The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

And the lime-flowers that year were of rare prime, near honey-coloured.

At the corners of London squares they gave out, as the sun went down, a

perfume sweeter than the honey bees had taken--a perfume that stirred a

yearning unnamable in the hearts of Forsytes and their peers, taking the

cool after dinner in the precincts of those gardens to which they alone

had keys.

And that yearning made them linger amidst the dim shapes of flower-beds

in the failing daylight, made them turn, and turn, and turn again, as

though lovers were waiting for them--waiting for the last light to die

away under the shadow of the branches.

Some vague sympathy evoked by the scent of the limes, some sisterly

desire to see for herself, some idea of demonstrating the soundness

of her dictum that there was 'nothing in it'; or merely the craving to

drive down to Richmond, irresistible that summer, moved the mother of

the little Darties (of little Publius, of Imogen, Maud, and Benedict) to

write the following note to her sister-in-law:

'DEAR IRENE, 'June 30.

'I hear that Soames is going to Henley tomorrow for the night. I thought

it would be great fun if we made up a little party and drove down to,

Richmond. Will you ask Mr. Bosinney, and I will get young Flippard.

'Emily (they called their mother Emily--it was so chic) will lend us the

carriage. I will call for you and your young man at seven o'clock.

'Your affectionate sister,

'WINIFRED DARTIE.

'Montague believes the dinner at the Crown and Sceptre to be quite

eatable.'

Montague was Dartie's second and better known name--his first being

Moses; for he was nothing if not a man of the world.

Her plan met with more opposition from Providence than so benevolent a

scheme deserved. In the first place young Flippard wrote:

'DEAR Mrs. DARTIE,

'Awfully sorry. Engaged two deep.

'Yours,

'AUGUSTUS FLIPPARD.'

It was late to send into the by-ways and hedges to remedy this

misfortune. With the promptitude and conduct of a mother, Winifred

fell back on her husband. She had, indeed, the decided but tolerant

temperament that goes with a good deal of profile, fair hair, and

greenish eyes. She was seldom or never at a loss; or if at a loss, was

always able to convert it into a gain.

Dartie, too, was in good feather. Erotic had failed to win the

Lancashire Cup. Indeed, that celebrated animal, owned as he was by a

pillar of the turf, who had secretly laid many thousands against him,

had not even started. The forty-eight hours that followed his scratching

were among the darkest in Dartie's life.