The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

Once in the driving seat, with the reins handed to him, and blinking

over his pale old cheeks in the full sunlight, he took a slow look

round--Adolf was already up behind; the cockaded groom at the horses'

heads stood ready to let go; everything was prepared for the signal, and

Swithin gave it. The equipage dashed forward, and before you could say

Jack Robinson, with a rattle and flourish drew up at Soames' door.

Irene came out at once, and stepped in--he afterward described it at

Timothy's--"as light as--er--Taglioni, no fuss about it, no wanting this

or wanting that;" and above all, Swithin dwelt on this, staring at

Mrs. Septimus in a way that disconcerted her a good deal, "no silly

nervousness!" To Aunt Hester he portrayed Irene's hat. "Not one of your

great flopping things, sprawling about, and catching the dust, that

women are so fond of nowadays, but a neat little--" he made a circular

motion of his hand, "white veil--capital taste."

"What was it made of?" inquired Aunt Hester, who manifested a languid

but permanent excitement at any mention of dress.

"Made of?" returned Swithin; "now how should I know?"

He sank into silence so profound that Aunt Hester began to be afraid he

had fallen into a trance. She did not try to rouse him herself, it not

being her custom.

'I wish somebody would come,' she thought; 'I don't like the look of

him!'

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 she raised them to him and smiled.

On Saturday morning Soames had found her at her writing-table with a

note written to Swithin, putting him off. Why did she want to put him

off? he asked. She might put her own people off when she liked, he would

not have her putting off his people!

She had looked at him intently, had torn up the note, and said: "Very

well!"

And then she began writing another. He took a casual glance presently,

and saw that it was addressed to Bosinney.

"What are you writing to him about?" he asked.

Irene, looking at him again with that intent look, said quietly:

"Something he wanted me to do for him!"

"Humph!" said Soames,--"Commissions!"

"You'll have your work cut out if you begin that sort of thing!" He said

no more.