Man of Property | Page 8

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 the end.
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
long-inflicted injury in her tenacious old heart. A little water stood in
her eyes. With a handkerchief of the finest lawn she wiped them
stealthily.
"Well, Aunt Ann?" said a voice behind.
Soames Forsyte, flat-shouldered, clean-shaven, flat-cheeked,
flat-waisted, yet with something round and secret about his whole
appearance, looked downwards and aslant at Aunt Ann, as though
trying to see through the side of his own nose.
"And what do you think of the engagement?" he asked.
Aunt Ann's eyes rested on him proudly; of all the nephews since young
Jolyon's departure from the family nest, he was now her favourite, for
she recognised in him a sure trustee of the family soul that must so

soon slip beyond her keeping.
"Very nice for the young man," she said; "and he's a good-looking
young fellow; but I doubt if he's quite the right lover for dear June."
Soames touched the edge of a gold-lacquered lustre.
"She'll tame him," he said, stealthily wetting his finger and rubbing it
on the knobby bulbs. "That's genuine old lacquer; you can't get it
nowadays. It'd do well in a sale at Jobson's." He spoke with relish, as
though he felt that he was cheering up his old aunt. It was seldom he
was so confidential. "I wouldn't mind having it myself," he added; "you
can always get your price for old lacquer."
"You're so clever with all those things," said Aunt Ann. "And how is
dear Irene?"
Soames's smile died.
"Pretty well," he said. "Complains she can't sleep; she sleeps a great
deal better than I do," and he looked at his wife, who was talking to
Bosinney by the door.
Aunt Ann sighed.
"Perhaps," she said, "it will be just as well for her not to see so much of
June. She's such a decided character, dear June!"
Soames flushed; his flushes passed rapidly over his flat cheeks and
centered between his eyes, where they remained, the stamp of
disturbing thoughts.
"I don't know what she sees in that little flibbertigibbet," he burst out,
but noticing that they were no longer alone, he turned and again began
examining the lustre.
"They tell me Jolyon's bought another house," said his father's voice
close by; "he must have a lot of money--he must have more money than
he knows what to do with! Montpellier Square, they say; close to

Soames! They never told me, Irene never tells me anything!"
"Capital position, not two minutes from me," said the voice of Swithin,
"and from my rooms I can drive to the Club in eight."
The position of their houses was of vital importance to the Forsytes,
nor was this remarkable, since the whole spirit of their success was
embodied therein.
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 position of a master-builder.
Towards the end of his life he moved to London, where, building on
until he died, he was buried at Highgate. He left over thirty thousand
pounds between his ten children. Old Jolyon alluded to him, if at all, as
'A hard, thick sort of man; not much refinement about him.' The second
generation of Forsytes felt indeed that he was not greatly to their credit.
The only aristocratic trait they could find in his character was a habit of
drinking Madeira.
Aunt Hester, an authority on family history, described him thus: "I
don't recollect that he ever did anything; at least, not in my time. He
was er--an owner of houses, my dear. His hair about your Uncle
Swithin's colour; rather a square build. Tall? No-- not very tall" (he had
been five feet five, with a mottled face); "a fresh-coloured man. I
remember