The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

It is in the nature of a Forsyte to be ignorant that he is a Forsyte;

but young Jolyon was well aware of being one. He had not known it till

after the decisive step which had made him an outcast; since then the

knowledge had been with him continually. He felt it throughout his

alliance, throughout all his dealings with his second wife, who was

emphatically not a Forsyte.

He knew that if he had not possessed in great measure the eye for what

he wanted, the tenacity to hold on to it, the sense of the folly of

wasting that for which he had given so big a price--in other words,

the 'sense of property' he could never have retained her (perhaps never

would have desired to retain her) with him through all the financial

troubles, slights, and misconstructions of those fifteen years; never

have induced her to marry him on the death of his first wife; never have

lived it all through, and come up, as it were, thin, but smiling.

He was one of those men who, seated cross-legged like miniature Chinese

idols in the cages of their own hearts, are ever smiling at themselves a

doubting smile. Not that this smile, so intimate and eternal, interfered

with his actions, which, like his chin and his temperament, were quite a

peculiar blend of softness and determination.

He was conscious, too, of being a Forsyte in his work, that painting of

water-colours to which he devoted so much energy, always with an eye

on himself, as though he could not take so unpractical a pursuit quite

seriously, and always with a certain queer uneasiness that he did not

make more money at it.

It was, then, this consciousness of what it meant to be a Forsyte, that

made him receive the following letter from old Jolyon, with a mixture of

sympathy and disgust:

'SHELDRAKE HOUSE,

'BROADSTAIRS,

'July 1. 'MY DEAR JO,'

(The Dad's handwriting had altered very little in the thirty odd years

that he remembered it.)

'We have been here now a fortnight, and have had good weather on the

whole. The air is bracing, but my liver is out of order, and I shall be

glad enough to get back to town. I cannot say much for June, her health

and spirits are very indifferent, and I don't see what is to come of

it. She says nothing, but it is clear that she is harping on this

engagement, which is an engagement and no engagement, and--goodness

knows what. I have grave doubts whether she ought to be allowed

to return to London in the present state of affairs, but she is so

self-willed that she might take it into her head to come up at any

moment. The fact is someone ought to speak to Bosinney and ascertain

what he means. I'm afraid of this myself, for I should certainly rap

him over the knuckles, but I thought that you, knowing him at the Club,

might put in a word, and get to ascertain what the fellow is about. You

will of course in no way commit June. I shall be glad to hear from you

in the course of a few days whether you have succeeded in gaining any

information. The situation is very distressing to me, I worry about it

at night.