LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

"Good-night, Mr. Bosinney!" called Winifred.

       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.

       She said: "I shall say nothing about it. I don't see any use in making a fuss!"

       With that view Dartie at once concurred; looking upon James as a private preserve, he disapproved of his being disturbed by the troubles of others.

       "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 well-earned rest. The hour was midnight, and no Forsytes remained abroad in the streets to spy out Bosinney's wanderings; to see him return and stand against the rails of the Square garden, back from the glow of the street lamp; to see him stand there in the shadow of trees, watching the house where in the dark was hidden she whom he would have given the world to see for a single minute--she who was now to him the breath of the lime-trees, the meaning of the light and the darkness, the very beating of his own heart.

       CHAPTER X--DIAGNOSIS OF A FORSYTE

       It is in the nature of a Forsyte to be ignorant that he is a Forsyte; but young Jolyon was well aware of being one. He had not known it till after the decisive step which had made him an outcast; since then the knowledge had been with him continually. He felt it throughout his alliance, throughout all his dealings with his second wife, who was emphatically not a Forsyte.

       He knew that if he had not possessed in great measure the eye for what he wanted, the tenacity to hold on to it, the sense of the folly of wasting that for which he had given so big a price--in other words, the 'sense of property' he could never have retained her (perhaps never would have desired to retain her) with him through all the financial troubles, slights, and misconstructions of those fifteen years; never have induced her to marry him on the death of his first wife; never have lived it all through, and come up, as it were, thin, but smiling.

       He was one of those men who, seated cross-legged like miniature Chinese idols in the cages of their own hearts, are ever smiling

       at themselves a doubting smile. Not that this smile, so intimate and eternal, interfered with his actions, which, like his chin and his

       104

       temperament, were quite a peculiar blend of softness and determination.

       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 from old Jolyon, with a mixture of sympathy and disgust:

       'SHELDRAKE HOUSE,

       'BROADSTAIRS,

       'July 1. 'MY DEAR JO,'

       (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, and--goodness knows what. I have grave doubts whether she ought to be allowed to return to London in the present state of affairs, but she is so self-willed that she might take it into her head to come up at any moment. The fact is someone ought to speak to Bosinney and ascertain what he means. I'm afraid of this myself, for I should certainly rap him over the knuckles, but I thought that you, knowing him at the Club, might put in a word, and get to ascertain what the fellow is about. You will of course in no way com-mit June. I shall be glad to hear from you in the course of a few days whether you have succeeded in gaining any information. The situation is very distressing to me, I worry about it at night.

       With my love to Jolly and Holly.

       'I am,

       'Your affect. father,

       'JOLYON FORSYTE.'

       Young Jolyon pondered this letter so long and seriously that his wife noticed his preoccupation, and asked him what was the matter. He replied: "Nothing."

       It was a fixed principle with him never to allude to June. She might take alarm, he did not know what she might think; he hastened, therefore, to banish from his manner all traces of absorption, but in this he was about as successful as his father would have been, for he had inherited all old Jolyon's transparency in matters of domestic finesse; and young Mrs. Jolyon, busying herself over the affairs of the house, went about with tightened lips, stealing at him unfathomable looks.

       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 business principles into their private relations.

       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 saved.

       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, staring out of the win-dow.

       105

       Young Jolyon sat down not far off, and began nervously to reconsider his position. He looked covertly at Bosinney sitting there unconscious. He did not know him very well, and studied him attentively for perhaps the first time; an unusual looking man, unlike in dress, face, and manner to most of the other members of the Club--young Jolyon himself, however different he had become in mood and temper, had always retained the neat reticence of Forsyte appearance. He alone among Forsytes was ignorant of Bosinney's nickname. The man was unusual, not eccentric, but unusual; he looked worn, too, haggard, hollow in the cheeks beneath those broad, high cheekbones, though without any appearance of ill-health, for he was strongly built, with curly hair that seemed to show all the vitality of a fine constitution.

       Something in his face and attitude touched young Jolyon. He knew what suffering was like, and this man looked as if he were suffering.

       He got up and touched his arm.

       Bosinney started, but exhibited no sign of embarrassment on seeing who it was.

       Young Jolyon sat down.

       "I haven't seen you for a long time," he said. "How are you getting on with my cousin's house?" "It'll be finished in about a week."

       "I congratulate you!"

       "Thanks--I don't know that it's much of a subject for congratulation."

       "No?" queried young Jolyon; "I should have thought you'd be glad to get a long job like that off your hands; but I suppose you feel it much as I do when I part with a picture--a sort of child?"

       He looked kindly at Bosinney.

       "Yes," said the latter more cordially, "it goes out from you and there's an end of it. I didn't know you painted."

       "Only watercolours; I can't say I believe in my work."

      

Скачать книгу