The Man of Property..........................................................................................................................................1

John Galsworthy......................................................................................................................................1

"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 giltedged period, is not devoid of the essential beat of conflict.

Discounting for the gigantic stature and bloodthirstiness of old days, as they have come down to us in

fairytale 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

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

"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 tragicomic blessings which each new age denies, coming cocksure on to the stage to mouth its

But no Age is so new as that! Human Nature, under its changing pretensions and clothes, is and ever will be

Looking back on the Victorian era, whose ripeness, decline, and 'fallof' is in some sort pictured in "The

Forsyte Saga," we see now that we have but jumped out of a fryingpan 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 lowpercented. If these chronicles had

been a really scientific study of transition one would have dwelt probably on such factors as the invention of

bicycle, motorcar, and flyingmachine; 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

But this long tale is no scientific study of a period; it is rather an intimate incarnation of the disturbance that

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.

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

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 realisticknowing that the least concession is the inch which precedes the

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,

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 uppermiddle

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

If the uppermiddle 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 illarranged museum of Letters. Here it rests, preserved

Those privileged to be present at a family festival of the Forsytes have seen that charming and instructive

sightan upper middleclass 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 familyno branch of which had a liking

for the other, between no three members of whom existed anything worthy of the name of

sympathyevidence 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 plantinga paragon of tenacity,

insulation, and success, amidst the deaths of a hundred other plants less fibrous, sappy, and persistentone

day will see it flourishing with bland, full foliage, in an almost repugnant prosperity, at the summit of its

On June 15, eighteen eightysix, 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.

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 comer of her brother Timothy's green

drawingroom, 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

When a Forsyte was engaged, married, or born, the Forsytes were present; when a Forsyte diedbut 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.

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

The subconscious offensiveness of their attitude has constituted old Jolyon's 'home' the psychological

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,

andthe sniff. Dangerso indispensable in bringing out the fundamental quality of any society, group, or

individualwas 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

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, Jamesthe fat and the lean of it, old Jolyon called these brotherslike 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, cleanshaven 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 wellshaved, darkhaired, 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.

Seated in a row close to one another were three ladiesAunts 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

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 domelike 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 him self 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

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

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

Among the younger generation, in the tall, bulllike 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 stampless meaningful perhaps, but unmistakablea 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 hata soft grey hat, not even a new onea dusty thing with

a shapeless crown. "So, extraordinary, my dearso odd," Aunt Hester, passing through the little, dark hall

(she was rather shortsighted), had tried to 'shoo' it off a chair, taking it for a strange, disreputable

catTommy had such disgraceful friends! She was disturbed when it did not move. 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 artiststhe 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 have paid that visit in that hat?" and each had answered "No!" and some, with more imagination than

George, on hearing the story, grinned. The hat had obviously been worn as a practical joke! He himself was a

And this mot, the 'Buccaneer,' was bandied from mouth to mouth, till it became the favourite mode of

June had answered in her imperious brisk way, like the little embodiment of will she was: "Oh! what does it

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

Dangerousah, dangerous! June, of course, had not seen this, but, though not yet nineteen, she was

notorious. Had she not said to Mrs. Soameswho was always so beautifully dressedthat feathers were

vulgar? Mrs. Soames had actually given up wearing feathers, so dreadfully downright was dear June!

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

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 you givin? Nicholas is givin' spoons!"so very

much depended on the bridegroom. If he were sleek, wellbrushed, prosperouslooking, 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 Exchangethe exact

niceties being regulated at Timothy's commodious, redbrick residence in Bayswater, overlooking the Park,

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

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

This 'very singularlooking man,' as Mrs. Small afterwards called him, was of medium height and strong

build, with a pale, brown face, a dustcoloured moustache, very prominent cheekbones, 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 Lionhouse at the Zoo. He had sherrycoloured eyes, disconcertingly inattentive at

times. Old Jolyon's coachman, after driving June and Bosinney to the theatre, had remarked to the butler:

"I dunno what to make of 'im. Looks to me for all the world like an 'alftame leopard." And every now and

June stood in front, fending off this idle curiositya 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

A tall woman, with a beautiful figure, which some member of the family had once compared to a heathen

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.

But it was at her lipsasking a question, giving an answer, with that shadowy smilethat men looked; they

were sensitive lips, sensuous and sweet, and through them seemed to come warmth and perfume like the

The engaged couple thus scrutinized were unconscious of this passive goddess. It was Bosinney who first

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:

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

At the window his father, James, was still scrutinizing the marks on the piece of china..

"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

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.

"Well," he said, "I couldn't help Irene's having no money. Soames was in such a hurry; he got quite thin

Putting the bowl pettishly down on the piano, he let his eyes wander to the group by the door.

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 saidthey said she had been asking

"No, he didn't think it wise, with so much of this diphtheria about; and he so liable to take things."

"Well, be takes good care of himself. I can't afford to take the care of myself that he does."

Nor was it easy to say which, of admiration, envy, or contempt, was dominant in that remark.

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 mytha kind of incarnation of security haunting the

background of the Forsyte universe. He had never committed the imprudence of marrying, or encumbering

"This isn't real old Worcester. I s'pose Jolyon's told you something about the young man. From all I can learn,

he's got no business, no income, and no connection worth speaking of; but then, I know nothingnobody

Aunt Ann shook her head. Over her squarechinned, 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.

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 neighboursthey quailed before her

incorruptible figure, and, when opportunities were too strong, what could they do but avoid her!

"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, June'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

He stretched out his hand to meet that of a dapper, cleanshaven man, with hardly a hair on his head, a long,

Nicholas Forsyte, with his birdlike 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

"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."

"Doctors!" said James, coming down sharp on his words: "I've had all the doctors in London for one or

another of us. There's no satisfaction to be got out of them; 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

Swithin Forsyte, tall, square, and broad, with a chest like a pouter pigeon's in its plumage of bright

"Erhow are you?" he said in his dandified way, aspirating the 'h' strongly (this difficult letter was almost

Each brother wore an air of aggravation as he looked at the other two, knowing by experience that they would

"Thinner? I'm in good case," he said, leaning a little forward, "not one of your threadpapers like you!"

But, afraid of losing the expansion of his chest, he leaned back again into a state of immobility, for he prized

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! Eightysix if a day; might live another

ten years, and had never been strong. Swithin and James, the twins, were only seventyfive, Nicholas a mere

baby of seventy or so. All were strong, and the inference was comforting. Of all forms of property their

"I'm very well in myself," proceeded James, "but my nerves are out of order. The least thing worries me to

"Bath!" said Nicholas. "I've tried Harrogate. That's no good. What I want is sea air. There's nothing like

"My liver's very bad," interrupted Swithin slowly. "Dreadful pain here;" and he placed his hand on his right

"Want of exercise," muttered James, his eyes on the china. He quickly added: "I get a pain there, too."

"I didn't know," James hurried out. "I know nothing about anybody; nobody tells me anything...."

June stood before him, her resolute small face raised from her little height to his great height, and her hand

"How are you?" he said, brooding over her. "So you're going to Wales tomorrow 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

June shook hands one by one with her three greatuncles, 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.

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 goodbye; and her fingertips, pressing and pressing against each other, were

busy again with the recharging of her will against that inevitable ultimate departure of her own.

'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 welldressed throng drawn from the families

of lawyers and doctors, from the Stock Exchange, and all the innumerable avocations of the uppermiddle

classthere were only some twenty percent of Forsytes; but to Aunt Ann they seemed all Forsytesand

certainly there was not much differenceshe 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 moneyall this was

her property, her delight, her life; beyond this only a vague, shadowy mist offacts 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 selfimportance, 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, this she would retain to

She thought of June'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 June'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 longinflicted injury in her tenacious old heart. A little

water stood in her eyes. With a handkerchief of the finest lawn she wiped them stealthily.

Soames Forsyte, flatshouldered, cleanshaven, flatcheeked, flatwaisted, yet with something round and

secret about his whole appearance, looked downwards and aslant at Aunt Ann, as though trying to see

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

"Very nice for the young man," she said; "and he's a goodlooking young fellow; but I doubt if he's quite the

"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

"You're so clever with all those things," said Aunt Ann. "And how is dear Irene?"

"Pretty well," he said. "Complains she can't sleep; she sleeps a great deal better than I do," and he looked at

"Perhaps," she said, "it will be just as well for her not to see so much of June. She's such a decided character,

Soames flushed; his flushes passed rapidly over his flat cheeks and centered between his eyes, where they

"I don't know what she sees in that little flibbertigibbet," he burst out, but noticing that they were no longer

"They tell me Jolyon's bought another house," said his father's voice close by; "he must have a lot of

moneyhe must have more money than he knows what to do with! Montpellier Square, they say; close to

"Capital position, not two minutes from me," said the voice of Swithin, "and from my rooms I can drive to

The position of their houses was of vital importance to the Forsytes, nor was this remarkable, since the whole

Their father, of farming stock, had come from Dorsetshire near the beginning of the century.

'Superior Dosset Forsyte, as he was called by his intimates, had been a stonemason by trade, and risen to the

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

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 eran 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

freshcoloured man. I remember he used to drink Madeira; but ask your Aunt Ann. What was his father?

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.

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

"There's very little to be had out of that," he said; "regular country little place, old as the hills...."

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: "YeomenI suppose very small beer." Yet he would repeat the word 'yeomen' as if it

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 yetwith the exception of Timothyin 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.

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

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 Mansionshe had never married, not hethe Soamses in their nest off

Knightsbridge; the Rogers in Prince's Gardens (Roger was that remarkable Forsyte who had conceived and

"Collect house property, nothing like it," he would say; "I never did anything else").

The Haymans againMrs. Hayman was the one married Forsyte sisterin 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

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

"Twentytwo years to run?" repeated James; "The very house I was afteryou've given too much for it!"

"It's not that I want it," said James hastily; it wouldn't suit my purpose at that price. Soames knows the house,

"Well," murmured James, "you will have your own wayit's a good opinion. Goodbye! We're going to

drive down to Hurlingham. They tell me June's going to Wales. You'll be lonely tomorrow. What'll you do

Old Jolyon refused. He went down to the front door and saw them into their barouche, and twinkled at them,

having already forgotten his spleenMrs. James facing the horses, tall and majestic with auburn hair; on her

left, Irenethe two husbands, father and son, sitting forward, as though they expected something, opposite

spring cushions, silent, swaying to each motion of their chariot, old Jolyon watched them drive away under

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

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

The day was bright, the trees of the Park in the full beauty of midJune foliage; the brothers did not seem to

notice phenomena, which contributed, nevertheless, to the jauntiness of promenade and conversation.

"Yes," said Roger, "she's a goodlookin' woman, that wife of Soames's. I'm told they don't get on."

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,'

He himself had married a good deal of money, of which, it being then the golden age before the Married

"Ah!" exclaimed Roger, "Soames will have trouble with her; you mark my words, he'll have troubleshe's

"How did he get hold of her?" asked Roger presently. "She must cost him a pretty penny in dress!"

"Ann tells me," replied Nicholas," he was halfcracked about her. She refused him five times. James, he's

"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

"I call her distinguishedlooking," he said at lastit 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

chapsgot an idea of improving English architecture; there's no money in that! I should like to hear what

He took a firstclass 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:

There was little sentimentality about the Forsytes. In that great London, which they had conquered and

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

The gloomy little, study, with windows of stained glass to exclude the view, was full of dark green velvet and

heavilycarved mahoganya suite of which old Jolyon was wont to say: 'Shouldn't wonder if it made a big

It was pleasant to think that in the after life he could get more for things than he had given.

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 highbacked 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

He had never cared for this room, hardly going into it from one year's end to another, except to take cigars

His temples, curving like thatches over the hollows beneath, his cheekbones and chin, all were sharpened in

his sleep, and there had come upon his face the confession that he was an old man.

He woke. June had gone! James had said he would be lonely. James had always been a poor thing. He

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 toHe dared say he would want all his money before he had done

with this affair of June'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 knewa bit of an

old womanwas 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 hima

harumscarum, unpractical chap, who would get himself into no end of difficulties.

She had come to him one day in her slapdash way and told him; and, as if it were any consolation, she had

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:

"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

So, he had washed his hands of it, making the condition that they should not marry until Bosinney had at least

"I shan't be able to give you very much," he had said, a formula to which June was not unaccustomed."

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

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

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!

He rose, and, going to the cabinet, began methodically stocking his, cigarcase 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

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

Herringdead, and Traquairdead of that wife of his, and Thornworthyawfully shaky (no wonder, with his

Of all the company of those days he himself alone seemed left, except Swithin, of course, and he so

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 Castlehow delicious his cigars were then! And such weather! There was no weather

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

Cigars! He had not even succeeded in outliving his palatethe 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

fortunethe 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

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:

"You could do anything, Jo, if you weren't so ddamned careful of yourself!" Dear old Nick! Such a good

fellow, but a racketty chap! The notorious Treffry! He 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

He put the cigarcase 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.

The butler came to the ring of his bella 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.

How long had the carriage been back from taking Miss June to the station? Since two? Then let him come

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

"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."

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.

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 did take him. The members were a poor lot, many

of them in the City stockbrokers, solicitors, auctioneerswhat 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.'

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.

He had not been near the 'Disunion' for months, and the house had undergone the piebald decoration which

He ordered dinner, and sat down in the very corner, at the very table perhaps I (things did not progress much

at the 'Disunion,' a Club of almost Radical principles) at which he and young Jolyon used to sit twentyfive

The boy hadloved the theatre, and old Jolyon recalled how he used to sit opposite, concealing his

He ordered himself, too, the very dinner the boy had always chosensoup, whitebait, cutlets, and a tart. Ah! if

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 loveaffair with that

precious flirt Danae Thorn worthy (now Danae Pellew), Anthony Thornworthy's daughter, had thrown him

on the rebound into the arms of June'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 trainingthat combination of potent factors which stood for his

principlestold 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 himabout 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 halfmeasures

could serve in such a situation. In that lay its tragedy. And the tiny, helpless thing prevailed. He would not

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 pennedin affection;

and there had come such tangible and solid proof of rupture as only a transaction in property, a bestowal or

His dinner tasted flat. His pint of champagne was dry and bitter stuff, not like the Veuve Clicquots of old

Over his cup of coffee, he bethought him that he would go to the opera. In the Times, thereforehe had a

distrust of other papershe read the announcement for the evening. It was 'Fidelio."

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 cigarcase in the pocket of his overcoat, he stepped into a

The cab rattled gaily along the streets, and old Jolyon was struck by their unwonted animation.

'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

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

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 handhe 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

"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 auctioneerMr. Traquair, and Mr.

Nicholas Treffryyou used to have six or seven stalls here regular every season. And how are you, sir? We

The colour in old Jolyon's eyes deepened; he paid his guinea. They had not forgotten him. He marched in, to

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?

The greatest operagoer 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,

>From the curl of silver over his ear to the pose of his foot in its elasticsided patent boot, there was nothing

clumsy or weak about old Jolyon. He was as uprightvery nearlyas in those old times when he came

every night; his sight was as goodalmost as good. But what a feeling of weariness and disillusion!

He had been in the habit all his life of enjoying things, even imperfect thingsand there had been many

imperfect thingshe 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.

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 L500. The cheque had been returned

'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,

The letter was like the boy. He had always been an amiable chap. Old Jolyon had sent this reply:

'The sum (L500) stands in my books for the benefit of your boy, under the name of Jolyon Forsyte, and will

be dulycredited with interest at 5 per cent. I hope that you are doing well. My health remains good at

And every, year on the 1st of January he had added a hundred and the interest. The sum was mounting

upnext 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.

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

After receiving the cheque back there seemed to him to be something wrong somewhere. Why had his son,

He had heard,. of coursein fact, he had made it his business to find outthat 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 societya

queer sort of society, no doubt and that they had two childrenthe 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, toowatercolours. 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

In the great operahouse 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 Cambridgea 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 thinga wretched poor thing! And the

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

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

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 facea narrower replica of his

father's, with the same large drooping moustachedecidedly 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

And as though in the habit of taking each other home every night they went out and stepped into the cab.

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

To young Jolyon the first sight of his father was undoubtedly a shockhe 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,

He was the prey of an anxiety that he found he must put into words. Having got his son back like this, he felt

"Jo," he said, "I should like to hear what sort of water you're in. I suppose you're in debt?"

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

"June's not here," said his father hastily: "went of today on a visit. I suppose you know that she's engaged to

Old Jolyon stepped out, and, in paying the cab fare, for the first time in his life gave the driver a sovereign in

Placing the coin in his mouth, the cabman whipped his horse secretly on the underneath and hurried away.

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.

The door of the diningroom was open, the gas turned low; a spiriturn hissed on a teatray, and close to it a

cynical looking cat had fallen asleep on the diningtable. Old Jolyon 'shoo'd' her off at once. The incident

"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

When he again entered the diningroom 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....

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.

"She's a little thing," returned old Jolyon; they say she's like me, but that's their folly. She's more like your

Old Jolyon was too much of a Forsyte to praise anything freely; especially anything for which he had a

"Not bad lookinga regular Forsyte chin. It'll be lonely here when she's gone, Jo."

The look on his face again gave young Jolyon the shock he had felt on first seeing his father.

"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,

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 boysleeping 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.

In his great chair with the bookrest sat old Jolyon, the figurehead of his family and class and creed, with his

white head and domelike forehead, the representative of moderation, and order, and love of property. As

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, machinelike, with dread processes to inscrutable ends. This was how it

The poor old Dad! So this was the end, the purpose to which he had lived with such magnificent moderation!

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

Young Jolyon was a good listener; it was his great quality. He kept his eyes fixed on his father's face, putting

The clock struck one before old Jolyon had finished, and at the sound of its striking his principles came back.

Young Jolyon rose and held out his hand to help his father up. The old face looked worn and hollow again;

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,

In Swithin's orange and lightblue diningroom, facing the Park, the round table was laid for twelve.

A cutglass chandelier filled with lighted candles hung like a giant stalactite above its centre, radiating over

large giltframed mirrors, slabs of marble on the tops of sidetables, 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

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.

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

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 icepails. Between the points of his standup collar,

whichthough it hurt him to movehe 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.

NicholasFanny and he would swill water he shouldn't wonder! Soames didn't count; these young

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

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

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 distinguisheda pleasure to entertain her.

Between the points of his collar he gave his head the first small, painful oscillation of the evening.

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

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 dinnerparty for months. This dinner in honour of June'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.

And thus sitting, a watch in his hand, fat, and smooth, and golden, like a flattened globe of butter, he thought

A long man, with side whiskers, who had once been in Swithin's service, but was now a greengrocer, entered

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,

Well! Swithin," she said, "I haven't seen you for ages. How are you? Why, my dear boy, how stout you're

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

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.

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 matteroffactness, 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

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 seventytwo, 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 parrotin common with her sister Hester;and these poor creatures

(kept carefully out of Timothy's wayhe was nervous about animals), unlike human beings, recognising that

She was sombrely magnificent this evening in black bombazine, with a mauve front cut in a shy triangle, and

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 goldmines of Ceylon. A

pet plan, carried at last in the teeth of great difficultieshe 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

His ability was undoubted. Raising his broken nose towards his listener, he would add:

"For want of a few hundred of these fellows we haven't paid a dividend for years, and look at the price of the

He had been at Yarmouth, too, and had come back feeling that he had added at least ten years to his own life.

Mrs. Nicholas, an effete woman, smiled a smile of frightened jollity behind his back.

His hand enclosed Irene's, and his eyes swelled. She was a pretty womana little too pale, but her figure, her

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,

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 dinnertimehe had had no

"It's not like Jolyon to be late!" he said to Irene, with uncontrollable vexation. "I suppose it'll be June keeping

And behind this outburst the inarticulate violence of primitive generations seemed to mutter and grumble.

Among the lace in the bosom of her dress was shining a fivepointed 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

There was no change in her face, but Swithin's pale eyes bulged as though he might suddenly have been

"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

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 fiancee. 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,

Family dinners of the Forsytes observe certain traditions. There are, for instance, no hors d'oeuvre. 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 hors

d'oeuvre are but poor things. The Jameses alone, unable to withstand a custom almost universal in Park Lane,

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

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

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

Each branch of the family tenaciously held to a particular localityold 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

"You may depend upon it, they're a cranky lot, the Forsytesand you'll find it out, as you grow older!"

Timothy alone held apart, for though he ate saddle of mutton heartily, he was, he said, afraid of it.

To anyone interested psychologically in Forsytes, this great saddleofmutton 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

Younger members of the family indeed would have done without a joint altogether, preferring guineafowl,

or lobster salad something which appealed to the imagination, and had less nourishmentbut 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.

The great saddleofmutton 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.

>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 breadcrumbs. Soames noted his dress

He saw him turn to Irene and say something and her face sparkle as he often saw it sparkle at other

peoplenever at himself. He tried to catch what they were saying, but Aunt Juley was speaking.

Hadn't that always seemed very extraordinary to Soames? Only last Sunday dear Mr. Scole, had been so witty

in his sermon, so sarcastic, "For what," he had said, "shall it profit a mar if he gain his own soul, but lose all

his property?" That, he had said, was the motto of the middleclass; now, what had he meant by that? Of

course, it might be what middleclass people believedshe didn't know; what did Soames think?

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

Her eyes were turned on himself; Soames dropped his glance at once. The smile had died off her lips.

A humbug? But what did Soames mean? If Mr. Scoles was a humbug, a clergymanthen anybody might

During Aunt Juley's momentary and horrified silence he caught some words of Irene's that sounded like:

"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 little men, they won't take the trouble!"

Irene turned to answer him, and Soames saw Bosinney watching her and smiling to himself. A curious smile

the fellow had. A halfsimple 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 sardonicallyhe did not like June, who was not looking too pleased.

This was not surprising, for she had just held the following conversation with James:

"I stayed on the river on my way home, Uncle James, and saw a beautiful site for a house."

"I suppose you wouldn't know whether the land about there was freehold?" he asked at last. "You wouldn't

"Yes," said June; "I made inquiries." Her little resolute face under its copper crown was suspiciously eager

June was greatly encouraged by his interest. It had long been her pet plan that her uncles should benefit

"Of course not," she said. "I thought it would be such a splendid place foryou orsomeone to build a

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

"You ought to go into the country, Uncle James. I wish I had a lot of money, I wouldn't live another day in

James was stirred to the depths of his long thin figure; he had no idea his niece held such downright views.

"Why don't you go into the country?" repeated June; "it would do you a lot of good."

"Why?" began James in a fluster. "Buying landwhat good d'you suppose I can do buying land, building

"No! and I hope I never shall!" and, biting her lip with inexpressible mortification, poor June was silent.

Why were her own relations so rich, and Phil never knew where the money was coming from for

tomorrow's tobacco. Why couldn't they do something for him? But they were so selfish. Why couldn't they

build countryhouses? 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

June's spirit. Her eyes grew steady with anger, like old Jolyon's when his will was crossed.

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 his 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,

No wonder he was upset. Engaged for fiftyfour 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

As in all selfrespecting 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.

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 businessfor Soames, like his father, was a member of that wellknown firm of

solicitors, Forsyte, Bustard and Forsyteand had always been very careful. He had done quite unusually

well with some mortgages he had taken up, tooa little timely foreclosuremost lucky hits!

There was no reason why Irene should not be happy, yet they said she'd been asking for a separate room. He

James looked at his daughterinlaw. 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.

'He's fond of her, I know,' thought James. 'Look at the way he's always giving her things.'

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; that 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

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.

"Who cares?" June cried; "let him do what he likesyou'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.

What if Irene were to take it into her head tohe could hardly frame the thoughtto 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 moneya 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 wineglasses full of wine.

'That little, thing's at the bottom of it all,' he mused; 'Irene'd never have thought of it herself.' James was a

"I gave four hundred pounds for it," he was saying. "Of course it's a regular work of art."

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.

Between the points of his collar Swithin's chin made the second painful oscillatory movement of the

Fourhundredpounds, of English money; not a farthing less. I don't regret it. It's not common Englishit's

Soames raised the comer 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.

"There's a lot of work about it," remarked James hastily, who was really moved by the size of the group. "It'd

"The poor foreign deyvil that made it, "went on Swithin," asked me five hundredI gave him four. It's

"Ah!" chimed in Nicholas suddenly, "poor, seedylookin' 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

Old Jolyon had risen, and, cigar in mouth, went to inspect the group at close quarters.

Soames saw his father and Nicholas glance at each other anxiously; and, on the other side of Swithin,

'I wonder what he thinks of it?' thought Soames, who knew well enough that this group was hopelessly vieux

jeu; hopelessly of the last generation. There was no longer any sale at Jobson's for such works of art.

Swithin's answer came at last. "You never knew anything about a statue. You've got your pictures, and that's

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, pigheaded as a mule, who had never known a statue from

It had long been physically impossible for Swithin to start; his fist came down on the table.

And behind his speech seemed to sound again that rumbling violence of primitive generations.

"Now, what do you say, Mr. Bosinney? You're an architect; you ought to know all about statues and things!"

Every eye was turned upon Bosinney; all waited with a strange, suspicious look for his answer.

His words were addressed to Swithin, his eyes smiled slyly at old Jolyon; only Soames remained unsatisfied.

The answer was followed by an impressive silence; Swithin alone was not sure whether a compliment was

Soames Forsyte walked out of his greenpainted 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.

He had left his wife sitting on the sofa in the drawingroom, her hands crossed in her lap, manifestly waiting

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.

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

He that could imagine so outlandish a cause for his wife's not getting on with him was certainly no Forsyte.

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 womennot too common in the AngloSaxon raceborn 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 goldhaired, darkeyed girl had treated him. He

certainly did not remember the look on her face strange, passive, appealingwhen suddenly one day she

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.

The house wanted doing, up, unless he decided to move into the country, and build.

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 believedJames 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

He had stopped to look in at a picture shop, for Soames was an 'amateur' of pictures, and had a littleroom 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,

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

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

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 cleanshaven lips, his firm chin with its greyish shaven tinge, and the buttoned strictness of his black

cutaway coat, conveyed an appearance of reserve and secrecy, of imperturbable, enforced composure; but

his eyes, cold,grey, strainedlooking, with a line in the brow between them, examined him wistfully, as if

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.

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 mortgagewhat 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

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

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

It would be everything to get Irene out of town. The house would please her she would enjoy messing about

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

And a common architect was no goodthe memory of Parkes' tower precluded the employment of a

This was why he had thought of Bosinney. Since the dinner at Swithin's he had made enquiries, the result of

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 'favourednation,' if not nominal termsonly fair, considering the chance to Bosinney of displaying his

Soames reflected complacently on the work it would be sure to bring the young man; for, like every Forsyte,

Bosinney's office was in Sloane Street, close at, hand, so that he would be able to keep his eye continually on

Again, Irene would not be to likely to object to leave London if her greatest friend's lover were given the job.

June's marriage might depend on it. Irene could not decently stand in the way of June's marriage; she would

never do that, he knew her too well. And June would be pleased; of this he saw the advantage.

Bosinney looked clever, but he had alsoandit was one of his great attractionsan 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 mindof the mind of any good

business manof all those thousands of good business men through whom he was threading his way up

Thus he fulfilled the inscrutable laws of his great classof human nature itselfwhen he reflected, with a

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 mouselike 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

He went in this morning, but, instead of stealing from monument to monument, turned his eyes upwards to

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

That evening, on his return from the City, he called at Bosinney's office. He found the architect in his

shirtsleeves, smoking a pipe, and ruling off lines on a plan. Soames refused a drink, and came at once to the

"If you've nothing better to do on Sunday, come down with me to Robin Hill, and give me your opinion on a

Any information he could gather about the nature and scope of Bosinney's business would be all to the good.

"It does well enough for me so far," answered the architect. "You're accustomed to the swells."

He knocked out his pipe, but replaced it empty between his teeth; it assisted him perhaps to carry on the

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.

It was the 1st of Augusta perfect day, with a burning sun and cloudless skyand in the straight, narrow

"Gravel soil," remarked Soames, and sideways he glanced at the coat Bosinney wore. Into the sidepockets

of this coat were thrust bundles of papers, and under one arm was carried a queer looking stick. Soames

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?

"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

"Let women into your plans," pursued Soames, "and you never know where it'll end."

This feeling had long been at thebottom of Soames's heart; he had never, however, put it into words.

"Oh!" he Muttered, "so you're beginning to...." He stopped, but added, with an uncontrollable burst of spite:

Soames had never called Irene an angel. He could not so have violated his best instincts, letting other people

They had struck into a halfmade road across a warren. A carttrack led at rightangles 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

hate of sunshine. On the far horizon, over a countless succession of fields and hedges, rose a line of downs.

Soames led till they had crossed to the far side, and there he stopped. It was the chosen site; but now that he

"The agent lives in that cottage," he said; "he'll give us some lunchwe'd better have lunch before we go

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,

"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

Soames was solicitor to this estate, and he spent nearly an hour in the agent's company, looking at

groundplans and discussing the Nicholl and other mortgages; it was as it were by an afterthought that he

"Your people," he said, "ought to come down in their price to me, considering that I shall be the first to

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

"Mind," said Soames," I've not decided; it's quite possible I shan't build at all. The ground rent's very high."

"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

They looked at each other. Their faces said very plainly: 'I respect you as a man of business; and you can't

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

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

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.

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

The warren was as lonely as a prairie, its silence only broken by the rustle of rabbits bolting to their holes,

Soames, the pioneerleader 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

The architect was sprawling under a large oak tree, whose trunk, with a huge spread of bough and foliage,

"Hallo! Forsyte," he said, "I've found the very place for your house! Look here!"

Almost from their feet stretched ripe corn, dipping to a small dark copse beyond. A plain of fields and hedges

spread to the distant greybluedowns. In a silver streak to the right could be seen the line of the river.

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

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 'halftame 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

A long, soft ripple of wind flowed over the corn, and brought a puff of warm air into their faces.

Soames had become very palea struggle was going on within him. He dropped his eyes, and said

They spent some time there going into particulars of the projected house, and then Soames returned to the

He came out in about half an hour, and, joining Bosinney, started for the station.

"Well," he said, hardly opening his lips, "I've taken that site of yours, after all."

And again he was silent, confusedly debating how it was that this fellow, whom by habit he despised, should

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 'vieux jeu,' 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 jadegreen tiles, and surrounded by pink hydrangeas in peacockblue 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

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.

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

Skinlike immaculateness had grown over Soames, as over many Londoners; impossible to conceive of him

with a hair out of place, a tie deviating oneeighth of an inch from the perpendicular, a collar unglossed! He

would not have gone without a bath for worldsit was the fashion to take baths; and how bitter was his

But Irene could be imagined, like some nymph, bathing in wayside streams, for the joy of the freshness and

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

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 dearreally

For Soames Forsyteread James Peabody, Thomas Atkins, or Emmanuel Spagnoletti, the name in fact of

any uppermiddle class Englishman in London with any pretensions to taste; and though the decoration be

On the evening of August 8, a week after the expedition to Robin Hill, in the diningroom of this

house'quite individual, my dearreally 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 Sundaysthey've nothing to do but

The custom had produced no revolution. Forto Soames a rather deplorable signservants were devoted to

Irene, who, in defiance of all safe tradition, appeared to recognise their right to a share in the weaknesses of

The happy pair were seated, not opposite each other, but rectangularly, at the handsome rosewood table; they

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.

His nervousness about this disclosure irritated him profoundly; she had no business to make him feel like

thata 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 heryes, and with an ache in his heart that she should sit there, lookinglooking as if

she saw the walls of the room closing in. It was enough to make a man get up and leave the table.

The light from the roseshaded 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 teagowns, when they dined at home. Under that rosy light her

ambercoloured hair and fair skin made strange contrast with her dark brown eyes.

Could a man own anything prettier than this diningtable with its deep tints, the starry, softpetalled roses,

the rubycoloured 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 commonsense, 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

Out of his other property, out of all the things he had collected, his silver, his pictures, his houses, his

In this house of his there was writing on every wall. His businesslike 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 bodyif 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

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?

Like most novel readers of his generation (and Soames was a great novel reader), literature coloured his view

In the end the husband always gained the affection of his wife. Even in those casesa 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 thoughtthrew herself on his body in an agony of remorse.

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 be never spoke of a distaste

born perhaps by the perverse processes of Nature out of a secret fund of brutality in himself.

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

"What did she want?" It was an axiom with the Forsytes that people did not go anywhere unless they wanted

It looks to me," continued Soames, "as if she were sweeter on him than he is on her. She's always following

"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

He had been glad to get his news out under cover of this burst of irritation. He had expected a cry of dismay;

"It's a fine thing for Bosinney, it'll be the making of him. I suppose she's told you all about it?"

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

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

He lighted his cigarette. After all, Irene had not made a scene! She would come roundthat was the best of

her; she was cold, but not sulky. And, puffing the cigarette smoke at a ladybird 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....

In truth, June had come in that afternoon with shining eyes, and the words: "Soames is a brick! It's splendid

"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 forthe 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.

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

"He's to have all the decorations as wella 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

Out in the shadow of the Japanese sunshade she was sitting very still, the lace on her white shoulders stirring

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.

It was not long before Soames's determination to build went the round of the family, and created the flutter

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 Annshe thought it would cheer her, the poor old sweet!

Mrs. Small told Aunt Ann at once, who, smiling as she lay back on her pillows, said in her distinct, trembling

"It's very nice for dear June; but I hope they will be careful it's rather dangerous!"

When she was left alone again, a frown, like a cloud presaging a rainy morrow, crossed her face.

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.

The maid Smither, who had been in her service since girlhood, and was spoken of as "Smithera good

girlbut 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 bandbox those flat, grey curls,

the insignia of personal dignity, she placed them securely in her mistress's hands, and turned her back.

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 reallyexpecting; 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!"

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

"Nobody," he said, "told him anything." And, rather than go direct to Soames himself, of whose taciturnity he

He found Mrs. Septimus and Hester (who had been toldshe 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

"Nobody knows anything about him. I don't see what Soames wants with a young man like that. I shouldn't

"Soames," interposed Aunt Juley, "told Mr. Bosinney that he didn't wish it mentioned. He wouldn't like it to

"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

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

He walked rapidly, his head bent, looking neither to right nor, left. The appearance of this park, the centre of

his own battlefield, 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

One of his tenants had lately shown a disposition to be behindhand 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 reletting before

Christmas. Swithin had just been let in very badly, but it had served him righthe had held on too long.

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 idlenesson so many human evidences of the

remorseless battle of Property, raging beyond its ringwas like the flight of some land bird across the sea.

It was Soames, who, crossing from the shady side of Piccadilly, where he had been walking home from the

"Your mother's in bed," said James; "I was, just coming to you, but I suppose I shall be in the way."

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

Something beyond the power of wordanalysis bound them together, something hidden deep in the fibre of

nations and familiesfor blood, they say, is thicker than waterand neither of them was a coldblooded

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

seventyfive, what was left that could give him pleasure, butsaving? The kernel of life was in this saving

Than James Forsyte, notwithstanding all his 'Jonahisms,' there was no saner man (if the leading symptom of

sanity, as we are told, is selfpreservation, 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 himmore than in Jolyon, with his masterful will and

his moments of tenderness and philosophymore than in Swithin, the martyr to crankinessNicholas, the

sufferer from abilityand Roger, the victim of enterprisebeat 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.

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 drawingroomhis legs twisted, his long white

whiskers framing his cleanshaven 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.

Beneath the adamant of his selfpreserving 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 behe'd no

When his soninlaw 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

BadenBaden to get better; there was something terrible in the idea that but for his, James's, money, Dartie's

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

His universal comment was: "What can they expect? I have it myself, if I'm not careful!"

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 illhe 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, that would have to be looked into. As to the trouble

He entered 62, Montpellier Square with the fullest intentions of being miserable. It was already halfpast

seven, and Irene, dressed for dinner, was seated in the drawing room. She was wearing her goldcoloured

frockfor, having been displayed at a dinnerparty, a soiree, and a dance, it was now to be worn at

homeand she had adorned the bosom with a cascade of lace, on which James's eyes riveted themselves at

"Where do you get your things?" he said in an aggravated voice. "I never see Rachel and Cicely looking half

And, in spite of himself, James felt the influence of her deference, of the faint seductive perfume exhaling

from her. No selfrespecting Forsyte surrendered at a blow; so he merely said: He didn't knowhe expected

The gong sounded, and, putting her white arm within his, Irene took him into the diningroom. 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.

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

"You've a lot of nice things about the place. Now, what did you give for that sugarsifter? Shouldn't wonder

He was particularly pleased with the appearance of a picture, on the wall opposite, which he himself had

"That's what I call a capital little dinner," he murmured, breathing pleasantly down on her shoulder; "nothing

heavyand not too Frenchified. But I can't get it at home. I pay my cook sixty pounds a year, but she can't

He had as yet made no allusion to the building of the house, nor did he when Soames, pleading the excuse of

James was left alone with his daughterinlaw. 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

bronzecoloured shoes to the waved gold of her hair. She was leaning back in an Empire chair, her shoulders

poised against the topher 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 halfclosed.

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

Thus when he spoke it was in a sharper voice, as if he had been awakened from a pleasant dream.

"What d'you do with yourself all day?" he said. "You never come round to Park Lane!"

at her. He did not want to believe that she was really avoiding themit would mean too much.

"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!"

"Don't understand him!" James humied out: "Why not?you can see he's one of these artistic chaps. They

say he's cleverthey all think they're clever. You know more about him than I do," he added; and again his

"He is designing a house for Soames," she said softly, evidently trying to smooth things over.

"That brings me to what I was going to say," continued James; "I don't know what Soames wants with a

"That's it'," he said, "you young people, you all stick together; you all think you know best!"

Halting his tall, lank figure before her, he raised a finger, and levelled it at her bosom, as though bringing an

"All I can say is, these artistic people, or whatever they call themselves, they're as unreliable as they can be;

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.

"I tell you my opinion," he said, "it's a pity you haven't got a child to think about, and occupy you!

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.

He was frightened by the effect he had produced, and like most men with but little courage, he sought at once

"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!"

"Well, I know nothing about it," he said; "nobody tells me anything. Soames ought to be able to take care of

Biting the corner of his forefinger he stole a cold, sharp look at his daughterinlaw.

He encountered her eyes fixed on his own, so dark and deep, that he stopped, and broke into a gentle

"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

goodnight to Soames for him, and if she wanted a little gaiety, well, he would drive her down to Richmond

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

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 drawingroom; 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

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

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 nowBosinney and his affairsand 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.

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 hydropathiche wasnot going to begin that at his time of life, those newfangled places

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

And so that afternoon he took this journey through St. John's Wood, in the goldenlight 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

His cab stopped in front of a small house of that peculiar buff colour which implies a long immunity from

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

Old Jolyon could not help twinkling at the little maid as he gave his name. She seemed to him such a funny

And he followed her through the dark hall, into a small double, drawingroom, where the furniture was

Old Jolyon sat down in the chintzcovered chair, and looked around him. The whole place seemed to him, as

he would have expressed it, pokey; there was a certainhe could not tell exactly whatair 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 fivepound note. The walls, distempered rather a long time ago, were decorated with watercolour

These little houses were all old, secondrate 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 Forsytehis own son living in such a place.

Old Jolyon marched out through the French windows. In descending the steps he noticed that they wanted

Young Jolyon, his wife, his two children, and his dog Balthasar, were all out there under a peartree.

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 deepset eyes steadily on the enemy.

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

The dog Balthasar sniffed round the edges of his trousers; this friendly and cynical mongrel offspring of a

The strange greetings over, old Jolyon seated himself in a wicker chair, and his two grandchildren, one on

They were unlike, as though recognising the difference set between them by the circumstances of their births.

Jolly, the child of sin, pudgyfaced, with his towcoloured 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

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

Even in the garden, that sense of things being pokey haunted old Jolyon; the wicker chair creaked under his

weight; the gardenbeds looked 'daverdy'; on the far side, under the smut stained wall, cats had made a path.

While he and his grandchildren thus regarded each other with the peculiar scrutiny, curious yet trustful, that

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

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.

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 hearta camp of soldiers

in a shopwindow, which his father had promised to buy. No doubt it seemed to him too precious; a tempting

And the sunlight played through the leaves on that little party of the three generations grouped tranquilly

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

Suddenly young Mrs. Jolyon got up and hurried indoors. A minute later her husband muttered an excuse, and

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

thinveined 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

He found her seated on a chair before her dressingglass, with her hands before her face.

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

In the night she would be sure to throw her o arms round, his neck and say: "Oh! Jo, how I make you suffer!"

He reached out his hand, and, unseen, slipped his razorcase into his pocket. 'I cannot stay here,' he thought,

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 teatable,

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

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

"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.

"You've got a nice little house here," said old Jolyon with a shrewd look; "I suppose you've taken a lease of

Old Jolyon said simply: "I suppose I oughtn't to have come here, Jo; but I get so lonely!"

In the next house someone was playing over and over again: 'La Donna 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 peartree, with its

For some time they sat there, talking but little. Then old Jolyon rose to go, and not a word was said about his

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 billiardroom and drawingroom that no one entered

That woman, whose face he had rather liked, was too thinskinned by half; she gave Jo a bad time he knew!

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.

Society, forsooth, the chattering hags and jackanapeshad set themselves up to pass judgment on his 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

He stumped his umbrella fiercely; yet he himself had followed Society's behaviour for fifteen yearshad

He thought of June, and her dead mother, and the whole story, with all his old bitterness. A wretched

He was a long time reaching Stanhope Gate, for, with native perversity, being extremely tired, he walked the

After washing his hands in the lavatory downstairs, he went to the diningroom to wait for dinner, the only

room he used when June was outit was less lonely so. The evening paper had not yet come; he had

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 chef d'oeuvre 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 thinghad always been a

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 membersof 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:

He moved to and fro between the great polished sideboard and the great polished table inimitably sleek and

Old Jolyon watched him, feigning sleep. The fellow was a sneak he had always thought sowho cared

about nothing but rattling through his work, and getting out to his betting or his woman or goodness knew

But then against his will, came one of those moments of philosophy which made old Jolyon different from

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 nexthe didn't knowcouldn't tell!

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 heard 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:

Soft as a tomcat, 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,

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

Slowly old Jolyon got up out of his chair, and sat down at the table to eat his dinner.

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 inconceivablehe would be like a novel without a plot, which is wellknown to be an anomaly.

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.

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 sittingroom apart from his office, but a large

recess had been screened off to conceal the necessaries of lifea 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

pigeonholes, a round oak table, a folding washstand, 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.

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, andmore worthy itema private annuity

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 wellknown figure, in

fact, in his county. Bosinney's uncle by marriage, Baynes, of Baynes and Bildeboy, a Forsyte in instincts if

"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 he 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

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 architectureforeign! What could he

expect? And there he isa clever young fellowdoesn't make his hundred a year! Now this engagement is

the best thing that could have happenedkeep 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 himnot an ounce of vice. Old Forsyte's a

Mr. Baynes made himself extremely pleasant to June, who frequently visited his house in Lowndes Square at

"This house of your cousin'swhat a capital man of businessis 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 causethe 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!"

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.

"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."

June, her little figure erect before the hearth, her small face quivering grimly, for she regarded her aunt's

Aunt Juley pouted; she herself had always been thin, but the only pleasure she derived from the fact was the

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.

"Taste!" cried June, flaring up at once; "wouldn't give that for his taste, or any of the family's!"

"Your Uncle Swithin," she said, "always had beautiful taste! And Soames's little house is lovely; you don't

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.

"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. We thinkI mean Timothy thinksshe ought to go out more. I expect you'll

"I do wish, "she cried, "Uncle Timothy wouldn't talk about what doesn't concern him!"

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:

"And how is your dear grandfather?" she asked in the hall, "I expect he's very lonely now that all your time is

She bent and kissed her niece hungrily, and with little, mincing steps passed away.

The tears sprang up in June's eyes; running into the little study, where Bosinney was sitting at the table

"Oh, Phil! it's all so horrid!" Her heart was as warm as the colour of her hair.

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:

"Bosinney's downstairs. Just go and entertain him while I finish shaving. I'll be down in a minute. It's about

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,

>From the window of his dressingroom 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

The plans were spread on the oak table in the architect's room; and pale, imperturbable, inquiring, Soames

A rectangular house of two stories was designed in a quadrangle round a coveredin court. This court,

encircled by a gallery on the upper floor, was roofed with a glass roof, supported by eight columns running

Bosinney began to walk about, and Soames did not like the expression on his face.

"The principle of this house," said the architect, "was that you should have room to breathelike a

Soames extended his finger and thumb, as if measuring the extent of the distinction he should acquire; and

"I've tried to plan you a house here with some selfrespect of its own. If you don't like it, you'd better say so.

It's certainly the last thing to be consideredwho wants selfrespect 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 fiftyone by twentythree six. This doublefaced 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 onand though looking at Soames he did not seem to see him, which gave

Soames an unpleasant feeling"as in life, you'll get no selfrespect 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

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

"I can see what it is," said Bosinney, "you want one of Little master's housesone 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!"

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

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

This grownup childishness, to which he felt so superior, exercised a peculiar and almost mesmeric effect on

He had such a private distrust and even dislike of the word=original' that he felt he had not really given

Bosinney seemed pleased. It was the sort of thing that would please a fellow like that! And his success

"Space, air, light," he heard Bosinney murmur, "you can't live like a gentleman in one of Littlemaster'she

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 selfrespect? It looked to him as if the house

"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 hotwater

"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

"Eight thousand five hundred?" said Soames. "Why, I gave you an outside limit of eight!"

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 itthere was

completeness about it, and dignity; the servants' apartments were excellent too. He would gain credit by

living in a house like thatwith such individual features, yet perfectly. wellarranged.

He continued poring over the plans, while Bosinney went into his bedroom to shave and dress.

The two walked back to Montpellier Square in silence, Soames watching him out of the corner of his eye.

The Buccaneer was rather a goodlooking fellowso he thought when he was properly got up.

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 teatime he came down to the drawingroom, and found them talking, as he expressed it, nineteen

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.

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

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.

Soames hated sunshine, and he at once got up, to draw the blind. Then he took his own cup of tea from his

"Can't you see your way to do it for eight thousand after all? There must be a lot of little things you could

Soames saw that his suggestion had touched some unintelligible point of personal vanity.

"Well," he agreed, with sulky resignation; "you must have it your own way, I suppose."

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 drawingroom, where Irene was putting away the music, and, moved by an uncontrollable spasm of

He looked at the carpet while waiting for her answer, and he had to wait some time.

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

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.

Perhaps what really affected them so profoundly was the thought that a Forsyte should have let go her grasp

It was a full hour before they could make up their minds to tell Timothy. If only it could be kept from him! If

And long they stood outside his door whispering together. And when it was over they whispered together

He would feel it more, they were afraid, as time went on. Still, he had taken it better than could have been

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 seventythree 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 pockethandkerchief. Her warm heart could not bear the thought

Aunt Hester, the silent, the patient, that backwater of the family energy, sat in the drawingroom, 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?

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 himthat 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

Aunt Hester made no reply; it was nearly October, but what was the good of arguing; some people were

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

bluehe 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.

Presently all five went up to look at the body. Under the pure white sheet a quilted counterpane 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 lifelong 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 scarcewrinkled parchment of skinsquare jaw and chin,

cheekbones, forehead with hollow temples, chiselled nosethe 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

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

He could take nothing for dinner but a partridge, with an imperial pint of champagne....

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 lastdeath came to all! His face did not move, his gaze seemed

Aunt Hester stood beside him. She did not cry now, tears were exhaustedher 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

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!

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. Soameshe knew all about that sort of thing; her master was very much upset, he

supposedhe would want looking after; as for her mistresses, they were no goodthey 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 biscuithe had had no

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

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.

The morning came, cold, with a high, grey, London sky, and at halfpast ten the first carriage, that of James,

drove up. It contained James and his soninlaw Dartie, a fine man, with a square chest, buttoned very

tightly into a frock coat, and a sallow, fattish face adorned with dark, wellcurled 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

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 sonsyoung 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

Then came two HaymansGiles 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 stoodbowing 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, twentyone in all, not

Entering the scarlet and green drawingroom, 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 glovesa 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.

They went downstairs, and, two and two, as they had been told off in strict precedence, mounted the

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

So long as the procession kept to the highway of the Bayswater Road, it retained the foot'space, but, turning

into less important thoroughfares, 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:

"I shall have to be looking about for some ground somewhere. What arrangements have you made, Swithin?"

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 his 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.

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

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 strengthit was her final triumph that she had died while the tree was yet whole.

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, straightbacked 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 herthat same law would work, was: working, in the family she had watched like a mother.

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 kissesa little longer; alas! not even Aunt Ann could fight

'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, lowmuttered, in voices through which rose the

same tone, the same unseizable family ring, sounded weird, as though murmured in hurried duplication by a

The service in the chapel over, the mourners filed up again to guard the body to the tomb. The vault stood

>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. Therespreading 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.

A few words, a sprinkle of earth, the thrusting of the coffin home, and Aunt Ann had passed to her last rest.

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

Then, severally, each stood aside, and putting on his hat, turned back to inspect the new inscription on the

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 aboutto get

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

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

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 tramline, and came as far as the Marble Arch, where Bosinney went off to

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 goodhe had been short of exercise for a long timeand 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

"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.

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

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.

And he would stand before them for minutes' together, as though peering into the real quality of their

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.

The Accounts were already prepared on a folding table, and with a nod Soames sat down to study them. It

"I can't make them out," he said at last; "they come to nearly seven hundred more than they ought"

"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

Soames pushed back the table with a movement of anger, which sent the account sheets fluttering to the

"I've told you a dozen times," Bosinney answered sharply, that there'd be extras. I've pointed them out to you

I know that," growled Soames: "I shouldn't have objected to a ten pound note here and there. How was I to

The qualities of both men had contributed to this notinconsider able discrepancy. On the one hand, the

architect's devotion to his idea, to the image of a house which he had created and believed inhad made him

nervous of being stopped, or forced to the use of makeshifts; on the other, Soames' 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.

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 dd if I do another stroke of

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

"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, Ilike to know

"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,

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.

"Very well," assented Bosinney. "But we'll hurry up, if you don't mind. I have to get back in time to take June

Soames cast a stealthy look at him, and said: "Coming to our place, I suppose to meet her?" He was always

There had been rain the night beforea 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

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 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

"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 herbut nobody could touch her, she was coldhearted!

And memories crowded on him with the fresh, sweet savour of the spring windmemories of his courtship.

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 pinewoods 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 blackgloved 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 hima 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.

"Thatoh! Irene Heron. Her father, Professor Heron, died this year. She lives with her stepmother. She's a

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

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 wateringplaces. 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 shudderedto this day he had not

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

Bosinney was waiting for him at the door; and on his rugged, goodlooking, 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 flowerscented wind. And once more he felt baffled

in the presence of this man whom by habit he despised. He hastened on to the house.

"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 drawingroom ivory cream over paper, you'll get an illusive look. You

They, found little else to say to each other, but on the way to the Station Soames asked:

"Yes." The abrupt answer was as distinct a snub as saying: "If you want to discuss her you can do it with

And the slow, sulky anger Soames had felt all the afternoon burned the brighter within him.

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

Bosinney made no reply. And Soames gave him askance a look of dogged dislikefor in spite of his

fastidious air and that supercilious, dandified taciturnity, Soames, with his set lips and squared chin, was not

When, at seven o'clock that evening, June arrived at 62, Montpellier Square, the maid Bilson told her that Mr.

Bosinney was in the drawingroom; the mistressshe saidwas dressing, and would be down in a minute.

"All right, Bilson," she said, "I'll just go in. You, needn't hurry Mrs. Soames."

She took off her cloak, and Bilson, with an understanding look, did not even open the drawingroom door for

June paused for a moment to look at herself in the, little oldfashioned silver mirror above the oaken rug

chesta slim, imperious young figure, with a small resolute face, in a white frock, cut moonshaped at the

She opened the drawingroom door softly, meaning to take him by surprise. The room was filled with a

She took a long breath of the perfume, and heard Bosinney's voice, not in the room, but quite close, saying.

"Ah! there were such heaps of things I wanted to talk about, and now we shan't have time!"

June'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

June saw Irene look up at him through her screen of blossoms. It was not the look of a coquette, butfar

worse to the watching girlof a woman fearful lest that look should say too much.

"The big one! Make him bring you; it's only ten milesthe very thing for his horses."

The answer seemed to the girl to come softly with a tremble from amongst the blossoms: "So I do!"

"Were you talking about the house? I haven't seen it yet, you knowshall we all go on Sunday?"'

"Well! if you are all ready," said Irene, looking from one to the other with a strange smile, "dinner is too!"

In silence the soup, was finishedexcellent, if a little thick; and fish was brought. In silence it was handed.

The fish was taken away, a fine fresh sole from Dover. And Bilson brought champagne, a bottle swathed

Cutlets were handed, each pinkfrilled about the legs. They were refused by June, and silence fell.

But June again refused, so they were borne away. And then Irene asked: "Phil, have you heard my

Bosinney answered: "Ratherhe's got a huntingsong. As I came round I heard him in the Square."

But Soames was speaking: "The asparagus is very poor. Bosinney, glass of sherry with your sweet? June,

An apple charlotte came upon a silver dish, And smilingly Irene said: "The azaleas are so wonderful this

The charlotte was removed. Long silence followed. Irene, beckoning, said: "Take out the azalea, Bilson. Miss

Olives from France, with Russian caviare, were placed on little plates. And Soames remarked: "Why can't we

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

Irene finished softly: "Never! There was such a glorious sunset. The sky's all ruby stillso beautiful!"

Egyptian cigarettes were handed in a silver box. Soames, taking one, remarked: "What time's your play

Irene, from the window, murmured: "Such a lovely night! The stars are coming out!"

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 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

The whole town was alive; the boughs, curled upward with their decking of young leaves, awaited some gift

the breeze could bring. Newlighted 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.

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 solitarysolitary and moving eastward in

a streamswung slowly along, with expectation in their gait, dreaming of good wine and a good supper,

Those countless figures, going their ways under the lamps and the movingsky, 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.

Bosinney and June entered the theatre in silence, and mounted to their seats in the upper boxes. The piece had

just begun, and the halfdarkened house, with its rows of creatures peering all one way, resembled a great

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 cigarcase and his old kid gloves, and handed to June to keep

till the appointed night. And in those stallsan erect old figure with a serene white head, a little figure,

strenuous and eager, with a redgold headthey 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!"

She had looked forward to this evening with keen delight; it was stolen, chaperoneless, undreamed of at

Stanhope Gate, where she was supposed to be at Soames'. 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 tormentingsunny 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

She was very white, and she knewfor with her nerves thus sharpened she saw everythingthat he was

At the back of the theatre an open balcony hung over the street; she took possession of this, and stood leaning

The defensive tone of his voice brought the colour flying to her cheek, the words flying to her lips: "You

June cried passionately: "You know I want to do everything for youthat I want to be everything to you...."

A hum rose from thestreet, 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!"

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 eyes grew angry; he shrugged his shoulders, and answered: "An engagement that will prevent my taking

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

In the third row behind, Euphemia, Nicholas's youngest daughter, with her marriedsister, Mrs. Tweetyman,

They reported at Timothy's, how they had seen June and her fiance at the theatre.

"In the stalls?" "No, not in the...." "Oh! in the dress circle, of course. That seemed to be quite fashionable

Wellnot exactly. In the.... Anyway, that 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 disappoint ingly in squeaks; and when Mrs. Small, holding up

her hands, said: "My dear! Kicked a haat?" she let out such anumber of these that she had to be recovered

For 'that little June' this evening, that was to have been 'her treat,' was the most miserable she had ever spent.

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

The noiseless 'Sankey' let her in. She would have slipped up to her own room, but old Jolyon, who had heard

"Come in and have your milk," he said. "It's been kept hot for you. You're very late. Where have you been?"

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.

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:

He was invisible now behind his paper, which he turned with a vicious crackle; but when June came up to

kiss him, he said: "Goodnight, 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

When the door was closed, old Jolyon dropped his paper, and stared long and anxiously in front of him.

Uneasy doubts and suspicions, the more poignant that he felt himself powerless to check or control the march

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

'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 tomorrow. But she won'tnot she!

Sighing deeply, he turned the paper; in its columns, perchance he might find consolation.

And upstairs in her room June sat at her open window, where the spring wind came, after its revel across the

Two lines of a certain song in a certain famous old school's songbook run as follows:

'How the buttons on his blue frock shone, tralala! How he carolled and he sang, like a bird!....'

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.

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

frockcoat, 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 frockcoat 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 dogskin gloves; with his large bellshaped 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 cigarsthe 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;

He would never teach that fellow to look smart; and Mrs. Soames he felt sure, had an eye!

A pretty woman would want to show off her frock; and wellhe was going to drive a lady! It was like a new

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 dd if I ever drive you again!" And he never had, not he!

Going up to his horses' heads, he examined their bits; not that he knew anything about bitshe 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

thimbleriggers. But someone at the Club, after seeing him drive his greys up to the doorhe always drove

grey horses, you got more style for the money, some thoughthad called him 'Four inhand 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 kingdomSwithin had ever after

conceived it right to act up to it. The name had taken his fancy, not because he had ever driven fourinhand,

or was ever likely to, but because of something distinguished in the sound. Fourinhand 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 became the chief glory of the uppermiddle class. He had literally been forced into land agency.

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 roundAdolf 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' door.

Irene came out at once, and stepped inhe afterward described it at Timothy's"as light aserTaglioni,

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 veilcapital taste."

"What was it made of?" inquired Aunt Hester, who manifested a languid but permanent excitement at any

He sank into silence so profound that Aunt Hester began to be afraid he had fallen into a trance. She did not

But suddenly Swithin returned to life. "Made of" he wheezed out slowly, "what should it be made of?"

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

On Saturday morning Soames had found her at her writingtable 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

And then she began writing another. He took a casual glance presently, and saw that it was addressed to

Irene, looking at him again with that intent look, said quietly: "Something he wanted me to do for him!"

"You'll have your work cut out if you begin that sort of thing!" He said no more.

Swithin opened his eyes at the mention of Robin Hill; it was a long way for his horses, and he always dined

at halfpast seven, before the rush at the Club began; the new chef took more trouble with an early dinnera

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

Fourinhand Forsyte they called him! His Tcart, 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 standup collar, like a turkeycock preening himself.

She was reallya charming woman! He enlarged upon her frock afterwards to Aunt Juley, who held up her

Fitted her like a skintight 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 Jameslong and thin.

"There's style about her," he went on, "fit for a king! And she's so quiet with it too!"

"She seems to have made quite a conquest of you, any way," drawled Aunt Hester from her corner.

"What's that?" he said. "I know aprettywoman when I see one, and all I can say is, I don't see the young

Long before they reached Robin Hill, however, the unaccustomed airing had made him terribly sleepy; he

drove with his eyes closed, a lifetime of deportment alone keeping his tall and bulky form from falling

Bosinney, who was watching, came out to meet them, and all three entered the house together; Swithin in

front making play with a stout goldmounted 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

The staircasehe saidwas 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.

What was this to bethis vestibule, or whatever they called it? But gazing at the skylight, inspiration came

When told it was to be a tiled court with plants in the centre, he turned to Irene:

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.

He had little to say of the drawing or diningrooms, which he described as 'spacious"; but fell into such

raptures as he permitted to a man of his dignity, in the winecellar, to which he descended by stone steps,

"You'll have room here," he said, "for six or seven hundred. dozena very pooty little cellar!"

Bosinney having expressed the wish to show them the house from the copse below, Swithin came to a stop.

"There's a fine view from here," he remarked; "you haven't such a thing as a chair?"

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

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! Heah! They were waving to

him from the bottom! He put up his hand, and moved it more than once. They were activethe 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.

And asleep, a sentinel on thetop of the rise, he appeared to rule over this prospectremarkablelike

some image blocked out by the special artist, of primeval Forsytes in pagan days, to record the domination of

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 worldall these unnumbered generations seemed to sit

But from him, thus slumbering, his jealous Forsyte spirit travelled far, into Godknowswhat jungle of

fancies; with those two young people, to see what they were doing down there in the copsein 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 mushroomand 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 woodcutter 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

Silent, standing with them there, and uneasy at their silence! Very queer, very strange!

Then back again, as though guilty, through the woodback to the cutting, still silent, amongst the songs of

birds that never ceased, and the wild scenthum! what was itlike that herb they put inback to the log

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 nowaah! falling, ooh! slidingdown his breast; her soft, warm body clutched, her

head bent back from his lips; his kiss; her recoil; his cry: "You must knowI love you!" Must

Swithin awoke; virtue had gone out of him. He had a taste in his mouth. Where was he?

He stood up, tall, square, bulky in his fur, looking anxiously down over the fields, and presently he saw them

Irene was in front; that young fellowwhat 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.

They saw him. He extended his arm, and moved it spasmodically to encourage them. But they had stopped.

What were they standing there for, talkingtalking? 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 thata great ugly thing, not the sort of house

He looked intently at their faces, with his pale, immovable stare. That young man looked very queer!

"You'll never make anything of this!" he said tartly, pointing at the mansion;"too newfangled!"

Bosinney gazed at him as though he had not heard; and Swithin afterwards described him to, Aunt Hester as

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

He brightened up at the mention of tea. He had a contempt for teahis brother Jolyon had been in tea; made

a lot of money by itbut 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 mouthshe was so sympatheticbut it would not be

a, distinguished thing to do; he rolled his tongue round, and faintly smacked it against his palate.

In a far corner of the tent Adolf was bending his catlike moustaches over a kettle. He left it at once to draw

the cork of a pintbottle of champagne. Swithin smiled, and, nodding at Bosinney, said: "Why, you're quite a

Monte Cristo!" This celebrated novelone of the halfdozen he had readhad produced an extraordinary

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.

"A very nice wine," he said at last, passing it before his nose; "not the equal of my Heidsieck!"

It was at this moment that the idea came to him which he afterwards imparted at Timothy's in this nutshell: "I

And from this moment his pale, round eyes never ceased to bulge with the interest of his discovery.

"The fellow," he said to Mrs. Septimus, "follows her about with his eyes like a dogthe 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 halfclosed 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

"Give it back?" said Swithin: "I saw him slobber on it when he thought I wasn't looking!

"But she gave him no encouragement," went on Swithin; he stopped, and stared for a minute or two in the

way that alarmed Aunt Hester sohe had suddenly recollected that, as they were starting back in

thephaeton, 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 faceshe had kept it hanging down.

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 seanymph lying on her back, with her hand on her naked breast. She has a

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 brotherinlaw 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

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 flyblown 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.

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 whiplash 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 donkeycart into proximity; the wheels grated, the

Swithin did not look round. On no account would he have pulled up to help the ruffian. Serve him right if he

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.

Irene had her hand on the rail, and at every lurch she gripped it tightly. Swithin heard her ask:

Don't you move!" He took a look ather. She was smiling, perfectly calm. "Sit still," he repeated. "Never

And in the midst of all his terrible efforts, he was surprised to hear her answer in a voice not like her own:

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.

"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!"

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,

Those ignorant of Forsyte 'Change would not, perhaps, foresee all the stir made by Irene's visit to the house.

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.

"And what a dreadful thing to say, my dear!" ended Aunt Juley; "that about not going home. What did she

It was a strange recital for the girl. She heard it flushing painfully, and, suddenly, with a curt handshake, took

The proper construction was put on her reception of the news. She was upset. Something was therefore very

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 theatreMr. Bosinney always at Soames's? Oh, indeed! Yes, of

course, he would 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 sympatheticvibrating. No

one desired that harm should come of these vibrationsfar 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.

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 wellaired, 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 whoknowswhom, and so on.

That great class to which they had risen, and now belonged, demanded a certain candour, a still more certain

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.

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

And, after all, it was only the wrongdoers 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,

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 Londonthe homes of neutral

persons of the secure classes, who are out of the battle themselves, and must find their reason for existing, in

But for the sweetness of family gossip, it must indeed have been lonely there. Rumours and tales, reports,

surmiseswere 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

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.

The situation which at this stage might seem, and especially to Forsyte eyes, strangenot to say

'impossible'was, in view of certain facts, not so strange after all. Some things had been lost sight of. And

first, in the security bred of many harmless marriages, it had been forgotten that Love is no hothouse 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! And furtherthe facts and figures of their own lives being against the perception of this truthit was

not generally recognised by Forsytes that, where, this wild plant springs, men and women are but moths

It was long since young Jolyon's escapadethere 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 timeas with measles, on a soothing mixture of butter

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 househe had afterwards sold it at a clear profit of four hundred

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 skintight bodice, the fair form

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 allforgetfulness of what it was like to be in love.

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

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 thinga good

Like the not inconsiderable majority of men, James relished a nice little bit of scandal, and would say, in a

matteroffact tone, licking his lips, "Yes, yesshe and young Dyson; they tell me they're living at Monte

But the significance of an affair of this sortof its past, its present, or its futurehad 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

Now, however, that such a thingor rather the rumour, the breath of ithad 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.

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.

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

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 'bedrock' matters of fact, have quite a fine taste in realism); but as to anything

Ah! but there was no truth in itcould 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 temperamentone 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

In life, however, there were many occasions when the business of making up his mind did not even rest with

What could he do? Talk it over with Soames? That would only make matters worse. And, after all, there was

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 firstrate 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

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

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 somethingmore possibly the fact that

he was going to look at a housethat 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

Without saying a word, therefore, to anyone, he took a hansom to the station and proceeded by train to Robin

Hill; thencethere being no 'flies,' in accordance with the custom of the neighbourhoodhe found himself

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 frockcoat, 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 positionbut she saw that the butler saw to it.

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

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.

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

Through spaces of the unfinished house, shirtsleeved figures worked slowly, and sounds arosespasmodic

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

The freshfitted windowpanes, daubed each with a white patch in the centre, stared out at James like the

And the building chorus went on, strident and mirthless under the greywhite sky. But the thrushes, hunting

James picked his way among the heaps of gravelthe drive was being laidtill 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.

His chinablue 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

James brought his eyes down from whatever bird'snest they had been looking for in the sky to Bosinney's

It was exactly what James, as we know, had come for, and he was made correspondingly uneasy. He held out

James scented something suspicious in this courtesy. "I should like to walk round the outside first," he said,

A flagged terrace of rounded stones with a list of two or three inches to port had been laid round the

southeast and southwest sides of the house, and ran with a bevelled edge into mould, which was in

"Now what did this cost?" he asked, when he saw the terrace extending round the corner.

"How should I know?" replied James somewhat nonplussed; "two or three hundred, I dare say!"

James gave him a sharp look, but the architect appeared unconscious, and he put the answer down to

"You think so? You think that with the tree there you don't get enough view for your money.

Again James eyed him suspiciouslythis young man had a peculiar way of putting things: "Well!" he said,

James was alarmed. "Oh," he said, "don't go saying I said it was to come down! I know nothing about it!"

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

James grew more and more alarmed: "I don't know what you want mentioning my name for," he muttered;

He took out a silk handkerchief and wiped his brow. They entered the house. Like Swithin, James was

You must have spent a douce of a lot of money here," he said, after staring at the columns and gallery for

"I can't tell you offhand," thoughtfully answered Bosinney, "but I know it was a deuce of a lot!"

"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.

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,

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.

The fellow was sharper than he had thought, and betterlooking than he had hoped. He had aa '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.

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

"I dare say you see a good deal of my daughterinlaw; now, what does she think of the house? But she

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

He had determined, by this way of putting the question, to give Bosinney a chance, as he said to himself.

The latter was long in answering, but kept his eyes with uncomfortable steadiness on James.

Nervous and baffled, James was constitutionally prevented from letting the matter drop.

"Why!" he stammered, "you know that...." but he stopped, suddenly perceiving his danger.

"Well," he said, "if you don't want to tell me I suppose you won't! Nobody tells me anything."

"By the by," he said, "could you tell me if there are likely to be any more of you coming down? I should like

"Any more?" said James bewildered, "who should there be more? I don't know of any more. Goodbye?"

Looking at the ground he held out his hand, crossed the palm of it with Bosinney's, and taking his umbrella

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.

Outside the drive, and out of sight, he slackened his pace still more. Very slowly, more bent than when he

The Buccaneer, watching him go so sadly home, felt sorry perhaps for his behaviour to the old man.

James said nothing to his son of this visit to the house; but, having occasion to go to Timothy's on morning on

a matter connected with a drainage scheme which was being forced by the sanitary authorities on his, brother,

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.

Euphemia Forsyte, who happened to be in the roomshe had come round to borrow the Rev. Mr. Scoles' last

"I saw Irene yesterday at the Stores; she and Mr. Bosinney were having a nice little chat in the Groceries."

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 Storesthat 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

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

virtuecertainly never in her mind, for her own back was somewhat difficult to fit.

Her suspicions were fortunately confirmed. A young man coming from the Drugs had snatched off his hat,

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

hands, and at the busy time of the morning, she was quite unintentionally an interested observer of their little

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 distinguishedlooking man, and Georges name for him,

'The Buccaneerabout which there was something romanticquite charming). He seemed to be pleading.

Indeed, they talked so earnestlyor, rather, he talked so earnestly, for Mrs. Soames did not say muchthat

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' face, he actually took off his hat,

But it was Mrs. Soames' eyes that worried Euphemia. She never once looked at Mr. Bosinney until he moved

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

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 intrigueevery! 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

James, most averse at the first blush to accepting any news confirmatory of his own poignant suspicions, took

Euphemia smiled. "In the Groceries?" she said softly; and, taking 'Passion and Paregoric' from the table,

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 goodmorning, and, taking an envelope from

'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

'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

'Please make up your mind, therefore, whether you want me to decorate for you, or to retire which on the

'But understand that, if I decorate, I decorate alone, without interference of any sort.

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 Propertywhich is so admirably summed up, on the back of the most indispensable

Soames did not even turn his head. "I haven't made up my mind," he said, and went on with his defence.

A client of his, having put some buildings on a piece of ground that did not belong to him, had been suddenly

and most irritat ingly 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

He had a distinct reputation for sound advice; people saying of him: "Go to young Forsytea longheaded

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 temptationfrom 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 possiblea man cannot fall off the floor!

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 tooa man would not be supercilious unless he knew!

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

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

He looked at his watch. In a quarter of an hour he was due at the General Meeting of the New Colliery

Companyone of Uncle Jolyon's concerns; he should see Uncle Jolyon there, and say something to him

about Bosinneyhe had not made up his mind what, but somethingin 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 halfpast two, stepped into the Poultry.

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 businesshe said had the

Soames arrived on the stroke of time, and took his seat alongside the Board, who, in a row, each Director

In the centre of this row old Jolyon, conspicuous in his black, tightlybuttoned frockcoat and his white

moustaches, was leaning back with finger tips crossed on a copy of the Directors' report and accounts.

On his right hand, always a little larger than life, sat the Secretary, 'Downbythestarn' Hemmings; an

alltoosad sadness beaming in his fine eyes; his irongrey beard, in mourning like the rest of him, giving

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

Hemmings had often said to Soames, standing with his coattails divided before the fireplace:

"What our Shareholders don't know about our affairs isn't worth knowing. You may take that from me, Mr.

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 do know isn't worth

Hemmings, angryeyed, and wearing a smile like that of a trained poodle, had replied in an outburst of

artificial applause: "Come, now, that's good, sirthat's very good. Your uncle will have his joke!"

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 wilfulbut what can you expect, with a chin like

Everyone knew that Uncle Jolyon's chin was a caution. He was looking worried today, in spite of his

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 virtueas

well he might, knowing that the brownpaper parcel he always brought to the Boardroom was concealed

behind his hat (one of that oldfashioned class, of flatbrimmed tophats which go with very large bow ties,

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 photographa witness to the eternal irony underlying commercial

enterprise till retained its position on thewall, an effigy of the directors' pet, but dead, lamb.

Veiling under a Jovelike serenity that perpetual antagonism deepseated 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

cantankerouslooking old fellow with a red face, a jowl, and an enormous lowcrowned 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 AngloSaxon (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

And there was that military man, Major O'Bally, who could not help speaking, if only to second the

reelection of the auditor, and who sometimes caused serious consternation by taking toasts proposals

ratherout of the hands of persons who had been flattered with little slips of paper, entrusting the said

These made up the lot, together with four or five strong, silent shareholders, with whom Soames could

sympathizemen of business, who liked to keep an eye on their affairs for themselves, without being

fussygood, solid men, who came to the City every day and went back in the evening to good, solid wives.

Good, solid wives! There was something in that thought which roused the nameless uneasiness in Soames

. . . . "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 tortoiseshell glasses between thumb and forefinger.

The ghost of a smile appeared on Soames' 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!

"I believe I am in order, Mr. Chairman, in raising a question on this figure of L5000 in the accounts. 'To the

widow and family"' (he looked sourly round), "'of our late superintendent,' who soerilladvisedly (I

sayilladvisedly) 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

"I believe I am in order, Mr. ChairmanI ask whether this amount paid, or proposed to be paid, by the

Board to the erdeceased is for services which might have been rendered to the Company had he not

"It is in recognition of past services, which we all knowyou as well as any of usto have been of vital

"Then, sir, all I have to say is, that the services being past, the amount is too much."

The shareholder rose again: "May I ask if the Board realizes that it is not their money whichI don't hesitate

A second shareholder, with a round, dogged face, whom Soames recognised as the late superintendent's

brotherinlaw, got up and said warmly: "In my opinion, sir, the sum is not enough!"

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 theer deceased having committed suicide should weigh very heavily very heavily with our

worthy chairman. I have no doubt it has weighed with him, forI 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" (helooked severely at the late superintendent's brotherinlaw) "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 andif I may say soour interests so imperatively demanded its continuance.

We should notnay, we may not countenance so grave a dereliction of all duty, both human and divine."

The reverend gentleman resumed his seat. The late super intendent's brotherinlaw again rose: "What I

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."

He stood up, closelipped and cold; his nerves inwardly fluttered, his attention tweaked away at last from

"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

The superintendent's brotherinlaw 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.

A flush coloured Soames' pale cheeks, but his superciliousness did not waver. Old Jolyon fixed his eyes on

"If," he said, "the late superintendents brotherinlaw has nothing more to say, I propose that the report and

At this moment, however, there rose one of those five silent, stolid shareholders, who had excited Soames'

"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 human itarianism.

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 in toto; it is not business. I now move that the report and accounts

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

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

All waited with interest. Old Jolyon held up his hand; darkrimmed glasses depending between his finger and

"Knowing, as you do, the efforts of our late superintendent upon the occasion of the explosion at the mines,

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:

"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. Contraryno. Carried. The next business, gentlemen...."

Irene's visit to the housebut 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

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 turnup with old Scrubsole. The two hated each other like poison. There was some matter of a

tarcontract 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

Soames awaited his opportunity. The last shareholder was vanishing through the door, when he approached

Apart from that somewhat mysterious awe in which Forsytes: in general held old Jolyon, due to his

philosophic twist, or perhapsas Hemmings would doubtless have saidto 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 noncommittal 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

Both these Forsytes, wide asunder as the poles in many respects, possessed in their different waysto a

greater degree than the rest of the familythat 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 Naturewould have been capable

of, not perhaps despising, but certainly of questioning, his own high position, while Soames, who never

Then, too, in old Jolyon's mind there was always the secret ache, that the son of Jamesof James, whom he

had always thought such a poor thing, should be pursuing the paths of success, while his own son...!

And last, not leastfor 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

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 herOh! quaint injustice! as though Soames could possibly take

more care!)should be drawing to herself June'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!

He had a presentiment on the subject, of Soames' 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

They turned presently into comparative quiet, for old Jolyon's way to a second Board led him in the direction

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

Old Jolyon ran his eyes unwillingly over the letter: "What he says is clear enough," he said.

Old Jolyon looked at him. The longsuppressed irritation and antagonism towards this young fellow, whose

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

The words of both uncle and nephew gave the impression of unspoken meanings, far more important, behind.

"Well," said Soames; "I thought, for June's sake, I'd tell you, that's all; I thought You'd better know I shan't

"Oh! I don't know," said Soames, and flurried by that sharp look he was unable to say more. "Don't say I

"Tell me!" said old Jolyon; "I don't know what you mean. You come worrying me about a thing like this. I

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.

When he had finished he went slowly back to his office, with bent head, taking no notice of the swarming

'FORSYTE, BUSTARD AND FORSYTE, 'Commissioners for Oaths, '92001, BRANCH LANE, POULTRY,

'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

poundsL12,000. This gives you an ample margin, and, as you know, is far more than I originally

'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.

Soames pondered long and painfully over his answer, and late at night in the diningroom, when Irene had

'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.

Old Jolyon disposed of his second Meetingan 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

He went out by Undergound to Portland Road Station, whence he took a cab and drove to the Zoo.

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.

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

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!

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

Chafing at the slowness of his cab, he reached the Zoo door; but, with his sunny instinct for seizing the good

>From the stone terrace above the bearpit his son and his two grandchildren came hastening down when

they saw old Jolyon coming, and led him away towards the lionhouse. 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

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 peepshow 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.

There had been a morning fete at the Botanical Gardens, and a large number of Forsy...'that is, of

welldressed people who kept carriages had brought them on to the Zoo, so as to have more, if possible, for

"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

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 fourandtwenty 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 nastylooking

brute, that tiger!" "Oh, what a love! Look at his little mouth!" "Yes, he's rather nice! Don't go too near,

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 disinterestedlooking person to relieve them of the contents.

A wellfed 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 nosenippers, reproved him: "How can you laugh, Harry? Such a horrid

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 belongedthe carriage classespecially excited

To shut up a lion or tiger in confinement was surely a horrible barbarity. But no cultivated person would

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

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 gardensJolly 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

Young Jolyon smiled; his eyes had wandered to his father's chin. 'A pair of you,' he thought, but he said

"And then," went on old Jolyon, "there's this Bosinney. I should like to punch the fellow's head, but I can't, I

"What has he done? Far better that it should come to an end, if they don't hit it off!"

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.

"Well, I don't know what you think," he said; "I dare say your sympathy's with himshouldn'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.

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

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.

The attitude he had adopted towards sexual matters fifteen years before, however, was too different from his

"Then, it's probably true," remarked young Jolyon unexpectedly; "and I suppose they've told you who she

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.

"Poor little June!" said young Jolyon softly. He thought of his daughter still as a babe of three.

"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!"

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

'I and my horses and my men you know,' Indeed the whole turnout have cost a pot. But we were worth it

every penny. Look At Master and at Missis now, the dawgs! Ease with securityah! that's the ticket!

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.

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 brandnew frockcoat buttoned tight and square, with a large expanse of carefully shot

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

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

Young Jolyon saw that he had been recognised, even by Winifred, who could not have been more than fifteen

There was not much change in them! He remembered the exact look of their turnout all that time ago:

Horses, men, carriageall different now, no doubtbut 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

And in the sunlight, defended by the haughty shields of parasols, carriage after carriage went by.

His father looked black. "Did your uncle see us? Yes? Hmph! What's he want, coming down into these

"I shall see you again before long, my boy!" he said. "Don't you go paying any attention to what I've been

Kissing the children, who tried to detain him, he stepped in and was borne away.

Young Jolyon, who had taken Holly up in his arms, stood motionless at the corner, looking after the cab.

If old Jolyon, as he got into his cab, had said: 'I won't believe a word of it!' he would more truthfully have

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 whichlittle nursery rivalries sometimes toughen and deepen as life goes on, and, all hidden, support a

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 handicapsand 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 giltedged securities.

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 affairsas he put itold 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.

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

He saw James' carriage blocking the pavement in front of 'The Bower.' So they had got there before

himcackling 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

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,

He found the front drawingroom full. It was full enough at the best of timeswithout visitorswithout

any one in itfor 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 onand the only standing room was occupied by the cat, on whom old Jolyon promptly stepped.

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

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

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. Noas he saidshe

might want a bit of flirtationa 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

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 had heard in dark,

pessimistic moments the words 'yeomen' and 'very small beer' used in connection with his origin, did he

No! he cherished, hugging it pathetically to his bosom, the secret theory that there was something

"Must be," he once said to young Jolyon, before the latter went to the bad. "Look at us, we've got on! There

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 sonsa pretty rascal one of them had turned out, too; and there was style about himit was

a thousand pities he had run off with that halfforeign 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 picturespictures! Damme! he might have ended as Sir Jolyon Forsyte, Bart., with

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 wellknown Forsites with an 'i,' whose arms were 'three dexter buckles on a sable ground gules,' hoping

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 writingpaper. 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.'

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

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 liethey did not like telling lies, having an

impression that only Frenchmen and Russians told themthey would confess hurriedly that Swithin had got

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....

"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.

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 FrancesFrancie, as she was called in the

family. She was so smart, and they told him she made a pretty little pot of pinmoney by her songs; he called

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 allkept them out of mischief. It was not as if they were men!

'Little Francie,' as she was usually called with goodnatured 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

'Kiss me, Mother, ere I die; Kiss mekiss me, Mother, ah! Kiss, ah! kiss me eere I Kiss me, Mother, ere I

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.

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

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

With the true instinct of her breed, Francie had made a point of knowing the right peoplepeople who

would write about her, and talk about her, and people in Society, tookeeping 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.

Once, at a time when her emotions were whipped by an attachment for the tenor of Roger's life, with its

wholehearted collection of house property, had induced in his only daughter a tendency towards

passionshe 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.

Roger, who liked having a clever daughter well enough, and often alluded to the amount of pocketmoney

"Rubbish like that!" he called it. Francie had borrowed young Flageoletti from Euphemia, to play it in the

As a matter of fact Roger was right. It was rubbish, but annoying! the sort of rubbish that wouldn't sell. As

And yet, in spite of the sound common sense which fixed the worth of art at what it would fetch, some of the

ForsytesAunt Hester, for instance, who had always been musicalcould 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

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

And both Aunt Hester and Aunt Juley were always ready to listen to the latest story of how Francie had got

They listened now, together with Swithin, who sat pretending not to, for these young people talked so fast

"And I can't think," said Mrs. Septimus, "how you do it. I should never have the audacity!"

Francie smiled lightly. "I'd much rather deal with a man than a woman. Women are so sharp!"

Euphemia went off into her silent laugh, and, ending with the squeak, said, as though being strangled: "Oh,

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 calledthe pale

one?' He had just missed being her god fatherindeed, 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 erfor 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 IreneMrs. Soamesat the

"And Soames was with her?" said Aunt Hester, to whom Mrs. Small had as yet had no opportunity of relating

But Swithin, hearing the name Irene, looked severely at Euphemia, who, it is true, never did look well in a

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

His wife, he told his cronies, had wanted to take him to pay some calls. It was not in his linenot exactly.

Hailing the waiter, he sent him out to the hall to see what had won the 4.30 race. He was dogtired, he said,

At this moment, glancing out of the bay windowfor he loved this seat whence he could see everybody

passhis eye unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, chanced to light on the figure of Soames, who was

mousing across the road from the Green Parkside, with the evident intention of coming in, for he, too,

Dartie sprang to his feet; grasping his glass, he muttered something about 'that 4.30 race,' and swiftly

withdrew to the cardroom, 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.

It would not do, as he kept repeating to himself whenever he felt the impulse to join the gossips in the

baywindow getting too strong for himit 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

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 cardtables, a

frown on his olive coloured face, his check trousers crossed, and patentleather 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

His thoughts turned gloomily to the Forsytes. What a set they were! There was no getting anything out of

themat least, it was a matter of extreme difficulty. They were so dd particular about money matters;

not a sportsman amongst the lot, unless it were George. That fellow Soames, for instance, would have a ft 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

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 sisterinlaw, 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 dirtand 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

Rising from his chair, Dartie took a turn across the room, ending in front of the lookingglass over the

marble chimneypiece; 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

In the meantime old Jolyon had found the remaining chair in Timothy's commodious drawingroom. His

advent had obviously put a stop to the conversation, decided awkwardness having set in. Aunt Juley, with her

"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...."

"Was he?" said old Jolyon, looking hard at James. "It wouldn't be half so busy if everybody minded their own

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.

"Here, you've got a cat here," he said in an injured voice, withdrawing his foot nervously as he felt it

"Several," said old Jolyon, looking at one face and another; "I trod on one just now."

Then Mrs. Small, twisting her fingers and gazing round with 'pathetic calm, asked: "And how is dear June?"

A twinkle of humour shot through the sternness of old Jolyon's eyes. Extraordinary old woman, Juley! No

"Bad!" he said; "London don't agree with hertoo many people about, too much clatter and chatter by half."

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 whitehaired, frockcoated old men, and fashionably attired women,

who were all of the same blood, between all of whom existed an unseizable resemblance.

Not that they were conscious of itthe visits of such fateful, bitter spirits are only felt.

Then Swithin rose. He would not sit there, feeling like thathe was not to be put down by anyone! And,

manoeuvring round the room with added pomp, he shook hands with each separately.

"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, goodbye, Jolyon! You

shouldn't go about without an overcoat; you'll be getting sciatica or something!" And, kicking the cat slightly

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

officialso to speaknews in connection with the vague and sinister rumour clinging to the family tongue.

Euphemia, yielding to an impulse, said with a short laugh: "I'm glad Uncle Swithin doesn't ask me to go for

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

James, who had relapsed into his nervous brooding in the little chair, suddenly roused himself: "He's a funny

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 wordsan effect which seemed to deepen the importance of the very rumour he had come

He did not wish to rub his nieces, he had no quarrel with thema young and presentable female always

appealed to old Jolyon's clemencybut that fellow James, and, in a less degree perhaps, those others,

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

Old Jolyon rose: "Thank you," he said, looking straight at James, "but I've no time for tea, andscandal, and

the rest of it! It's time I was at home. Goodbye, Julia; goodbye, Hester; goodbye, Winifred."

Once again in his cab, his anger evaporated, for so it ever was with his wrathwhen 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

The six women and one man left behind in the little drawingroom 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,

Presently Francie said: "Do you know, I think Uncle Jolyon is terribly changed this last year. What do you

Aunt Hester made a little movement of recoil: "Oh, ask your Aunt Julia!" she said; "I know nothing about it."

No one else was afraid of assenting, and James muttered gloomily at the floor: "He's not half the man he

Aunt Juley shook her head; her face seemed suddenly to have become one immense pout.

There was again silence; then, as though in terror of being left solitarily behind, all five visitors rose

Mrs. Small, Aunt Hester, and their cat were left once more alone, the sound of a door closing in the distance

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 nightcap, a candle in

"Hester," repeated Aunt Juley, to make quite sure that she had awakened her, "I am quite troubled about poor

dear Jolyon. What," Aunt Juley dwelt on the word, "do you think ought to be done?"

Aunt Hester again rustled the sheet, her voice was heard faintly pleading: "Done? How should I know?"

Aunt Juley turned away satisfied, and closing the door with extra gentleness so as not to disturb dear Hester,

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 sincesince poor

Roger's house in Prince's Gardens was brilliantly alight. Large numbers of wax candles had been collected

and placed in cutglass chandeliers, and the parquet floor of the long, double drawingroom 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

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 loudthere was a lot of music in a cornet, if the man would only put his soul into it.

In the more cultivated American tongue, she was 'through' at lastthrough that tortuous labyrinth of

makeshifts, which must be traversed before fashionable display can be combined with the sound economy

of a Forsyte. Thin but brilliant, in her maizecoloured frock with much tulle about the shoulders, she went

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

She hated having to say this sort of thing to a butler, it was so infra dig.; but what could you do with father?

Roger, indeed, after making himself consistently disagreeable about the dance, would come down presently,

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

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 chickenlegs, hurriedly served; the men had been sent out

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

lavendercoloured satinthe first time she had worn colour since Aunt Ann's death.

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 bosomfor 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

Then arrived in a group a number of Nicholases, always punctual the fashion up Ladbroke Grove way; and

Three or four of Francie's lovers now appeared, one after the other; she had made each promise to come

early. They were all cleanshaven and sprightly, with that peculiar kind of youngman 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, English

man, were irresponsible, charming, suave; they bounded, twirling their partners at great pace, without

At other dancers they looked with a kind of airy scornthey, the light brigade, the heroes of a hundred

Kensington 'hops'from whom alone could the right manner and smile and step be hoped.

After this the stream came fast; chaperones silting up along the wall facing the entrance, the volatile element

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 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 PinkMr.

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

But when the youth had murmured that it was hot, and passed, she relapsed into her attitude of hopeless

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

spasmodicallywhat 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 daughtersthe

And all the cruelties and hardness of life, its pathos and unequal chances, its conceit, selfforgetfulness, and

Here and there, too, loversnot lovers like Francie's, a peculiar breed, but simply loverstrembling,

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.

Not a second before ten o'clock came the JamesesEmily, 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

All these ladies had shoulderstraps and no tullethus showing at once, by a bolder exposure of flesh, that

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

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

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

She passed, dancing with other men, her dress, iriscoloured, 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. Forsyteit's

quite a pleasure to watch her!" Tired of answering them with his sidelong glance: "You think so?"

A young couple close by flirted a fan by turns, making an unpleasant draught. Francie and one of her lovers

He heard Roger's voice behind, giving an order about supper to a servant. Everything was very secondclass!

He wished that he had not come! He had asked Irene whether she wanted him; she had answered with that

Why had he come? For the last quarter of an hour he had not even seen her. Here was George advancing with

"Have you seen 'The Buccaneer'?" said this licensed wag; "he's on the warpathhair cut and everything!"

Soames said he had not, and crossing the room, halfempty in an interval of the dance, he went out on the

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;

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.

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 fanciesimmense mirror of pomp and misery that night after night

stretches its kindly mocking over miles of houses and gardens, mansions and squalor, over Forsytes,

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.

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

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.

The music began againa waltzand, 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,

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....

That evening June and old Jolyon sat down to dinner at the usual hour. The girl was in her customary

At breakfast she had spoken of the dance at Uncle Roger's, she wanted to go; she had been stupid enough, she

Old Jolyon lifted his keen eyes. June was used to go to dances with Irene as a matter of course! And

No! June did not want to ask Irene; she would only go ifif her grandfather wouldn't mind just for once for

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

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 wantedshe meant to

look her best. He 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

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

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

"Bring some hot water, and go down and tell Mr. Forsyte that I feel perfectly rested. Say that if he's too tired I

The maid looked askance, and June turned on her imperiously. "Go," she said, "bring the hot water at once!"

Her balldress 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

Bewildered and vexed, he was dressing. It was past ten, they would not get there till eleven; the girl was mad.

With great ebony brushes he smoothed his hair till it shone like silver under the light; then he, too, came out

When, after that drive which seemed to last for ever, she entered Roger's drawingroom, 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 resolvesomehow, she did not know howto win him back.

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.

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 seenno one should seeher distress, not even her

To her he said nothing; only when they were once more in the carriage, which by some fortunate chance had

Feeling her whole slender body shaken by sobs, he was terribly alarmed. She must have Blank tomorrow.

June mastered her sobs, and squeezing his hand feverishly, she lay back in her corner, her face muffled in a

He could only see her eyes, fixed and staring in the dark, but he did not cease to stroke her hand with his thin

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.

There are moments when Nature reveals the passion hidden beneath the careless calm of her ordinary

moodsviolent spring flashing white on almondblossom 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 yewtree

There are moments, too, when in a picturegallery, a work, noted by the casual spectator as

'......Titianremarkably 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 feelsthere are things here

whichwell, 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

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 movedthe sudden flamingout 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 supplied, however, the reason of June's coming so late and disappearing again without dancing, without

But here they looked at each other guiltily. They had no desire to spread scandal, no desire to be illnatured.

Who would have? And to outsiders no word was breathed, unwritten law keeping them silent.

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

So June went to the sea. The family awaited developments; there was nothing else to do.

But how farhow 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

Soames' sister, Winifred Dartie, who had imbibed with the breezes of Mayfairshe lived in Green

Streetmore 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.

Bosinneyonly that buffoon George would have called him the Buccaneershe maintained that he was

This dictumthat Bosinney was chiccaused quit a sensation. It failed to convince. That he was

'goodlooking in a way' they were prepared to admit, but that anyone could call a man with his pronounced

cheekbones, curious eyes, arid soft felt hats chic was only another instance of Winifred's extravagant way of

It was that famous summer when extravagance was fashionable, when the very earth was extravagant,

chestnuttrees 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 uppermiddle class in thousands to the green glories of Bushey,

Richmond, Kew, and Hampton Court. Almost every family with any pretensions to be of the carriageclass

paid one visit that year to the horsechestnuts 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!"

And the limeflowers that year were of rare prime, near honeycoloured. At the corners of London squares

they gave out, as the sun went down, a perfume sweeter than the honey bees had takena perfume that

stirred a yearning unnamable in the hearts of Forsytes and their peers, taking the cool after dinner in the

And that yearning made them linger amidst the dim shapes of flowerbeds in the failing daylight, made them

turn, and turn, and turn again, as though lovers were waiting for themwaiting for the last light to die away

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 sisterinlaw:

'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.

'Emily (they called their mother Emilyit was so chic) will lend us the carriage. I will call for you and your

Montague was Dartie's second and better known namehis first being Moses; for he was nothing if not a

Her plan met with more opposition from Providence than so benevolent a scheme deserved. In the first place

It was late to send into the byeways 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,

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 fortyeight hours that followed his scratching were among the darkest in Dartie's life.

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

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 ina mucker. If it didn't come upwell then, damme, the old

It came up. Concertina was squeezed home by her necka terrible squeak! But, as Dartie said: There was

He was by no means averse to the expedition to Richmond. He would 'stand' it himself! He cherished an

At halfpast five the Park Lane footman came round to say: Mrs. Forsyte was very sorry, but one of the

Undaunted by this further blow, Winifred at once despatched little Publius (now aged seven) with the nursery

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

Informed that the meet was at the Crown and Sceptre, and that he would have to drive with his wife, he

At seven o'clock they started, Dartie offering to bet the driver halfacrown he didn't do it in the

Dartie said: "It'll put Master Soames's nose out of joint to hear his wife's been drivin' in a hansom with Master

On the other occasion he merely asked: "How am I looking? A bit puffy about the gills? That fizz old George

Bosinney and Irene had arrived before them. They were standing in one of the long French windows

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.

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 hungrylooking creaturenot much go about him

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

The best of everything! No sounder principle on which a man can base his life, whose fatherinlaw has a

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

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

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 hershe 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 headWinifred 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.

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

At her suggestion they went after dinner to the public terrace overlooking the river.

"I should like to see the common people making love," she said, "it's such fun!"

There were numbers of them walking in the cool, after the day's heat, and the air was alive with the sound of

It was not long before Winifred's better senseshe was the only Forsyte presentsecured them an empty

bench. They sat down in a row. A heavy tree spread a thick canopy above their heads, and the haze darkened

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,

>From far down below on the dark river came drifting the tinkle of a mandoline, and voices singing the old

'A boat, a boat, unto the ferry, For we'll go over and be merry; And laugh, and quaff, and drink brown sherry!'

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

Over his cigar Dartie peered round at Bosinney, who was sitting with his arms crossed, staring straight in

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.

A hush had fallen on the noisy terrace, as if all the strollers were thinking secrets too precious to be spoken.

The glow died above the river, the singing ceased; the young moon hid behind a tree, and all was dark. He

He was not alarmed at the shuddering that ran through the limbs he touched, or at the troubled, scornful look

It must be confessed that the man of the world had drunk quite as much as was good for him.

With thick lips parted under his wellcurled moustaches, and his bold eyes aslant upon her, he had the

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, hungrylooking devil, that Bosinney!'and again he pressed himself against Irene.

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 cabwith its insulation from the world devised by

some great and good man. That hungry architect chap might drive with his wifehe 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

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.

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

Here, in the lamplight, 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 buttonhole, and on his dark face that

look of confident, goodhumoured insolence, he was at his besta thorough man of the world.

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

Dartie recoiled; he saw as plainly as possible that the fellow meant it. In the space he made Irene had slipped

"Go on!" he heard the Buccaneer cry. The cabman flicked his horse. It sprang forward.

Dartie stood for a moment dumbfounded; then, dashing at the cab where his wife sat, he scrambled in.

"Drive on!" he shouted to the driver, "and don't you lose sight of that fellow in front!"

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

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

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

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,

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

The latter came walking past their cab; both husband and wife had an admirable view of his face in the light

Bosinney started, clawed off his hat, and hurried on. He had obviously forgotten their existence.

"There!" said Dartie, "did you see the beast's face? What did I say? Fine games!" He improved the occasion.

There had so clearly been a crisis in the cab that Winifred was unable to defend her theory.

With that view Dartie at once concurred; looking upon James as a private preserve, he disapproved of his

"Quite right," he said; "let Soames look after himself. He's jolly well able to!"

Thus speaking, the Darties entered their habitat in Green Street, the rent of which was paid by James, and

sought a wellearned 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 minuteshe who was now to him the

breath of the limetrees, the meaning of the light and the darkness, the very beating of his own heart.

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

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 pricein 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.

He was one of those men who, seated crosslegged 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

He was conscious, too, of being a Forsyte in his work, that painting of watercolours 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.

It was, then, this consciousness of what it meant to be a Forsyte, that made him receive the following letter

(The Dad's handwriting had altered very little in the thirty odd years that he remembered it.)

'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, andgoodness 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 selfwilled 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,

Young Jolyon pondered this letter so long and seriously that his wife noticed his preoccupation, and asked

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

He started for the Club in the afternoon with the letter in his pocket, and without having made up his mind.

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

And how that phrase in the letter 'You will, of course, in no way commit June'gave the whole thing away.

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.

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

How should he set about it, or how refuse? Both seemed impossible. So, young Jolyon!

He arrived at the Club at three o'clock, and the first person he saw was Bosinney himself, seated in a corner,

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

Clubyoung 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 illhealth, for he was strongly built, with

Something in his face and attitude touched young Jolyon. He knew what suffering was like, and this man

"I haven't seen you for a long time," he said. "How are you getting on with my cousin's house?"

"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 picturea sort of child?"

"Yes," said the latter more cordially, "it goes out from you and there's an end of it. I didn't know you

"Don't believe in it? Therehow can you do it? Work's no use unless you believe in it!"

"Good," said young Jolyon; "it's exactly what I've always said. Bythebye, 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,

"A Forsyte," replied young Jolyon, "is not an uncommon animal. There are hundreds among the members of

"By their sense of property. A Forsyte takes a practicalone might say a commonsenseview of things,

and a practical view of things is based fundamentally on a sense of property. A Forsyte, you will notice,

"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

propertyit doesn't matter whether it be wives, houses, money, or reputationis his hallmark."

"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."

"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

"I don't know whether I catch your drift," said Bosinney, "but I fancy there are plenty of Forsytes, as you call

"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, threefourths 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

They looked at each other.And, as though he had done that which no Forsyte didgiven himself away,

"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

Forsytethe power of never being able to give yourself up to anything soul and body, and the 'sense of

"Do you mean Swithin?" asked young Jolyon. "Ah! in Swithin there's something primeval still. The town and

middleclass life haven't digested him yet. All the old centuries of farmwork and brute force have settled in

Bosinney seemed to ponder. "Well, you've hit your cousin Soames off to the life," he said suddenly. "He'll

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

"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 wallwellyou know what I mean. I don't," he ended

very low, as though uttering a threat, "recommend every man togomyway. It depends."

The colour rushed into Bosinney's face, but soon receded, leaving it sallowbrown as before. He gave a short

laugh, that left his lips fixed in a queer, fierce smile; his eyes mocked young Jolyon.

"Thanks," he said. "It's deuced kind of you. But you're not the only chaps that can hold on." He rose.

Young Jolyon looked after him as he walked away, and, resting his head on his hand, sighed.

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 passlong 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,

He knew the signs so well. Whither was he goingto 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

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

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:

In his own heart! The proof of the pudding was in the eating Bosinney had still to eat his pudding.

His thoughts passed to the woman, the woman whom he did not know, but the outline of whose story he had

An unhappy marriage! No illtreatmentonly 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,

But young Jolyon, the bitterness of whose own feelings time had assuaged, saw Soames' 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' 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

Then, too, he distrusted his judgment. He had been through the experience himself, had tasted too 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 firsthandlike 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 observedthe 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 statu quo. To break up a home is at the best a dangerous experiment, and

'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

'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

And so he left his chair, threaded his way through the maze of seats, took his hat, and languidly up the hot

Before reaching Wistaria Avenue he removed old Jolyon's letter from his pocket, and tearing it carefully into

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.

The day after the evening at Richmond Soames returned from Henley by a morning train. Not constitutionally

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

After changing to Park clothes he went into the drawingroom. 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.

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

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

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

"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."

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

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

"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

"Let you go!" he said; "and what on earth would you do with yourself if I did? You've got no money!"

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

In the Park, the motley hour of midafternoon, 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

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 light grey gloves were still on his hands, and on his lips his smile sardonic, but where the feeling in his

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

Along the rails a man was walking so fast that people stared after him when he passed.

"Look at that ass!" said Soames; "he must be mad to walk like that in this heat!"

And he sat still, with his sneering smile, conscious that Irene was sitting still, and smiling too.

Bosinney reached the end of the rails, and came walking back amongst the chairs, quartering his ground like

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 you doing in the

Bosinney did not seem to hear; he made his answer to Irene: "I've been round to your place; I hoped I should

Somebody tapped Soames on the back, and spoke to him; and in the exchange of those platitudes over his

"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

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 awayI

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.

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

Loyal to his resolution, he turned away from their parting, turned away from his wife as she stood under the

hanging lamp to say goodnightaway 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

The summer night was hot, so hot and still that through every opened window came in but hotter air. For long

She could sleep, but he must lie awake. And, lying awake, he hardened himself to play the part of the serene

In the small hours he slipped out of bed, and passing into his dressingroom, leaned by the open window.

A night four years ago came back to himthe night but one before his marriage; as hot and stifling as this.

He remembered how he had lain in a long cane chair in the window of his sittingroom 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

watercart, cleansing the reek of the streets, had approached through the strangeseeming, useless

lamplight; he seemed to hear again its rumble, nearer and nearer, till it passed and slowly died away.

He leaned far out of the dressingroom 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.

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

And suddenly it shot through his mind; like a sick man's fancy: What's he doing?that fellow who haunts

me, who was here this evening, who's in love with my wifeprowling 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!

He stole across the landing to the front of the house, stealthily drew aside a blind, and raised a window.

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 stirredno living thing in sight

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 againagain! Soames shut

Jolyon stood in the narrow hall at Broadstairs, inhaling that odour of oilcloth and herrings which permeates

all respectable seaside lodginghouses. On a chaira shiny leather chair, displaying its horsehair through a

hole in the top lefthand cornerstood a black despatch case. This he was filling with papers, with the

Times, and a bottle of Eaude 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

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.

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 badmerely comic, or pathetic. You probably

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 forbreak through the barriers of reserve and say things they would never have believed

Perhaps he did not believe in 'goodness' and 'badness' any more than his son; but as he would have said: He

didn't knowcouldn't tell; there might be something in it; and why, by an unnecessary expression of

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

But it was many years since he had been to the mountains. He had taken June there two seasons running, after

To that old mountaingiven confidence in a supreme order of things he had long been a stranger.

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 June'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.

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 layhe could put two and two together quicker than most menand, with the

example of his own son before his eyes, knew better than any Forsyte of them all that the pale flame singes

In the days before June'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 coquettewords dear to the heart

of his generation, which loved to define things by a good, broad, inadequate wordbut she was dangerous.

He could not say why. Tell him of a quality innate in some womena 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; be did not want to hear any more about ithe only wanted to save

June's position and her peace of mind. He still hoped she might once more become a comfort to himself.

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

He sighed, and folded the last of the papers under the flap of the bag; he knew well enough what was meant.

June came out of the diningroom, and helped him on with his summer coat. From her costume, and the

"Nonsense, my dear; I go straight into the City. I can't have you racketting about!"

"Oh, your precious 'lame ducks!" grumbled out old Jolyon. He did not believe her excuse, but ceased his

At Victoria he put her into the carriage which had been ordered for himselfa characteristic action, for he

"Now, don't you go tiring yourself, my darling," he said, and took a cab on into the city.

June went first to a backstreet in Paddington, where Mrs. Smeech, her 'lame duck,' livedan 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

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

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

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.'

On hearing June'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 wristsfor she possessed in a remarkable degree

that 'sense of property,' which, as we know, is the touchstone of Forsyteism, and the foundation of good

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 halftints, reminiscent

of the distempered walls of corridors in large hotels. She raised her hands to her hair, which she wore a la

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 middleage, and

again that hard, ugly directness came into her eyes as she dabbed a powderpuff 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 thinlipped, downdrooping

mouth. Quickly, not to lose the effect, she grasped her skirts strongly in both hands, and went downstairs.

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 fiancee. Neither of them had been near her for weeks. She had asked Phil to

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

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 Churchdances, theatricals, or

bazaarsand she never lent her name unless sure beforehand that everything had been thoroughly organized.

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. Organizationand 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."

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

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.'

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 hersurrounded by her staff in charity ballrooms, with her high nose and her broad,

square figure, attired in an uniform covered with sequinsas though she were a general.

The only thing against her was that she had not a double name. She was a power in upper middleclass

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 lifeblood, 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 sounda sound woman, who never gave herself

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.'

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 June'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 Francielet us sayshe would have patronized her from sheer weight of metal; but June,

small though she wasMrs. Baynes habitually admired quantitygave her an uneasy feeling; and she

There was another reason for her respect which Mrs. Baynes, too good a churchwoman to be worldly, would

have been the last to admitshe often heard her husband describe old Jolyon as extremely well off, and was

biassed towards his granddaughter for the soundest of all reasons. Today 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

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? Eightyone! 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

Mrs. Baynes's eyes dropped; they had no intention of doing so, but they did. They recovered immediately.

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 dearhe's quite the most harumscarum

The conviction came suddenly to June that she was wasting her time; even were she to put a question

"Oh, yes! I don't remember when he was here lastindeed, 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

"Thank you," said June. Again she thought: 'I'm only wasting my time. This woman will tell me nothing.'

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

But the issue was so grave that her nerve, normally strong, was fairly shaken; only that morning her husband

The chance might be slipping awayshe couldn't tellthe chance of keeping her in the family, and yet she

Then with an exclamation Mrs. Baynes ran forward, wobbling her bulky frame from side to side, and opened

Too late! She heard the front door click, and stood still, an expression of real anger and mortification on her

June went along the Square with her birdlike 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

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 swingdoor at the bottom, she ran up the stairs,

At the top of the third flight she paused for breath, and holding on to the bannisters, stood listening. No sound

With a very white face she mounted the last flight. She saw the door, with his name on the plate. And the

The full meaning of her conduct came to her. She felt hot all over; the palms of her hands were moist beneath

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

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.

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 suddenlyover on the opposite side, going towards his rooms from the

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

In the upper room at French's, where a Forsyte could still get heavy English food, James and his son were

Of all eatingplaces James liked best to come here; there was something unpretentious, wellflavoured, 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 would 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 lookingglasses 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,

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 soupthe entire morning had been

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."

"Won't go? What's the meaning of that? She's going to live in the house, isn't she?"

"I don't know what's coming to women nowadays," mumbled James; "I never used to have any trouble with

Soames lifted his eyes: "I won't have anything said against her," he said unexpectedly.

"That's not the way to serve port," he said; "take them away, and bring the bottle."

Rousing himself from his reverie over the soup, James took one of his rapid shifting surveys of surrounding

"Your mother's in bed," he said; "you can have the carriage to take you down. I should think Irene'd like the

"I should like to go and see for myself what sort of a job he's made finishing off," pursued James. "I'll just

"I am going down by train," replied Soames. "If you like to drive round and see, Irene might go with you, I

They parted at St. Paul's, Soames branching off to the station, James taking his omnibus westwards.

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.

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

It did not occur to him to define what he meant by her 'goings on'; the expression was wide, vague, and suited

On reaching home, he ordered out the barouche, with special instructions that the groom was to go too. He

When the door of No.62 was opened he could distinctly hear her singing, and said so at once, to prevent any

James, moving with the rapidity that ever astonished the observers of his long figure and absorbed

expression, went forthwith into the drawingroom 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

"Your motherinlaw'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!"

Irene looked at him as though about to refuse, but, seeming to change her mind, went upstairs, and came

"We'll just go down to Robin Hill," said James, spluttering out his words very quick; "the horses want

Irene hung back, but again changed her mind, and went out to the carriage, James brooding over her closely,

It was not before he had got her more than half way that he began: "Soames is very fond of youhe won't

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

Irene's answer was so low as to be almost inaudible among the sounds of traffic. He caught the words: "You

"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."

Again James looked at her; he could not make out the expression on her face. She looked almost as if she

Irene's lips quivered; to his dismay James saw a tear steal down her cheek. He felt a choke rise in his own

"We're all fond of you," he said, "if you'd only"he was going to say, "behave yourself," but changed it

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.

"I suppose that young Bosinney," he said, "will be getting married to June now?"

"Well," flustered James, frightened by her look, "it's very odd that I can't get a plain answer to a plain

"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

The bright hot morning had changed slowly to a grey, oppressive afternoon; a heavy bank of clouds, with the

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,

To James' great relief they reached the house at last; the silence and impenetrability of this woman by his

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.

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 whitetiled stove. The central partitions of the skylight had been slid back, and

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, ivorycoloured 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 picturegallery, 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 applepie order, ready for

He turned round at last to speak to Irene, and saw her standing over in the garden entrance, with her husband

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.

"How are you, Mr. Bosinney?" he said, holding out his hand. "You've been spending money pretty freely

James looked from Bosinney's frowning face to Irene, and, in his agitation, spoke his thoughts aloud: "Well, I

the matter. Nobody tells me anything!" And, making off after his son, he heard Bosinney's short laugh, and

What had happened? He glanced back. Irene was very close to the architect, and her face not like the face he

Soames looked at him with his supercilious calm unbroken, but James knew well enough that he was

"Our friend," he said, "has exceeded his instructions again, that's all. So much the worse for him this time."

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

"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, goodbye!" He held out his hand. Bosinney did not take it, but, turning with a laugh, said:

But the 'sight of Irene's face stopped him. Taking hold of his daughterinlaw by the elbow, he escorted her

towards the carriage. He felt certain, quite certain, they had been making some appointment or other....

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;

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 some thing 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 propertyhis

"Ah!" he had said to Bosinney when he could speak, "and I suppose you're perfectly contented with yourself.

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

itthe fellow had made himself liable for that extra four hundred, or, at all events, for three hundred and

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.

He went up to the mantelpiece, and contemplating his face in the mirror said: "Your friend the Buccaneer has

She looked at him scornfully, and answered: "I don't know what you are talking about!"

"Do you mean that you are going to make him pay that towards this hateful, house?"

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

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

"I believe you are made of stone," he said, clenching his fingers so hard that he broke the fragile cup. The

Soames gripped her arm. "A good beating," he said, "is the only thing that would bring you to your senses,"

Soames went upstairs that night that he had gone too far. He was prepared to offer excuses for his words.

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.

But the door did not open, nor when he pulled it and turned the handle firmly. She must have locked it for

Entering his dressingroom, where the gas was also light 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

sleepingsuit laid out upon it. He put his hand up to his forehead, and brought it away wet. It dawned on him

He went back to the door, and rattling the handle stealthily, called: "Unlock the door, do you hear? Unlock

He could catch the sound of her breathing close to the door, like the breathing of a creature threatened by

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 onehe

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.

But instead of the print he seemed to see his wifewith her yellow hair flowing over her bare shoulders, and

her great dark eyesstanding like an animal at bay. And the whole meaning of her act of revolt came to him.

He could not sit still, and went to the door again. He could still hear her, and he called: "Irene! Irene!"

In ominous answer, the faint sounds ceased. He stood with clenched hands, thinking.

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.

For a long time he sat there in the dark, the moon through the skylight above laying a pale smear which

Since she had locked her doors she had no further claim as a wife, and he would console himself with other

It was but a spectral journey he made among such delightshe 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.

His philosophy left him; and surly anger took its place. Her conduct was immoral, inexcusable, worthy of any

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

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 conductthe thought was not to be faced.

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

The moonlight cast a greyish tinge over his figure, hunched against the staircase wall.

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 poundsthe 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 suddenlythough

what connection between the thoughts?he reflected that Irene had no money either. They were both

The silence was broken by a faint creaking through the wall. She was going to bed at last. Ah! Joy and

But his lips, that were twisted in a bitter smile, twitched; he covered his eyes with his hands....

It was late the following afternoon when Soames stood in the diningroom window gazing gloomily into the

The sunlight still showered on the planetrees, 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.

The woman did not look too gay, for she was tired; and from the tall houses no one threw her down coppers.

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

The organ woman plied her handle slowly; she had been grinding her tune all daygrinding it in Sloane Street

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, rosecoloured blouse with drooping sleeves, that he did not know. She stopped before the

She came in with her latchkey, 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

But as though shot she spun round, and would have passed him up the stairs. He barred the way.

"Why such a hurry?" he said, and his eyes fastened on a curl of hair fallen loose across her ear....

the colour of her cheeks, her eyes, her lips, and of the unusual blouse she wore.

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

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 breastthe scent of her still in the air around, and the sound of her

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

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 true Forsyte refused to feel himself

ridiculous. Short of actually beating his wife, he perceived nothing to be done; he therefore accepted the

Throughout the summer and autumn he continued to go to the office, to sort his pictures, and ask his friends

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

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

By a chance, fortuitous but not improbable in the close borough of legal circles, a good deal of information

came to Soames' 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.

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

He had, said Chankery, a case coming on with a 'very nice point.' He then explained, preserving every

professional discretion, the riddle in Soames' case. Everyone, he said, to whom he had spoken, thought it a

nice point. The issue was small unfortunately, 'though dd 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 effortthe point was a nice one. What did his neighbour say?

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 was 'a very nice

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

Boulter, who had the matter in hand, Jobling having died some years before, told him that in his opinion it

Soames told him to go to a good man, and they went to Waterbuck, Q.C., marking him ten and one, who kept

'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

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.

It was on October 1 that Soames read Waterbuck's opinion, in the diningroom before dinner.

It made him nervous; not so much because of the case of 'Boileau v. 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.,

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

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 riot 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 dawnthe 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.

Irene still met him, he was certain; where, or how, he neither knew, nor asked; deterred by a vague and secret

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 selfpossession 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

She had taken to lunching out too; when he asked Bilson if her mistress had been in to lunch, as often as not

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.

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 bedtimeshe had the decency, he found, to save the feelings of the servants. She was

He answered: "I want to know how long this state of things between us is to last? I have put up with it long

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 eyesthose eyes alive with

He knew very well that he had no intention of taking steps, and he saw that she knew tooknew that he was

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 longstanding suit of Fryer v. 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

And how he had called in at Jobson's, and seen a Boucher sold, which he had just missed buying of

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

Often, if they were alone, he made an attempt to kiss her when she said goodnight. 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

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

nightwanderer. For in his thoughts Soames always saw him lying in waitwandering. Ah, but he must be

in very low water! Young Burkitt, the architect, had seen him coming out of a thirdrate restaurant, looking

During all the hours he lay awake, thinking over the situation, which seemed to have no endunless she

should suddenly come to her sensesnever once did the thought of separating from his wife seriously enter

And the Forsytes! What part did they play in this stage of Soames' subterranean tragedy?

>From hotels, hydropathics, or lodginghouses, they were bathing daily; laying in a stock of ozone to last

Each section, in the vineyard of its own choosing, grew and culled and pressed and bottled the grapes of a pet

In rude health and small omnibuses, with considerable colour in their cheeks, they arrived daily from the

Amongst other gossip, too numerous and interesting to relate, Mrs. Septimus Small mentioned that Soames

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

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 treestump fauns leaping around the silver whiteness of a birchtree nymph

This lady knew all the Forsytes, and having been at June'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

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

Poor little woman, perhaps she was thirsty, certainly she was bored, for Flippard was a wit. To see 'those two'

This small but remarkable woman merits attention; her allseeing eye and shrewd tongue were inscrutably

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!'

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,

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

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

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.

Obscurely, no doubt, she felt that if charm were once admitted as the criterion, smartness and capability must

go to the wall; and she hatedwith a hatred the deeper that at times this socalled charm seemed to disturb

all calculationsthe subtle seductiveness which she could not altogether overlook in Irene.

She said, however, that she could see nothing in the womanthere was no 'go' about hershe would never

be able to stand up for herselfanyone could take advantage of her, that was plainshe could not see in

She was not really illnatured, 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

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

At twentyfive 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

latchkey. These little selfcontained 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,

Firmly snapping the door to, she crossed the corridor, with its gloomy, yellowochre 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,

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.

Throughout a descent of five stories the conversation continued, the lift boy standing with his back turned,

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.

When Mrs. MacAnder dined at Timothy's, the conversation (although Timothy himself could never be

induced to be present) took that wider, manoftheworld tone current among Forsytes at large, and this, no

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 admirala pittance! An

accountant had many more chances, but let him be put with a good firm, where there was no risk at starting!

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 doingthey could not find it in the paper.

And Roger would answer: "What do you want to know for? Some trash! You'll go burning your

fingersinvesting 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

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 today in Richmond Park?

You'll never guessMrs. Soames and Mr. Bosinney. They must have been down to look at the house!"

Winifred Dartie coughed, and no one said a word. It was the piece of evidence they had all unconsciously

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' rupture with his architect. She could not tell, therefore, the profound impression her

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

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 foxterrier 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 halfpast ten, leaning over the

They were never seen otherwise than together; in this way passing their lives, apparently perfectly content.

Inspired by some dumb stirring within them of the feelings of gentlemen, they turned at this painful moment

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

But afterwards in the drawingroom she sat down by Mrs. Small, determined to get to the bottom of the

"What a charming woman, Mrs. Soames; such a sympathetic temperament! Soames is a really lucky man!"

Her anxiety for information had not made sufficient allowance for that inner Forsyte skin which refuses to

Mrs. Septimus Small, drawing herself up with a creak and rustle of her whole person, said, shivering in her

Although with her infallible instinct Mrs. Small had said the very thing to make her guest 'more intriguee

It was not a subject which the Forsytes could talk about even among themselvesto use the word Soames

Yet, within a week of Mrs. MacAnder's encounter in Richmond Park, to all of themsave Timothy, from

whom it was carefully keptto 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

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

It was felt that he must be, and yet, what could be done? He ought perhaps to take steps; but to take steps

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;

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

"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

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

"Our Father," he repeated, turning over and over again the thought of this possible scandal.

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 lothe 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 thatthe young man was an architect.)

He began to feel that his brother Jolyon, to whom he had always looked up and on whose opinion he had

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 sailingboat,

which he had himself freighted with a penny, as though convinced that it would never again come to shore;

while little Publiuswho, 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 paidsometimes as many as three or four pennies in the afternoon, for the game

seemed never to pall on little Publiusand always in paying he said: "Now, that's for your moneybox.

Why, you're getting quite a rich man!" The thought of his little grandson's growing wealth was a real pleasure

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 childfigures of Imogen

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

The leaves browned slowly, lingering with the sun and summerlike warmth of the nights.

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

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

To freshcomers 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 lamplight 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,

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 Councilto whom Love had long been considered, next to the Sewage Question, the gravest

danger to the communitya 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

The instincts of selfforgetfulness, 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 the Times the next morning, to draw the attention of the Editor to the condition of our parks. He

But starved as he was, the whispered sounds in the stillness, the halfseen 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,

Now he stood still on the rise overlooking the Serpentine, where, in full lamplight, black against the silver

water, sat a couple who never moved, the woman's face buried on the man's necka single form, like a

In this search, who knows what he thought and what he sought? Bread for hungerlight in darkness? Who

knows what he expected to findimpersonal knowledge of the human heartthe end of his private

subterranean tragedyfor, again, who knew, but that each dark couple, unnamed, unnameable, might not be

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,

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 shopgirl in her draggled blouse who passed him, clinging to her lover's arm.

A hundred other lovers too whispered that hope in the stillness of the trees, a hundred other lovers clung to

But shaking himself with sudden disgust, Soames returned to the path, and left that seeking for he knew not

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

He was frequently, in fact, obliged to take his colourbox into the Botanical Gardens, and there, on his stool,

in the shade of a monkeypuzzler or in the lee of some Indiarubber plant, he would spend long hours

An Art critic who had recently been looking at his work had delivered himself as follows

"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 pigeonhole, so that the public know pat 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

Young Jolyon, standing by the little piano, where a bowl of dried rose leaves, the only produce of the garden,

Turning to his wife, who was looking at the speaker with an angry expression on her thin face, he said:

"I do not," she answered in her staccato voice, that still had a little foreign accent; "your style has originality."

The critic looked at her, smiled' deferentially, and said no more. Like everyone else, he knew their history.

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

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.

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

Thus each leaf that fell was marked from the moment when it fluttered a goodbye and dropped, slow

But on that little pond the leaves floated in peace, and praised Heaven with their hues, the sunlight haunting

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.

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.

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.

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 patentleather 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?

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

With all these men young Jolyon felt the same vague irritation. She looked at none of them, yet was he

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 housedecoration 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.

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 diningroom. And her

attraction seemed to be in this soft passivity, in the feeling she gave that to pressure she must yield.

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

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 had rowed in the galley himself! He knew the long hours of waiting and the lean minutes of a halfpublic

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

Bosinney was pleading, and she so quiet, so soft, yet immovable in her passivity, sat looking over the grass.

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!

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

And he peeped at them no more; but their soft, rapid talk came to his ears, with the stuttering song of some

'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

He heard the swish of silk, and, spying round the laurel, saw them walking away, their hands stealthily

At the end of July old Jolyon had taken his granddaughter 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

Forsytesfor old Jolyon could not bear a 'set of Germans,' as he called all foreignersshe was looked upon

with respectthe only granddaughter of that fine looking, and evidently wealthy, old Mr. Forsyte. She did

not mix freely with peopleto mix freely with people was not June's habitbut she formed some

friendships, and notably one in the Rhone Valley, with a French girl who was dying of consumption.

Determining at once that her friend should not die, she forgot, in the institution of a campaign against Death,

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

'Taking up with a parcel of foreigners,' he called it. He often, however, brought home grapes or roses, and

Towards the end of September, in spite of June'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

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, drawingroom 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

fullbosomed 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:

"You 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

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

They received her most cordially: And how was her dear grand father? He had not been to see them since

May. Her Uncle Timothy was very poorly, he had had a lot of trouble with the chimneysweep in his

bedroom; the stupid man had let the soot down the chimney! It had quite upset her uncle.

June sat there a long time, dreading, yet passionately hoping, that they would speak of Bosinney.

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 townshe had not yet

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!

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.

Mrs. Small's infallibly chosen silence was far more ominous to her than anything that could have been said.

Before half an hour was over she had dragged the truth from Mrs. Baynes in Lowndes Square, that Soames

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

"And whatever he'll do I can't think," said Mrs. Baynes; "it's very dreadful for him, you knowhe's got no

moneyhe's very hard up. And we can't help him, I'm sure. I'm told the moneylenders won't lend if you

Her embonpoint had increased of late; she was in the full swing of autumn organization, her writingtable

literally strewn with the menus of charity functions. She looked meaningly at June, with her round eyes of

The sudden flush that rose on the girl's intent young faceshe must have seen spring up before her a great

hopethe 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

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

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 v.

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

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.

Old Jolyon read them in silence, and while he read them James looked at the floor, biting his fingers the

Old Jolyon pitched them down at last, and they fell with a thump amongst a mass of affidavits in 're

Buncombe, deceased,' one of the many branches of that parent and profitable tree, 'Fryer v. Forsyte.'

"I don't know what Soames is about," he said, "to make a fuss over a few hundred pounds. I thought he was a

James'long upper lip twitched angrily; he could not bear his son to be attacked in such a spot.

"It's not the money "he began, but meeting his brother's glance, direct, shrewd, judicial, he stopped.

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

"You going to make some alterations?" And through his mind there flashed the thought: 'Now, am I worth as

Old Jolyon put the Will in his breast pocket, and James twisted his long legs regretfully.

"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. Goodbye!" With a cold handshake he was gone.

James, his fixed greyblue eye corkscrewing round some secret anxious image, began again to bite his finger.

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 'Downbythestarn' 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.

It was notby Georgeas he (Downbythestarn) 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

(Downbythestarn) 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,

On the other side of the green baize door old Jolyon sat at the long, mahoganyandleather board table, his

thick, loosejointed, tortoiseshell eyeglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his gold pencil moving

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

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 eitherupon trust to pay the

proceeds rents annual produce dividends or interest thereof and thereon to my said granddaughter 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 lastmentioned 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

The Will had been drawn by James in his palmy days. He had foreseen almost every contingency.

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,

He had kept the hansom, and on coming out, gave the driver the address3, Wistaria Avenue.

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.

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.

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 revengerevenge 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

be would be master. 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.

Neither young Jolyon nor his wife were in (young Jolyon indeed was not back from the Botanical), but the

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.

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 peartree, bare of leaves before its time, stood

with gaunt branches in the slowgathering 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

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 gaveone 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.

And, while he stood there looking down on the smutcovered foliage of the laurels, the blackstained

grassplot, 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.

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

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 futureI'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

"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?

Young Jolyon put his hand on his father's shoulder, and, as neither spoke, the episode closed.

Having seen his father into a hansom, young Jolyon came back to the drawingroom 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. Joytragedy! Which? Which?

The old pastthe poignant, suffering, passionate, wonderful past, that no money could buy, that nothing

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,

The morning after a certain night on which Soames at last asserted his rights and acted like a man, he

He breakfasted by gaslight, the fog of late November wrapping the town as in some monstrous blanket till the

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?

He was strangely haunted by the recollection of her face, from before which, to soothe her, he had tried to

pull her handsof 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.

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?"

They had roused in him a fierce jealousy, which, with the peculiar perversion of this instinct, had turned to

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

Slumber had removed his doubts, but the morning brought them again. One thought comforted him: No one

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 nightmarelike 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 rightthinking 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,

Now that the first step towards reconciliation had been taken, the rest would be

He, rose and walked to the window. His nerve had been shaken. The sound of smothered sobbing was in his

He put on his fur coat, and went out into the fog; having to go into the City, he took the underground railway

In his corner of the firstclass compartment filled with City men the smothered sobbing still haunted him, so

he opened the Times with the rich crackle that drowns all lesser sounds, and, barricaded behind it, set himself

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 rapesa

surprisingly high numberin 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.

And still, inseparable from his reading, was the memory of Irene's tearstained face, and the sounds from her

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.

The case of Forsyte v. Bosinney was expected to be reached on the morrow, before Mr. Justice Bentham.

Mr. Justice Bentham, a man of commonsense rather than too great legal knowledge, was considered to be

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.

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

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 lamplight that seemed to drown in vapour

before it reached the pavement, cabs loomed dimshaped ever and again, and discharged citizens, bolting like

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

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.

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

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!"

Soames got into his cab, and, with the glass down, crept along Sloane Street, and so along the Brompton

His wife was not in. She had gone out a quarter of an hour before. Out at such a time of night, into this

He sat by the diningroom 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 littleprescribed by the greatest of all doctors, our natural taste.

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 brokenhearted sobbing came back to him, and he

She was already on the stairs; her grey fur coat hung to her knees, its high collar almost hid her face, she

She neither turned to look at him nor spoke. No ghost or stranger could have passed more silently.

Bilson came to lay dinner, and told him that Mrs. Forsyte was not coming down; she was having the soup in

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

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, cleanshaven face poked forward above his standup 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,

It was nothingonly the sort of thing that had been bothering him in the morning. And soon after, putting

It is now to George Forsyte that the mind must turn for light on the events of that fogengulfed afternoon.

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,

Towards five o'clock he went out, and took train at South Kensington Station (for everyone today went

Underground). His intention was to dine, and pass the evening playing billiards at the Red Pottlethat

He got out at Charing Cross, choosing it in preference to his more usual St. James's Park, that he might reach

On the platform his eyesfor in combination with a composed and fashionable appearance, George had

sharp eyes, and was always on the lookout for fillips to his sardonic humourhis eyes were attracted by a

man, who, leaping from a firstclass compartment, staggered rather than walked towards the exit.

'So ho, my bird!' said George to himself; 'why, it's "the Buccaneer!"' and he put his big figure on the trail.

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.

George's practised glance caught sight of the face of a lady clad in a grey fur coat at the carriage window. It

And now he followed Bosinney more closely than everup 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

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

He followed close behind Bosinney's elbowtall, burly figure, saying nothing, dodging warilyand

There was something here beyond a jest! He kept his head admirably, in spite of some excitement, for in

Bosinney walked right out into the thoroughfarea 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.

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

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 standstill 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 greatestthe

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

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 formthat 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

clubsmen 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

"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."

In fancy he saw them gaping round the tortured lover; and grinned as he thought of some respectable,

newlymarried 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 of the married middleclass peculiar to the wild and

'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

George could have stood it well enough in the light of the gas lamps, in the light of that everyday world of

unreal, where nothing had that matteroffact 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:

But waiting for no answer, Bosinney strode off into the fog, and George followed, keeping perhaps a little

'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

Into a denser gloom than ever Bosinney held on at a furious pace; but his pursuer perceived more method in

'He's really going for Soames!' thought George. The idea was attractive. It would be a sporting end to such a

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.

Then suddenly, with the instinct of a townstroller, 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

Down the long avenue of his manabouttown 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 fogthe 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 sweetsmelling, dewy grass, in the long shadow of poplars that hid the moon.

A longing seized him to throw his arm round the Buccaneer, and say, "Come, old boy. Time cures all. Let's

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

"And then," as he confided to Dartie the same evening in the course of a game of billiards at the Red Pottle,

Dartie twirled complacently at his dark moustache. He had just put together a neat break of

George looked slowly at the 'man of the world's' fattish, sallow face, and a little grim smile lurked about the

'No, no, my fine fellow,' he thought, 'I'm not going to tell you.' For though he mixed with Dartie a good deal,

"A lovelady!" exclaimed Dartiehe used a more figurative expression. "I made sure it was our friend

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

"I can't help thinking of that poor Buccaneer," he said. "He may be wandering out there now in that fog. If

"Corpse!" said Dartie, in whom the recollection of his defeat at Richmond flared up. "He's all right. Ten to

George turned on him, looking really formidable, with a sort of savage gloom on his big face.

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.

He had been requested to be in court by halfpast 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 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

rustycoated 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.

"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

A chill smile played round Soames' 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

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.

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

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

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

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 crossexaminer. The

long, lugubrious folds in his cheeks relaxed somewhat after seeing him, especially as he now perceived that

Waterbuck, Q.C., had barely screwed round on his elbow to chat with his Junior before Mr. Justice Bentham

himself appeareda thin, rather henlike man, with a little stoop, cleanshaven 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

The case having been called on, Waterbuck, Q.C., pushing back his papers, hitched his gown on his shoulder,

and, with a semicircular look around him, like a man who is going to bat, arose and addressed the Court.

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

"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 twelvesome twelve

thousand pounds, a sum considerably in advance of the amount he had originally contemplated, that as a

matter of principleand this I cannot too strongly emphasizeas 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

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

Soames then went into the box. His whole appearance was striking in its composure. His face, just

supercilious enough, pale and cleanshaven, 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.

The expression he had used was 'a free hand in the terms of this correspondence.'

Throughout this and much more crossexamination, which turned again and again around the 'nice point,'

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

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.

Young Chankery began nervously; he was placed by Bosinney's absence in an awkward position. He

He could not but fearhe saidthat 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 worka 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,

indeedunprecedented 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 clientan artist in his most honourable professionhe felt convinced that not for one moment would

his Lordship tolerate this, he would use no stronger word than, daring attempt to evade legitimate

Taking the text of Soames' letters, he lightly touched on 'Boileau v. 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 occasionallyhe said occasionallythe 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.

The name Philip Baynes Bosinney was called three times by the Ushers, and the sound of the calling echoed

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 securityon his cosiness. Though he could not have said why, it made him feel

He looked now at the clocka quarter to three! It would be all over in a quarter of an hour. Where could the

It was only when Mr. Justice Bentham delivered judgment that he got over the turn he had received.

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.

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 matteroffact than that of James might have been

excused for failing to pierce this halo, and disinter therefrom the somewhat ordinary Forsyte, who walked and

"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

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

"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

"The question for me to decide is whether or no the defendant is liable to refund to the plaintiff this sum. In

"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

"In my judgment the plaintiff is entitled to recover this sum from the defendant.

"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.

"For these reasons there will be judgment for the plaintiff for the amount claimed with costs."

James sighed, and stooping, picked up his umbrella which had fallen with a rattle at the words 'importation

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

"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,

There was a sound of footsteps. The figure of a thickset man, with the ruddy brown face of robust health,

was seen in the back drawingroom. The forefinger of his upraised hand was outlined against the black of his

"Well, James," he said, "I can'tI can't stop," and turning round, he walked out.

James rose from his chair. "There!" he said, "there! I knew there was something wro...." He checked himself,

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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 beenthat the

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 themthey would, he thought, fetch a big price some day.

Interested as they could not but be, neither Mrs. Septimus Small nor Aunt Hester could entirely acquiesce in

It was interestingmost interestingand 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?

Soames answered that he did not know, he thought they should be moving soon. He rose and kissed his aunts.

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

She rose to the full extent of her more than medium height, and said: "It has been on my mind a long time,

Aunt Hester interrupted her: "Mind, Julia, you do it...." she gasped"on your own responsibility!"

Mrs. Small went on as though she had not heard: "I think you ought to know, dear, that Mrs. MacAnder saw

Aunt Hester, who had also risen, sank back in her chair, and turned her face away. Really Juley was tooshe

should not do such things when sheAunt Hester, was in the room; and, breathless with anticipation, she

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

When he went into Timothy's he had made up his mind what course to pursue on getting home. He would go

"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. II never meant to be rough with you! Let's

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

rightshe 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. Butbutwhat if she did? He was staggered; this

What if she did? What if she made him a confession? How would he stand then? He would have to bring a

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 feltlike 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 anticipationand 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 traversed in the cab the length of a street without getting beyond the thought that he should never see her

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, butwhat could he do? He might go

abroad, ruined men always went abroad. What could they doif indeed it was 'they'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

He entered, pale, his hands moist with perspiration, dreading to meet her, burning to meet her, ignorant of

The maid Bilson was in the hall, and in answer to his question: "Where is your mistress?" told him that Mrs.

"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.

The maid went downstairs, leaving him still in his fur coat, idly turning over the visiting cards in the

Mr. and Mrs. Bareham Culcher. Mrs. Septimus Small. Mrs. Baynes. Mr. Solomon Thornworthy. Lady Bellis.

Who the devil were all these people? He seemed to have forgotten all familiar things. The words 'no

messagea trunk, and a bag,' played a hideandseek 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

Everything was dainty, fresh, sweetsmelling; 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.

On the table stood the silvermounted 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,

He locked the doors, and tried to think, but felt his brain going round; and suddenly tears forced themselves

He was too pale, a greyish tinge all over his face; he poured out water, and began feverishly washing.

Her silvermounted brushes smelt faintly of the perfumed lotion she used for her hair; and at this scent the

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

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

Soames interrupted her, he would go up and see for himself. He went up with a dogged, white face.

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

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

The butler asked whether Mrs. Soames was in the cab, the master had told him they were both expected to

Soames thought he was looking at him inquisitively, and remembering that he was not in dress clothes,

Again it seemed to Soames that the butler was looking curiously at him. His composure gave way.

The butler blushed, hung up the fur coat, murmured something that sounded like: "Nothing, sir, I'm sure, sir,"

Soames walked upstairs. Passing the drawingroom without a look, he went straight up to his mother's and

James, standing sideways, the concave lines of his tall, lean figure displayed to advantage in shirtsleeves

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 halfchoked, whether because he had come upstairs too fast, or

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, Felice, come and hook this; your master'll never get done."

He noticed gratefully the affectionate surprise in Emily's: "Well, my dear boy?" and James', as he dropped the

He answered mechanically: "I'm all right," and looked at them, and it seemed impossible to bring out his

James, quick to take alarm, began: "You don't look well. I expect you've taken a chillit's liver, I shouldn't

Emily deserted the mirror before which she was standing. Her tall, full figure lost its majesty and became

"Left you?" he said. "What d'you meanleft you? You never told me she was going to leave you."

James began walking up and down; he looked strange and storklike 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; she doesn't say anything. What I should say you've got to do is to follow her.."

Soames smiled; his peculiar, supercilious smile had never before looked pitiable.

"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."

Soames, in the long silence that followed, felt his mother pressing his hand. And all that passed seemed to

His father's face, dusky red, twitching as if he were going to cry, and words breaking out that seemed rent

"There'll be a scandal; I always said so." Then, no one saying anything: "And there you stand, you and your

And Emily's voice, calm, rather contemptuous: "Come, now, James! Soames will do all that he can."

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

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

And James: "Well, I can't see how it can come right. And if she hasn't gone off with that young Bosinney, my

Once more Soames felt his mother stroking his hand, in token of her approval, and as though repeating some

All three went down to the drawingroom together. There, were gathered the three girls and Dartie; had Irene

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.

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, followher 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.

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

"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

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 socalled 'Sea Piece by Turner,' almost entirely

Champagne was handed, and then a bottle of James' prehistoric port, but as by the chill hand of some

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 steelblue, alive with stars; he noticed neither their frosty greeting, nor the

crackle of the curledup planeleaves, nor the nightwomen 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

He went into the diningroom; 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 dressingroom, but her room was dark and cold. It was into this

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

There were her dresses; he had always liked, indeed insisted, that she should be welldressedshe had taken

very few; two or three at most, and drawer after drawer; full of linen and silk things, was untouched.

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 riskthough it was her duty, her duty as a wife; though she did belong to himhe

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 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 containedthe watch was a threecornered note addressed 'Soames

'I think I have taken nothing that you or your people have given me.' And that was all.

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

Nothing that she could have done, nothing that she had done, brought home to him like this the inner

significance of her act. For the moment, perhaps, he understood nearly all there was to

understandunderstood 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;

In that moment of emotion he betrayed the Forsyte in himforgot himself, his interests, his propertywas

capable of almost anything; was lifted into the pure ether of the selfless and unpractical.

And as though with the tears he had purged himself of weakness, he got up, locked the box, and slowly,

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

She will always remember best in her life that morning when at last she saw amongst the reliable Cause List

of the Times newspaper, under the heading of Court XIII, Mr. Justice Bentham, the case of Forsyte v.

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 toldon this assumption, however, she laid her

Half past eleven found her at watch in the gallery of Court XIII., and there she remained till the case of

Forsyte v. 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.

She passed the open streetdoor and the offices on the three lower floors without attracting notice; not till she

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,

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 doormat. 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

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.

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.

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 bootsthe room was

She stole back to the sittingroom, 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 fieldglasses 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.

It was while looking at the spot where the piece of Japanese pottery had stood that she felt a strange certainty

The two stood gazing at each other for a minute in silence; then June walked forward and held out her hand.

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 whoknowswhat rage of jealousy, suspicion, and curiosity, every

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.

Unlike June's cheeks, her cheeks had no colour in them, but were ivory white and pinched as if with cold.

She looked back at June, no smile on her lips; and with those great dark eyes fastened on her, the girl, for all

"What have you come for?" But the feeling that she herself was being asked the same question, made her

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

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 arid 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

"Don't! I don't want to hear anythingI don't want to know anything. It's impossible to fight with you! What

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.

But Irene had not moved; in her gloved hands she ceaselessly turned and twisted the little bunch of violets.

"Why have you come?" she sobbed. "You've ruined my life, and now you want to ruin his!"

Irene's mouth quivered; her eyes met June's with a look so mournful that the girl cried out in the midst of her

But Irene's head bent till it touched her breast. She turned, and went quickly out, hiding her lips with the little

June ran to the door. She heard the footsteps going down and down. She called out: "Come back, Irene!

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

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 granddaughter were upstairs. On being told that she had just come in, he

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

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 motherbird 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

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

"And if, by any chance, my darling," he said, "you found you didn't get onwith 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!"

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

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.

"You'll like your father," he said"an amiable chap. Never was much push about him, but easy to get on

And old Jolyon bethought him of the dozen or so watercolour 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

"As to youryour stepmother," he said, using the word with some little difficulty, "I call her a refined

womana bit of a Mrs. Gummidge, I shouldn't wonderbut very fond of Jo. And the children," he

repeatedindeed, this sentence ran like music through all his solemn selfjustification"are sweet little

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

But he began to get alarmed at her silence, and asked impatiently: "Well, what do you say?"

June slid down to his knee, and she in her turn began her tale. She thought it would all go splendidly; she did

Old Jolyon wriggled. H'm! then people would 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

Yet he said nothing. His feelings were too mixed, too inconsistent for expression.

Nowent on June he did not care; what business was it of theirs? There was only one thingand 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 notto please herbuy 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

Old Jolyon was on the alert at once. Wasn't the 'man of property' going to live in his new house, then? He

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?"

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 everythingeverything might come straight

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

June faced him steadily. "I went alone. He has lost that case. I don't care whether it was right or wrong. I

Old Jolyon asked again: "Have you seen him?" His glance seemed to pierce right through the girl's eyes into

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.

"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

Visited by one of his strange bursts of philosophy, he added: "Like that you were born; and like that you'll

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 sadlyfor he felt in

"I believe," said old Jolyon, dropping his eyes, "that you'd have him if he were dead!'

June said that she did. She knew that he could get it if he wanted. He would only have to give what it cost.

"What it cost! You know nothing about it. I won't go to Soames I'll have nothing more to do with that

"But you needn't; you can go to Uncle James. If you can't buy the house, will you pay his lawsuit claim? I

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

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

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 June's face told him that he would have no peace until he acted.

At breakfast next morning she asked him what time she should order the carriage.

"Carriage!" he said, with some appearance of innocence; "what for? I'm not going out!"

She answered: "If you don't go early, you won't catch Uncle James before he goes into the City."

"The house," she replied, in such a voice that he no longer pretended ignorance.

Old Jolyon grumbled out: "Think of youI'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!"

At a quarter past he was placing his umbrella in the stand at Park Lanehe 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

James was still in the diningroom talking to Soames, who had come round again before breakfast. On

hearing who his visitor was, he muttered nervously: "Now, what's be want, I wonder?"

"Well," he said to Soames, "don't you go doing anything in a hurry. The first thing is to find out where she

isI 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 can't tell what she was thinking about!"

Old Jolyon did not rise on seeing his brother, but held out his hand, and exchanged with him the clasp of a

"How's Emily?" he asked; and waiting for no reply, went on "I've come to see you about this affair of young

"I don't know anything about a white elephant," said James, "I know he's lost his case, and I should say he'll

"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...."

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 downit'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."

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 June'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 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

"I'm sure I don't know," said James; "I can't remember namesI 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."

"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

James, who was secretly also of this opinion, answered: "It's a gentleman's house. Soames is here now if

"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

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

"Well," he said, "I know nothing about it. Soames, he tells me nothing; I should think he'd entertain itit's a

"Oh!" said old Jolyon, "don't let him make a favour of it!" He placed his hat on his head in dudgeon.

"There's a policeman out here," he said with his half smile, "for Uncle Jolyon."

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

In the hall an Inspector of Police stood stolidly regarding with heavylidded paleblue eyes the fine old

English furniture picked up by James at the famous Mavrojano sale in Portman Square. "You'll find my

The Inspector raised his fingers respectfully to his peaked cap, and entered the study.

"Well," he said to Soames, "I suppose we must wait and see what he wants. Your uncle's been here about the

"Who?" replied Soames: "the Inspector? They sent him round from Stanhope Gate, that's all I know. That

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

Then standing above his brother and his nephew, and looking down at him with his deep eyes:

For all men of great age, even for all Forsytes, life has had bitter experiences. The passerby, 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 ageto Sir Walter Bentham himselfthe idea of suicide has once at

least been present in the anteroom 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! Seldomperhaps nevercan they achieve, it; and yet, how near have they

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

"Death was instantaneous. He lay all day yesterday at the hospital. There was nothing to tell them who he

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

manning todiscuss it again); and there was the pleasurable excitement of a coming encounter, a coming

He had the carriage closed now; he had no heart to look on gaiety; nor was it right that Forsytes should be

"It was not so very thickJust 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 today's papers;" his cold blue eyes

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. Harduppawnticketsan

overdrawn account! These words that had all his life been a faroff 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

lynxeyed, 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 singlehanded meet those

two. And the thought of how to keep June's name out of the business kept whirring in his brain. James had his

On getting out he gave this card to his coachman, telling him to driveas 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

He followed the others slowly up the steps, leaning on his umbrella, and stood a moment to get his breath.

In the bare, whitewalled 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 wish 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

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 itDeath? 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 crushingout 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

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

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 granddaughter, 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

Or perhaps in his philosophy he thought: Better to be out of, it all! Better to have done with it, like this poor

A tear started up and wetted his eyelash. "Well," he said, "I'm no good here. I'd better be going. You'll come

It was young Jolyon's turn to take his stand beside the dead man, round whose fallen body he seemed to see

The forces underlying every tragedyforces that take no denial, working through cross currents to their

ironical end, had met and fused with a thunderclap, flung out the victim, and flattened to the ground all

Or so at all events young Jolyon seemed to see them, lying around Bosinney's body.

He asked the Inspector to tell him what had happened, and the latter, like a man who does not every day get

"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

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

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 allof 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.

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

Concerning the cause of this deathhis 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 retributionhad not Bosinney endangered their two most

priceless possessions, the pocket and the hearth? And they would talk of 'that unfortunate accident of young

As for himself, he regarded the busdriver'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 summerand to believe thus that an accident had cut Bosinney off in the full

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....

In the diningroom 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 fishingboats at Sunset' seemed as though passing their gaze over his life with its hopes,

"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'?

She's brought it on herself, I suppose; but somehow I can't bear to think of her, shut up thereand all alone."

After leaving James and old Jolyon in the mortuary of the hospital, Soames hurried aimlessly along the

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

That morning he had risen early, before the postman came, had taken the firstpost 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

But now, cut off from taking steps by Bosinney's deaththat strange death, to think of which was like

putting a hot iron to his heart, like lifting a great weight from ithe 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

And as he wandered, he thought of him who had finished his wandering, his prowling, and would never haunt

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

On his way home, passing the steps of Jobson's about half past four, he met George Forsyte, who held out an

George stared at him. He had never liked Soames; he now held him responsible for Bosinney's death. Soames

had done for himdone for him by that act of property that had sent the Buccaneer to run amok that fatal

'The poor fellow,' he was thinking, 'was so cracked with jealousy, so cracked for his vengeance, that he heard

Clenching his fist on the paper, George crammed it into his pocket. He could not resist a parting shot.

With a face as white as the steps of Jobson's, and a lip raised as if snarling, Soames brushed past him and was

On reaching home, and entering the little lighted hall with his latchkey, the first thing that caught his eye was

his wife's goldmounted umbrella lying on the rug chest. Flinging off his fur coat, he hurried to the

The curtains were drawn for the night, a bright fire of cedarlogs 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,

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

Huddled in her grey fur against the sofa cushions, she had a strange resemblance to a captive owl, bunched fir

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

She never looked up, and never spoke, the firelight playing over her motionless figure.

Suddenly she tried to rise, but he prevented her; it was then that he understood.

She had come back like an animal wounded to death, not knowing where to turn, not knowing what she was

He knew then for certain that Bosinney had been her lover; knew that she had seen the report of his

deathperhaps, like himself, had bought a paper at the draughty corner of a street, and read it.

She had come back then of her own accord, to the cage she had pined to be free ofand 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 softbefore I crush it. Get out of my sight; never let me see you

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 awakerise and go out into the dark and cold, without a thought of him,

Then he cried, contradicting what he had not yet spoken, "No; stay there!" And turning away from her, he sat

And Soames thought: 'Why is all this? Why should I suffer so? What have I done? It is not my fault!'

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

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

Along the garden rails a halfstarved cat came rubbing her way towards him, and Soames thought:

At a front door across the way was a man of his acquaintance named Rutter, scraping his boots, with an air of

>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

If only he could surrender to the desire: 'Make a slave of her she is in your power!'

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.

He could forget nothing; surrender to no thought, vision, or desire; it was all too serious; too close around

On the far side of the Square newspaper boys were calling their evening wares, and the ghoulish cries

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....

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.

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.

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.

"The door was open," he said. "Might I see your wife for a minute, I have a message for her?"

Young Jolyon's glance shot past him into the hall, and Soames turned. There in the drawingroom doorway

stood Irene, her eyes were wild and eager, her lips were parted, her hands out stretched. In the sight of both

men that light vanished from her face; her hands dropped to her sides; she stood like stone.

Soames spun round, and met his visitor's eyes, and at the look he saw in them, a sound like a snarl escaped

"This is my house," he said; "I manage my own affairs. I've told you onceI tell you again; we are not at