her less sensitive; + she had dwelt on this visit so long, with such minuteness, that its + terrors were discounted beforehand. She was not there to fail this time, + for if she failed no one could help her. + </p> + <p> + Like some mother beast on the watch over her young, her little quick + figure never stood still in that room, but wandered from wall to wall, + from window to door, fingering now one thing, now another. There was dust + everywhere, the room could not have been cleaned for weeks, and June, + quick to catch at anything that should buoy up her hope, saw in it a sign + that he had been obliged, for economy’s sake, to give up his + servant. + </p> + <p> + She looked into the bedroom; the bed was roughly made, as though by the + hand of man. Listening intently, she darted in, and peered into his + cupboards. A few shirts and collars, a pair of muddy boots—the room + was bare even of garments. + </p> + <p> + She stole back to the sitting-room, and now she noticed the absence of all + the little things he had set store by. The clock that had been his mother’s, + the field-glasses that had hung over the sofa; two really valuable old + prints of Harrow, where his father had been at school, and last, not + least, the piece of Japanese pottery she herself had given him. All were + gone; and in spite of the rage roused within her championing soul at the + thought that the world should treat him thus, their disappearance augured + happily for the success of her plan. + </p> + <p> + It was while looking at the spot where the piece of Japanese pottery had + stood that she felt a strange certainty of being watched, and, turning, + saw Irene in the open doorway. + </p> + <p> + The two stood gazing at each other for a minute in silence; then June + walked forward and held out her hand. Irene did not take it. + </p> + <p> + When her hand was refused, June put it behind her. Her eyes grew steady + with anger; she waited for Irene to speak; and thus waiting, took in, with + who-knows-what rage of jealousy, suspicion, and curiosity, every detail of + her friend’s face and dress and figure. + </p> + <p> + Irene was clothed in her long grey fur; the travelling cap on her head + left a wave of gold hair visible above her forehead. The soft fullness of + the coat made her face as small as a child’s. + </p> + <p> + Unlike Jun’s cheeks, her cheeks had no colour in them, but were + ivory white and pinched as if with cold. Dark circles lay round her eyes. + In one hand she held a bunch of violets. + </p> + <p> + She looked back at June, no smile on her lips; and with those great dark + eyes fastened on her, the girl, for all her startled anger, felt something + of the old spell. + </p> + <p> + She spoke first, after all. + </p> + <p> + “What have you come for?” But the feeling that she herself was + being asked the same question, made her add: “This horrible case. I + came to tell him—he has lost it.” + </p> + <p> + Irene did not speak, her eyes never moved from Jun’s face, and the + girl cried: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t stand there as if you were made of stone!” + </p> + <p> + Irene laughed: “I wish to God I were!” + </p> + <p> + But June turned away: “Stop!” she cried, “don’t + tell me! I don’t want to hear! I don’t want to hear what you’ve + come for. I don’t want to hear!” And like some uneasy spirit, + she began swiftly walking to and fro. Suddenly she broke out: + </p> + <p> + “I was here first. We can’t both stay here together!” + </p> + <p> + On Irene’s face a smile wandered up, and died out like a flicker of + firelight. She did not move. And then it was that June perceived under the + softness and immobility of this figure something desperate and resolved; + something not to be turned away, something dangerous. She tore off her + hat, and, putting both hands to her brow, pressed back the bronze mass of + her hair. + </p> + <p> + “You have no right here!” she cried defiantly. + </p> + <p> + Irene answered: “I have no right anywhere——” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I have left Soames. You always wanted me to!” + </p> + <p> + June put her hands over her ears. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t! I don’t want to hear anything—I don’t + want to know anything. It’s impossible to fight with you! What makes + you stand like that? Why don’t you go?” + </p> + <p> + Irene’s lips moved; she seemed to be saying: “Where should I + go?” + </p> + <p> + June turned to the window. She could see the face of a clock down in the + street. It was nearly four. At any moment he might come! She looked back + across her shoulder, and her face was distorted with anger. + </p> + <p> + But Irene had not moved; in her gloved hands she ceaselessly turned and + twisted the little bunch of violets. + </p> + <p> + The tears of rage and disappointment rolled down Jun’s cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “How <i>could</i> you come?” she said. “You have been a false + friend to me!” + </p> + <p> + Again Irene laughed. June saw that she had played a wrong card, and broke + down. + </p> + <p> + “Why have you come?” she sobbed. “You’ve ruined my + life, and now you want to ruin his!” + </p> + <p> + Irene’s mouth quivered; her eyes met Jun’s with a look so + mournful that the girl cried out in the midst of her sobbing, “No, + no!” + </p> + <p> + But Irene’s head bent till it touched her breast. She turned, and + went quickly out, hiding her lips with the little bunch of violets. + </p> + <p> + June ran to the door. She heard the footsteps going down and down. She + called out: “Come back, Irene! Come back!” + </p> + <p> + The footsteps died away.... + </p> + <p> + Bewildered and torn, the girl stood at the top of the stairs. Why had + Irene gone, leaving her mistress of the field? What did it mean? Had she + really given him up to her? Or had she...? And she was the prey of a + gnawing uncertainty.... Bosinney did not come.... + </p> + <p> + About six o’clock that afternoon old Jolyon returned from Wistaria + Avenue, where now almost every day he spent some hours, and asked if his + grand-daughter were upstairs. On being told that she had just come in, he + sent up to her room to request her to come down and speak to him. + </p> + <p> + He had made up his mind to tell her that he was reconciled with her + father. In future bygones must be bygones. He would no longer live alone, + or practically alone, in this great house; he was going to give it up, and + take one in the country for his son, where they could all go and live + together. If June did not like this, she could have an allowance and live + by herself. It wouldn’t make much difference to her, for it was a + long time since she had shown him any affection. + </p> + <p> + But when June came down, her face was pinched and piteous; there was a + strained, pathetic look in her eyes. She snuggled up in her old attitude + on the arm of his chair, and what he said compared but poorly with the + clear, authoritative, injured statement he had thought out with much care. + His heart felt sore, as the great heart of a mother-bird feels sore when + its youngling flies and bruises its wing. His words halted, as though he + were apologizing for having at last deviated from the path of virtue, and + succumbed, in defiance of sounder principles, to his more natural + instincts. + </p> + <p> + He seemed nervous lest, in thus announcing his intentions, he should be + setting his granddaughter a bad example; and now that he came to the + point, his way of putting the suggestion that, if she didn’t like + it, she could live by herself and lump it, was delicate in the extreme. + </p> + <p> + “And if, by any chance, my darling,” he said, “you found + you didn’t get on—with them, why, I could make that all right. + You could have what you liked. We could find a little flat in London where + you could set up, and I could be running to continually. But the children,” + he added, “are dear little things!” + </p> + <p> + Then, in the midst of this grave, rather transparent, explanation of + changed policy, his eyes twinkled. “This’ll astonish Timothy’s + weak nerves. That precious young thing will have something to say about + this, or I’m a Dutchman!” + </p> + <p> + June had not yet spoken. Perched thus on the arm of his chair, with her + head above him, her face was invisible. But presently he felt her warm + cheek against his own, and knew that, at all events, there was nothing + very alarming in her attitude towards his news. He began to take courage. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll like your father,” he said—“an + amiable chap. Never was much push about him, but easy to get on with. You’ll + find him artistic and all that.” + </p> + <p> + And old Jolyon bethought him of the dozen or so water-colour drawings all + carefully locked up in his bedroom; for now that his son was going to + become a man of property he did not think them quite such poor things as + heretofore. + </p> + <p> + “As to your—your stepmother,” he said, using the word + with some little difficulty, “I call her a refined woman—a bit + of a Mrs. Gummidge, I shouldn’t wonder—but very fond of Jo. + And the children,” he repeated—indeed, this sentence ran like + music through all his solemn self-justification—“are sweet + little things!” + </p> + <p> + If June had known, those words but reincarnated that tender love for + little children, for the young and weak, which in the past had made him + desert his son for her tiny self, and now, as the cycle rolled, was taking + him from her. + </p> + <p> + But he began to get alarmed at her silence, and asked impatiently: “Well, + what do you say?” + </p> + <p> + June slid down to his knee, and she in her turn began her tale. She + thought it would all go splendidly; she did not see any difficulty, and + she did not care a bit what people thought. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon wriggled. H’m! then people <i>would</i> think! He had thought + that after all these years perhaps they wouldn’t! Well, he couldn’t + help it! Nevertheless, he could not approve of his granddaughter’s + way of putting it—she ought to mind what people thought! + </p> + <p> + Yet he said nothing. His feelings were too mixed, too inconsistent for + expression. + </p> + <p> + No—went on June—she did not care; what business was it of + theirs? There was only one thing—and with her cheek pressing against + his knee, old Jolyon knew at once that this something was no trifle: As he + was going to buy a house in the country, would he not—to please her—buy + that splendid house of Soames’ at Robin Hill? It was finished, it + was perfectly beautiful, and no one would live in it now. They would all + be so happy there. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon was on the alert at once. Wasn’t the “man of + property” going to live in his new house, then? He never alluded to + Soames now but under this title. + </p> + <p> + “No”—June said—“he was not; she knew that he + was not!” + </p> + <p> + How did she know? + </p> + <p> + She could not tell him, but she knew. She knew nearly for certain! It was + most unlikely; circumstances had changed! Irene’s words still rang + in her head: “I have left Soames. Where should I go?” + </p> + <p> + But she kept silence about that. + </p> + <p> + If her grandfather would only buy it and settle that wretched claim that + ought never to have been made on Phil! It would be the very best thing for + everybody, and everything—everything might come straight. + </p> + <p> + And June put her lips to his forehead, and pressed them close. + </p> + <p> + But old Jolyon freed himself from her caress, his face wore the judicial + look which came upon it when he dealt with affairs. He asked: What did she + mean? There was something behind all this—had she been seeing + Bosinney? + </p> + <p> + June answered: “No; but I have been to his rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “Been to his rooms? Who took you there?” + </p> + <p> + June faced him steadily. “I went alone. He has lost that case. I don’t + care whether it was right or wrong. I want to help him; and <i>I will!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon asked again: “Have you seen him?” His glance seemed + to pierce right through the girl’s eyes into her soul. + </p> + <p> + Again June answered: “No; he was not there. I waited, but he did not + come.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon made a movement of relief. She had risen and looked down at + him; so slight, and light, and young, but so fixed, and so determined; and + disturbed, vexed, as he was, he could not frown away that fixed look. The + feeling of being beaten, of the reins having slipped, of being old and + tired, mastered him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said at last, “you’ll get yourself into a + mess one of these days, I can see. You want your own way in everything.” + </p> + <p> + Visited by one of his strange bursts of philosophy, he added: “Like + that you were born; and like that you’ll stay until you die!” + </p> + <p> + And he, who in his dealings with men of business, with Boards, with + Forsytes of all descriptions, with such as were not Forsytes, had always + had his own way, looked at his indomitable grandchild sadly—for he + felt in her that quality which above all others he unconsciously admired. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what they say is going on?” he said slowly. + </p> + <p> + June crimsoned. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—no! I know—and I don’t know—I don’t + care!” and she stamped her foot. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” said old Jolyon, dropping his eyes, “that + you’d have him if he were dead!” + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence before he spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “But as to buying this house—you don’t know what you’re + talking about!” + </p> + <p> + June said that she did. She knew that he could get it if he wanted. He + would only have to give what it cost. + </p> + <p> + “What it cost! You know nothing about it. I won’t go to Soames—I’ll + have nothing more to do with that young man.” + </p> + <p> + “But you needn’t; you can go to Uncle James. If you can’t + buy the house, will you pay his lawsuit claim? I know he is terribly hard + up—I’ve seen it. You can stop it out of my money!” + </p> + <p> + A twinkle came into old Jolyon’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Stop it out of your money! A pretty way. And what will you do, + pray, without your money?” + </p> + <p> + But secretly, the idea of wresting the house from James and his son had + begun to take hold of him. He had heard on Forsyte ’Change much + comment, much rather doubtful praise of this house. It was “too + artistic,” but a fine place. To take from the “man of property” + that on which he had set his heart, would be a crowning triumph over + James, practical proof that he was going to make a man of property of Jo, + to put him back in his proper position, and there to keep him secure. + Justice once for all on those who had chosen to regard his son as a poor, + penniless outcast. + </p> + <p> + He would see, he would see! It might be out of the question; he was not + going to pay a fancy price, but if it could be done, why, perhaps he would + do it! + </p> + <p> + And still more secretly he knew that he could not refuse her. + </p> + <p> + But he did not commit himself. He would think it over—he said to + June. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"></a> + CHAPTER VIII<br/>BOSINNEY’S DEPARTURE + </h2> + <p> + Old Jolyon was not given to hasty decisions; it is probable that he would + have continued to think over the purchase of the house at Robin Hill, had + not Jun’s face told him that he would have no peace until he acted. + </p> + <p> + At breakfast next morning she asked him what time she should order the + carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Carriage!” he said, with some appearance of innocence; + “what for? <i>I’m</i> not going out!” + </p> + <p> + She answered: “If you don’t go early, you won’t catch + Uncle James before he goes into the City.” + </p> + <p> + “James! what about your Uncle James?” + </p> + <p> + “The house,” she replied, in such a voice that he no longer + pretended ignorance. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve not made up my mind,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You must! You must! Oh! Gran—think of me!” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon grumbled out: “Think of you—I’m always + thinking of you, but you don’t think of yourself; you don’t + think what you’re letting yourself in for. Well, order the carriage + at ten!” + </p> + <p> + At a quarter past he was placing his umbrella in the stand at Park Lane—he + did not choose to relinquish his hat and coat; telling Warmson that he + wanted to see his master, he went, without being announced, into the + study, and sat down. + </p> + <p> + James was still in the dining-room talking to Soames, who had come round + again before breakfast. On hearing who his visitor was, he muttered + nervously: “Now, what’s <i>he</i> want, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + He then got up. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said to Soames, “don’t you go doing + anything in a hurry. The first thing is to find out where she is—I + should go to Stainer’s about it; they’re the best men, if they + can’t find her, nobody can.” And suddenly moved to strange + softness, he muttered to himself, “Poor little thing, <i>I</i> can’t + tell what she was thinking about!” and went out blowing his nose. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon did not rise on seeing his brother, but held out his hand, and + exchanged with him the clasp of a Forsyte. + </p> + <p> + James took another chair by the table, and leaned his head on his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “how are you? We don’t see much + of <i>you</i> nowadays!” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon paid no attention to the remark. + </p> + <p> + “How’s Emily?” he asked; and waiting for no reply, went + on “I’ve come to see you about this affair of young Bosinney’s. + I’m told that new house of his is a white elephant.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know anything about a white elephant,” said + James, “I know he’s lost his case, and I should say he’ll + go bankrupt.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon was not slow to seize the opportunity this gave him. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t wonder a bit!” he agreed; “and if he + goes bankrupt, the ‘man of property’—that is, Soames’ll + be out of pocket. Now, what I was thinking was this: If he’s not + going to live there....” + </p> + <p> + Seeing both surprise and suspicion in James’ eye, he quickly went + on: “I don’t want to know anything; I suppose Irene’s + put her foot down—it’s not material to me. But I’m + thinking of a house in the country myself, not too far from London, and if + it suited me I don’t say that I mightn’t look at it, at a + price.” + </p> + <p> + James listened to this statement with a strange mixture of doubt, + suspicion, and relief, merging into a dread of something behind, and + tinged with the remains of his old undoubted reliance upon his elder + brother’s good faith and judgment. There was anxiety, too, as to + what old Jolyon could have heard and how he had heard it; and a sort of + hopefulness arising from the thought that if Jun’s connection with + Bosinney were completely at an end, her grandfather would hardly seem + anxious to help the young fellow. Altogether he was puzzled; as he did not + like either to show this, or to commit himself in any way, he said: + </p> + <p> + “They tell me you’re altering your Will in favour of your son.” + </p> + <p> + He had not been told this; he had merely added the fact of having seen old + Jolyon with his son and grandchildren to the fact that he had taken his + Will away from Forsyte, Bustard and Forsyte. The shot went home. + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that?” asked old Jolyon. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I don’t know,” said James; “I can’t + remember names—I know somebody told me Soames spent a lot of money + on this house; he’s not likely to part with it except at a good + price.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said old Jolyon, “if, he thinks I’m going + to pay a fancy price, he’s mistaken. I’ve not got the money to + throw away that he seems to have. Let him try and sell it at a forced + sale, and see what he’ll get. It’s not every man’s + house, I hear!” + </p> + <p> + James, who was secretly also of this opinion, answered: “It’s + a gentleman’s house. Soames is here now if you’d like to see + him.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said old Jolyon, “I haven’t got as far as + that; and I’m not likely to, I can see that very well if I’m + met in this manner!” + </p> + <p> + James was a little cowed; when it came to the actual figures of a + commercial transaction he was sure of himself, for then he was dealing + with facts, not with men; but preliminary negotiations such as these made + him nervous—he never knew quite how far he could go. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “I know nothing about it. Soames, he + tells me nothing; I should think he’d entertain it—it’s + a question of price.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said old Jolyon, “don’t let him make a + favour of it!” He placed his hat on his head in dudgeon. + </p> + <p> + The door was opened and Soames came in. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a policeman out here,” he said with his half + smile, “for Uncle Jolyon.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon looked at him angrily, and James said: “A policeman? I + don’t know anything about a policeman. But I suppose you know + something about him,” he added to old Jolyon with a look of + suspicion: “I suppose you’d better see him!” + </p> + <p> + In the hall an Inspector of Police stood stolidly regarding with + heavy-lidded pale-blue eyes the fine old English furniture picked up by + James at the famous Mavrojano sale in Portman Square. “You’ll + find my brother in there,” said James. + </p> + <p> + The Inspector raised his fingers respectfully to his peaked cap, and + entered the study. + </p> + <p> + James saw him go in with a strange sensation. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said to Soames, “I suppose we must wait and + see what he wants. Your uncle’s been here about the house!” + </p> + <p> + He returned with Soames into the dining-room, but could not rest. + </p> + <p> + “Now what <i>does</i> he want?” he murmured again. + </p> + <p> + “Who?” replied Soames: “the Inspector? They sent him + round from Stanhope Gate, that’s all I know. That ‘nonconformist’ + of Uncle Jolyon’s has been pilfering, I shouldn’t wonder!” + </p> + <p> + But in spite of his calmness, he too was ill at ease. + </p> + <p> + At the end of ten minutes old Jolyon came in. He walked up to the table, + and stood there perfectly silent pulling at his long white moustaches. + James gazed up at him with opening mouth; he had never seen his brother + look like this. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon raised his hand, and said slowly: + </p> + <p> + “Young Bosinney has been run over in the fog and killed.” + </p> + <p> + Then standing above his brother and his nephew, and looking down at him + with his deep eyes: + </p> + <p> + “There’s—some—talk—of—suicide,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + James’ jaw dropped. “<i>Suicide!</i> What should he do that for?” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon answered sternly: “God knows, if you and your son don’t!” + </p> + <p> + But James did not reply. + </p> + <p> + For all men of great age, even for all Forsytes, life has had bitter + experiences. The passer-by, who sees them wrapped in cloaks of custom, + wealth, and comfort, would never suspect that such black shadows had + fallen on their roads. To every man of great age—to Sir Walter + Bentham himself—the idea of suicide has once at least been present + in the ante-room of his soul; on the threshold, waiting to enter, held out + from the inmost chamber by some chance reality, some vague fear, some + painful hope. To Forsytes that final renunciation of property is hard. Oh! + it is hard! Seldom—perhaps never—can they achieve, it; and + yet, how near have they not sometimes been! + </p> + <p> + So even with James! Then in the medley of his thoughts, he broke out: + “Why I saw it in the paper yesterday: ‘Run over in the fog!’ + They didn’t know his name!” He turned from one face to the + other in his confusion of soul; but instinctively all the time he was + rejecting that rumour of suicide. He dared not entertain this thought, so + against his interest, against the interest of his son, of every Forsyte. + He strove against it; and as his nature ever unconsciously rejected that + which it could not with safety accept, so gradually he overcame this fear. + It was an accident! It must have been! + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon broke in on his reverie. + </p> + <p> + “Death was instantaneous. He lay all day yesterday at the hospital. + There was nothing to tell them who he was. I am going there now; you and + your son had better come too.” + </p> + <p> + No one opposing this command he led the way from the room. + </p> + <p> + The day was still and clear and bright, and driving over to Park Lane from + Stanhope Gate, old Jolyon had had the carriage open. Sitting back on the + padded cushions, finishing his cigar, he had noticed with pleasure the + keen crispness of the air, the bustle of the cabs and people; the strange, + almost Parisian, alacrity that the first fine day will bring into London + streets after a spell of fog or rain. And he had felt so happy; he had not + felt like it for months. His confession to June was off his mind; he had + the prospect of his son’s, above all, of his grandchildren’s + company in the future—(he had appointed to meet young Jolyon at the + Hotch Potch that very morning to discuss it again); and there was + the pleasurable excitement of a coming encounter, a coming victory, over + James and the “man of property” in the matter of the house. + </p> + <p> + He had the carriage closed now; he had no heart to look on gaiety; nor was + it right that Forsytes should be seen driving with an Inspector of Police. + </p> + <p> + In that carriage the Inspector spoke again of the death: + </p> + <p> + “It was not so very thick—Just there. The driver says the + gentleman must have had time to see what he was about, he seemed to walk + right into it. It appears that he was very hard up, we found several pawn + tickets at his rooms, his account at the bank is overdrawn, and there’s + this case in to-day’s papers;” his cold blue eyes travelled + from one to another of the three Forsytes in the carriage. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon watching from his corner saw his brother’s face change, + and the brooding, worried, look deepen on it. At the Inspector’s + words, indeed, all James’ doubts and fears revived. Hard-up—pawn-tickets—an + overdrawn account! These words that had all his life been a far-off + nightmare to him, seemed to make uncannily real that suspicion of suicide + which must on no account be entertained. He sought his son’s eye; + but lynx-eyed, taciturn, immovable, Soames gave no answering look. And to + old Jolyon watching, divining the league of mutual defence between them, + there came an overmastering desire to have his own son at his side, as + though this visit to the dead man’s body was a battle in which + otherwise he must single-handed meet those two. And the thought of how to + keep Jun’s name out of the business kept whirring in his brain. + James had his son to support him! Why should he not send for Jo? + </p> + <p> + Taking out his card-case, he pencilled the following message: + </p> + <p> + “Come round at once. I’ve sent the carriage for you.” + </p> + <p> + On getting out he gave this card to his coachman, telling him to drive—as + fast as possible to the Hotch Potch Club, and if Mr. Jolyon Forsyte were + there to give him the card and bring him at once. If not there yet, he was + to wait till he came. + </p> + <p> + He followed the others slowly up the steps, leaning on his umbrella, and + stood a moment to get his breath. The Inspector said: “This is the + mortuary, sir. But take your time.” + </p> + <p> + In the bare, white-walled room, empty of all but a streak of sunshine + smeared along the dustless floor, lay a form covered by a sheet. With a + huge steady hand the Inspector took the hem and turned it back. A + sightless face gazed up at them, and on either side of that sightless + defiant face the three Forsytes gazed down; in each one of them the secret + emotions, fears, and pity of his own nature rose and fell like the rising, + falling waves of life, whose wash those white walls barred out now for + ever from Bosinney. And in each one of them the trend of his nature, the + odd essential spring, which moved him in fashions minutely, unalterably + different from those of every other human being, forced him to a different + attitude of thought. Far from the others, yet inscrutably close, each + stood thus, alone with death, silent, his eyes lowered. + </p> + <p> + The Inspector asked softly: + </p> + <p> + “You identify the gentleman, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon raised his head and nodded. He looked at his brother opposite, + at that long lean figure brooding over the dead man, with face dusky red, + and strained grey eyes; and at the figure of Soames white and still by his + father’s side. And all that he had felt against those two was gone + like smoke in the long white presence of Death. Whence comes it, how comes + it—Death? Sudden reverse of all that goes before; blind setting + forth on a path that leads to where? Dark quenching of the fire! The + heavy, brutal crushing-out that all men must go through, keeping + their eyes clear and brave unto the end! Small and of no import, insects + though they are! And across old Jolyon’s face there flitted a gleam, + for Soames, murmuring to the Inspector, crept noiselessly away. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly James raised his eyes. There was a queer appeal in that + suspicious troubled look: “I know I’m no match for you,” + it seemed to say. And, hunting for handkerchief he wiped his brow; then, + bending sorrowful and lank over the dead man, he too turned and hurried + out. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon stood, still as death, his eyes fixed on the body. Who shall + tell of what he was thinking? Of himself, when his hair was brown like the + hair of that young fellow dead before him? Of himself, with his battle + just beginning, the long, long battle he had loved; the battle that was + over for this young man almost before it had begun? Of his grand-daughter, + with her broken hopes? Of that other woman? Of the strangeness, and the + pity of it? And the irony, inscrutable, and bitter of that end? Justice! + There was no justice for men, for they were ever in the dark! + </p> + <p> + Or perhaps in his philosophy he thought: Better to be out of it all! + Better to have done with it, like this poor youth.... + </p> + <p> + Some one touched him on the arm. + </p> + <p> + A tear started up and wetted his eyelash. “Well,” he said, + “I’m no good here. I’d better be going. You’ll + come to me as soon as you can, Jo,” and with his head bowed he went + away. + </p> + <p> + It was young Jolyon’s turn to take his stand beside the dead man, + round whose fallen body he seemed to see all the Forsytes breathless, and + prostrated. The stroke had fallen too swiftly. + </p> + <p> + The forces underlying every tragedy—forces that take no denial, + working through cross currents to their ironical end, had met and fused + with a thunder-clap, flung out the victim, and flattened to the ground all + those that stood around. + </p> + <p> + Or so at all events young Jolyon seemed to see them, lying around Bosinney’s + body. + </p> + <p> + He asked the Inspector to tell him what had happened, and the latter, like + a man who does not every day get such a chance, again detailed such facts + as were known. + </p> + <p> + “There’s more here, sir, however,” he said, “than + meets the eye. I don’t believe in suicide, nor in pure accident, + myself. It’s more likely I think that he was suffering under great + stress of mind, and took no notice of things about him. Perhaps you can + throw some light on these.” + </p> + <p> + He took from his pocket a little packet and laid it on the table. + Carefully undoing it, he revealed a lady’s handkerchief, pinned + through the folds with a pin of discoloured Venetian gold, the stone of + which had fallen from the socket. A scent of dried violets rose to young + Jolyon’s nostrils. + </p> + <p> + “Found in his breast pocket,” said the Inspector; “the + name has been cut away!” + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon with difficulty answered: “I’m afraid I cannot + help you!” But vividly there rose before him the face he had seen + light up, so tremulous and glad, at Bosinney’s coming! Of her he + thought more than of his own daughter, more than of them all—of her + with the dark, soft glance, the delicate passive face, waiting for the + dead man, waiting even at that moment, perhaps, still and patient in the + sunlight. + </p> + <p> + He walked sorrowfully away from the hospital towards his father’s + house, reflecting that this death would break up the Forsyte family. The + stroke had indeed slipped past their defences into the very wood of their + tree. They might flourish to all appearance as before, preserving a brave + show before the eyes of London, but the trunk was dead, withered by the + same flash that had stricken down Bosinney. And now the saplings would + take its place, each one a new custodian of the sense of property. + </p> + <p> + Good forest of Forsytes! thought young Jolyon—soundest timber of our + land! + </p> + <p> + Concerning the cause of this death—his family would doubtless reject + with vigour the suspicion of suicide, which was so compromising! They + would take it as an accident, a stroke of fate. In their hearts they would + even feel it an intervention of Providence, a retribution—had not + Bosinney endangered their two most priceless possessions, the pocket and + the hearth? And they would talk of “that unfortunate accident of + young Bosinney’s,” but perhaps they would not talk—silence + might be better! + </p> + <p> + As for himself, he regarded the bus-driver’s account of the accident + as of very little value. For no one so madly in love committed suicide for + want of money; nor was Bosinney the sort of fellow to set much store by a + financial crisis. And so he too, rejected this theory of suicide, the dead + man’s face rose too clearly before him. Gone in the heyday of his + summer—and to believe thus that an accident had cut Bosinney off in + the full sweep of his passion was more than ever pitiful to young Jolyon. + </p> + <p> + Then came a vision of Soames’ home as it now was, and must be + hereafter. The streak of lightning had flashed its clear uncanny gleam on + bare bones with grinning spaces between, the disguising flesh was gone.... + </p> + <p> + In the dining-room at Stanhope Gate old Jolyon was sitting alone when his + son came in. He looked very wan in his great armchair. And his eyes + travelling round the walls with their pictures of still life, and the + masterpiece “Dutch fishing-boats at Sunset” seemed as though + passing their gaze over his life with its hopes, its gains, its + achievements. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Jo!” he said, “is that you? I’ve told poor + little June. But that’s not all of it. Are you going to Soames’? + <i>She’s</i> brought it on herself, I suppose; but somehow I can’t + bear to think of her, shut up there—and all alone.” And + holding up his thin, veined hand, he clenched it. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + + <h2><a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"></a> + CHAPTER IX<br/>IRENE’S RETURN + </h2> + <p> + After leaving James and old Jolyon in the mortuary of the hospital, Soames + hurried aimlessly along the streets. + </p> + <p> + The tragic event of Bosinney’s death altered the complexion of + everything. There was no longer the same feeling that to lose a minute + would be fatal, nor would he now risk communicating the fact of his wife’s + flight to anyone till the inquest was over. + </p> + <p> + That morning he had risen early, before the postman came, had taken the + first-post letters from the box himself, and, though there had been none + from Irene, he had made an opportunity of telling Bilson that her mistress + was at the sea; he would probably, he said, be going down himself from + Saturday to Monday. This had given him time to breathe, time to leave no + stone unturned to find her. + </p> + <p> + But now, cut off from taking steps by Bosinney’s death—that + strange death, to think of which was like putting a hot iron to his heart, + like lifting a great weight from it—he did not know how to pass his + day; and he wandered here and there through the streets, looking at every + face he met, devoured by a hundred anxieties. + </p> + <p> + And as he wandered, he thought of him who had finished his wandering, his + prowling, and would never haunt his house again. + </p> + <p> + Already in the afternoon he passed posters announcing the identity of the + dead man, and bought the papers to see what they said. He would stop their + mouths if he could, and he went into the City, and was closeted with + Boulter for a long time. + </p> + <p> + On his way home, passing the steps of Jobson’s about half past four, + he met George Forsyte, who held out an evening paper to Soames, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Here! Have you seen this about the poor Buccaneer?” + </p> + <p> + Soames answered stonily: “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + George stared at him. He had never liked Soames; he now held him + responsible for Bosinney’s death. Soames had done for him—done + for him by that act of property that had sent the Buccaneer to run amok + that fatal afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “The poor fellow,” he was thinking, “was so cracked with + jealousy, so cracked for his vengeance, that he heard nothing of the + omnibus in that infernal fog.” + </p> + <p> + Soames had done for him! And this judgment was in George’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “They talk of suicide here,” he said at last. “<i>That</i> cat + won’t jump.” + </p> + <p> + Soames shook his head. “An accident,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Clenching his fist on the paper, George crammed it into his pocket. He + could not resist a parting shot. + </p> + <p> + “H’mm! All flourishing at home? Any little Soameses yet?” + </p> + <p> + With a face as white as the steps of Jobson’s, and a lip raised as + if snarling, Soames brushed past him and was gone.... + </p> + <p> + On reaching home, and entering the little lighted hall with his latchkey, + the first thing that caught his eye was his wife’s gold-mounted + umbrella lying on the rug chest. Flinging off his fur coat, he hurried to + the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + The curtains were drawn for the night, a bright fire of cedar-logs burned + in the grate, and by its light he saw Irene sitting in her usual corner on + the sofa. He shut the door softly, and went towards her. She did not move, + and did not seem to see him. + </p> + <p> + “So you’ve come back?” he said. “Why are you + sitting here in the dark?” + </p> + <p> + Then he caught sight of her face, so white and motionless that it seemed + as though the blood must have stopped flowing in her veins; and her eyes, + that looked enormous, like the great, wide, startled brown eyes of an owl. + </p> + <p> + Huddled in her grey fur against the sofa cushions, she had a strange + resemblance to a captive owl, bunched in its soft feathers against the + wires of a cage. The supple erectness of her figure was gone, as though + she had been broken by cruel exercise; as though there were no longer any + reason for being beautiful, and supple, and erect. + </p> + <p> + “So you’ve come back,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + She never looked up, and never spoke, the firelight playing over her + motionless figure. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she tried to rise, but he prevented her; it was then that he + understood. + </p> + <p> + She had come back like an animal wounded to death, not knowing where to + turn, not knowing what she was doing. The sight of her figure, huddled in + the fur, was enough. + </p> + <p> + He knew then for certain that Bosinney had been her lover; knew that she + had seen the report of his death—perhaps, like himself, had bought a + paper at the draughty corner of a street, and read it. + </p> + <p> + She had come back then of her own accord, to the cage she had pined to be + free of—and taking in all the tremendous significance of this, he + longed to cry: “Take your hated body, that I love, out of my house! + Take away that pitiful white face, so cruel and soft—before I crush + it. Get out of my sight; never let me see you again!” + </p> + <p> + And, at those unspoken words, he seemed to see her rise and move away, + like a woman in a terrible dream, from which she was fighting to awake—rise + and go out into the dark and cold, without a thought of him, without so + much as the knowledge of his presence. + </p> + <p> + Then he cried, contradicting what he had not yet spoken, “No; stay + there!” And turning away from her, he sat down in his accustomed + chair on the other side of the hearth. + </p> + <p> + They sat in silence. + </p> + <p> + And Soames thought: “Why is all this? Why should I suffer so? What + have I done? It is not my fault!” + </p> + <p> + Again he looked at her, huddled like a bird that is shot and dying, whose + poor breast you see panting as the air is taken from it, whose poor eyes + look at you who have shot it, with a slow, soft, unseeing look, taking + farewell of all that is good—of the sun, and the air, and its mate. + </p> + <p> + So they sat, by the firelight, in the silence, one on each side of the + hearth. + </p> + <p> + And the fume of the burning cedar logs, that he loved so well, seemed to + grip Soames by the throat till he could bear it no longer. And going out + into the hall he flung the door wide, to gulp down the cold air that came + in; then without hat or overcoat went out into the Square. + </p> + <p> + Along the garden rails a half-starved cat came rubbing her way towards + him, and Soames thought: “Suffering! when will it cease, my + suffering?” + </p> + <p> + At a front door across the way was a man of his acquaintance named Rutter, + scraping his boots, with an air of “I am master here.” And + Soames walked on. + </p> + <p> + From far in the clear air the bells of the church where he and Irene had + been married were pealing in “practice” for the advent of + Christ, the chimes ringing out above the sound of traffic. He felt a + craving for strong drink, to lull him to indifference, or rouse him to + fury. If only he could burst out of himself, out of this web that for the + first time in his life he felt around him. If only he could surrender to + the thought: “Divorce her—turn her out! She has forgotten you. + Forget her!” + </p> + <p> + If only he could surrender to the thought: “Let her go—she has + suffered enough!” + </p> + <p> + If only he could surrender to the desire: “Make a slave of her—she + is in your power!” + </p> + <p> + If only even he could surrender to the sudden vision: “What does it + all matter?” Forget himself for a minute, forget that it mattered + what he did, forget that whatever he did he must sacrifice something. + </p> + <p> + If only he could act on an impulse! + </p> + <p> + He could forget nothing; surrender to no thought, vision, or desire; it + was all too serious; too close around him, an unbreakable cage. + </p> + <p> + On the far side of the Square newspaper boys were calling their evening + wares, and the ghoulish cries mingled and jangled with the sound of those + church bells. + </p> + <p> + Soames covered his ears. The thought flashed across him that but for a + chance, he himself, and not Bosinney, might be lying dead, and she, + instead of crouching there like a shot bird with those dying eyes.... + </p> + <p> + Something soft touched his legs, the cat was rubbing herself against them. + And a sob that shook him from head to foot burst from Soames’ chest. + Then all was still again in the dark, where the houses seemed to stare at + him, each with a master and mistress of its own, and a secret story of + happiness or sorrow. + </p> + <p> + And suddenly he saw that his own door was open, and black against the + light from the hall a man standing with his back turned. Something slid + too in his breast, and he stole up close behind. + </p> + <p> + He could see his own fur coat flung across the carved oak chair; the + Persian rugs; the silver bowls, the rows of porcelain plates arranged + along the walls, and this unknown man who was standing there. + </p> + <p> + And sharply he asked: “What is it you want, sir?” + </p> + <p> + The visitor turned. It was young Jolyon. + </p> + <p> + “The door was open,” he said. “Might I see your wife for + a minute, I have a message for her?” + </p> + <p> + Soames gave him a strange, sidelong stare. + </p> + <p> + “My wife can see no one,” he muttered doggedly. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon answered gently: “I shouldn’t keep her a minute.” + </p> + <p> + Soames brushed by him and barred the way. + </p> + <p> + “She can see no one,” he said again. + </p> + <p> + Young Jolyon’s glance shot past him into the hall, and Soames + turned. There in the drawing-room doorway stood Irene, her eyes were wild + and eager, her lips were parted, her hands outstretched. In the sight of + both men that light vanished from her face; her hands dropped to her + sides; she stood like stone. + </p> + <p> + Soames spun round, and met his visitor’s eyes, and at the look he + saw in them, a sound like a snarl escaped him. He drew his lips back in + the ghost of a smile. + </p> + <p> + “This is my house,” he said; “I manage my own affairs. I’ve + told you once—I tell you again; we are not at home.” + </p> + <p> + And in young Jolyon’s face he slammed the door. + </p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Forsyte Saga, The Man Of Property, by John Galsworthy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORSYTE SAGA, THE MAN OF PROPERTY *** + +***** This file should be named 2559-h.htm or 2559-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/5/2559/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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