The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

"Several," said old Jolyon, looking at one face and another; "I trod on

one just now."

A silence followed.

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 one quite like her for saying the

wrong thing!

"Bad!" he said; "London don't agree with her--too many people about, too

much clatter and chatter by half." He laid emphasis on the words, and

again looked James in the face.

Nobody spoke.

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 white-haired, frock-coated

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 it--the visits of such fateful, bitter

spirits are only felt.

Then Swithin rose. He would not sit there, feeling like that--he 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, good-bye, Jolyon! You shouldn't go about without an

overcoat; you'll be getting sciatica or something!" And, kicking the cat

slightly with the pointed tip of his patent leather boot, he took his

huge form away.

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

official--so to speak--news 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 drives."

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

tour she had once taken with Septimus Small.