The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

For a long time he sat there in the dark, the moon through the skylight

above laying a pale smear which lengthened slowly towards him down the

stairway. He tried to be philosophical.

Since she had locked her doors she had no further claim as a wife, and

he would console himself with other women.

It was but a spectral journey he made among such delights--he had no

appetite for these exploits. He had never had much, and he had lost the

habit. He felt that he could never recover it. His hunger could only

be appeased by his wife, inexorable and frightened, behind these shut

doors. No other woman could help him.

This conviction came to him with terrible force out there in the dark.

His philosophy left him; and surly anger took its place. Her conduct

was immoral, inexcusable, worthy of any punishment within his power. He

desired no one but her, and she refused him!

She must really hate him, then! He had never believed it yet. He did not

believe it now. It seemed to him incredible. He felt as though he had

lost for ever his power of judgment. If she, so soft and yielding as

he had always judged her, could take this decided step--what could not

happen?

Then he asked himself again if she were carrying on an intrigue with

Bosinney. He did not believe that she was; he could not afford to

believe such a reason for her conduct--the thought was not to be faced.

It would be unbearable to contemplate the necessity of making his

marital relations public property. Short of the most convincing proofs

he must still refuse to believe, for he did not wish to punish himself.

And all the time at heart--he did believe.

The moonlight cast a greyish tinge over his figure, hunched against the

staircase wall.

Bosinney was in love with her! He hated the fellow, and would not spare

him now. He could and would refuse to pay a penny piece over

twelve thousand and fifty pounds--the extreme limit fixed in the

correspondence; or rather he would pay, he would pay and sue him for

damages. He would go to Jobling and Boulter and put the matter in their

hands. He would ruin the impecunious beggar! And suddenly--though what

connection between the thoughts?--he reflected that Irene had no money

either. They were both beggars. This gave him a strange satisfaction.

The silence was broken by a faint creaking through the wall. She was

going to bed at last. Ah! Joy and pleasant dreams! If she threw the door

open wide he would not go in now!