The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

His thoughts turned gloomily to the Forsytes. What a set they were!

There was no getting anything out of them--at least, it was a matter of

extreme difficulty. They were so d---d particular about money matters;

not a sportsman amongst the lot, unless it were George. That fellow

Soames, for instance, would have a 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 smile, as if you were a lost soul because you were in want

of money.

And that wife of his (Dartie's mouth watered involuntarily), he had

tried to be on good terms with her, as one naturally would with any

pretty sister-in-law, but he would be cursed if the (he mentally used

a coarse word)--would have anything to say to him--she looked at him,

indeed, as if he were dirt--and yet she could go far enough, he wouldn't

mind betting. He knew women; they weren't made with soft eyes and

figures like that for nothing, as that fellow Soames would jolly

soon find out, if there were anything in what he had heard about this

Buccaneer Johnny.

Rising from his chair, Dartie took a turn across the room, ending in

front of the looking-glass over the marble chimney-piece; and there he

stood for a long time contemplating in the glass the reflection of his

face. It had that look, peculiar to some men, of having been steeped in

linseed oil, with its waxed dark moustaches and the little distinguished

commencements of side whiskers; and concernedly he felt the promise of a

pimple on the side of his slightly curved and fattish nose.

In the meantime old Jolyon had found the remaining chair in Timothy's

commodious drawing-room. His advent had obviously put a stop to the

conversation, decided awkwardness having set in. Aunt Juley, with her

well-known kindheartedness, hastened to set people at their ease again.

"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 business."

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 squeezing into the soft, furry body.