The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

Along the pathway of sky between the hedges of the tree tops the stars

clustered forth; like mortals beneath, they seemed to shift and swarm

and whisper. Then on the terrace the buzz broke out once more, and

Dartie thought: 'Ah! he's a poor, hungry-looking devil, that Bosinney!'

and again he pressed himself against Irene.

The movement deserved a better success. She rose, and they all followed

her.

The man of the world was more than ever determined to see what she was

made of. Along the terrace he kept close at her elbow. He had within him

much good wine. There was the long drive home, the long drive and

the warm dark and the pleasant closeness of the hansom cab--with its

insulation from the world devised by some great and good man. That

hungry architect chap might drive with his wife--he wished him joy of

her! And, conscious that his voice was not too steady, he was careful

not to speak; but a smile had become fixed on his thick lips.

They strolled along toward the cabs awaiting them at the farther end.

His plan had the merit of all great plans, an almost brutal simplicity

he would merely keep at her elbow till she got in, and get in quickly

after her.

But when Irene reached the cab she did not get in; she slipped, instead,

to the horse's head. Dartie was not at the moment sufficiently master

of his legs to follow. She stood stroking the horse's nose, and, to his

annoyance, Bosinney was at her side first. She turned and spoke to him

rapidly, in a low voice; the words 'That man' reached Dartie. He stood

stubbornly by the cab step, waiting for her to come back. He knew a

trick worth two of that!

Here, in the lamp-light, his figure (no more than medium height), well

squared in its white evening waistcoat, his light overcoat flung over

his arm, a pink flower in his button-hole, and on his dark face that

look of confident, good-humoured insolence, he was at his best--a

thorough man of the world.

Winifred was already in her cab. Dartie reflected that Bosinney would

have a poorish time in that cab if he didn't look sharp! Suddenly he

received a push which nearly overturned him in the road. Bosinney's

voice hissed in his ear: "I am taking Irene back; do you understand?" He

saw a face white with passion, and eyes that glared at him like a wild

cat's.

"Eh?" he stammered. "What? Not a bit. You take my wife!"

"Get away!" hissed Bosinney--"or I'll throw you into the road!"