The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

In the morning of his case, which was second in the list, Soames was

again obliged to start without seeing Irene, and it was just as well,

for he had not as yet made up his mind what attitude to adopt towards

her.

He had been requested to be in court by half-past ten, to provide

against the event of the first action (a breach of promise) collapsing,

which however it did not, both sides showing a courage that afforded

Waterbuck, Q.C., an opportunity for improving his already great

reputation in this class of case. He was opposed by Ram, the other

celebrated breach of promise man. It was a battle of giants.

The court delivered judgment just before the luncheon interval. The jury

left the box for good, and Soames went out to get something to eat. He

met James standing at the little luncheon-bar, like a pelican in the

wilderness of the galleries, bent over a sandwich with a glass of sherry

before him. The spacious emptiness of the great central hall, over which

father and son brooded as they stood together, was marred now and then

for a fleeting moment by barristers in wig and gown hurriedly bolting

across, by an occasional old lady or rusty-coated man, looking up in a

frightened way, and by two persons, bolder than their generation, seated

in an embrasure arguing. The sound of their voices arose, together with

a scent as of neglected wells, which, mingling with the odour of the

galleries, combined to form the savour, like nothing but the emanation

of a refined cheese, so indissolubly connected with the administration

of British Justice.

It was not long before James addressed his son.

"When's your case coming on? I suppose it'll be on directly. I shouldn't

wonder if this Bosinney'd say anything; I should think he'd have to.

He'll go bankrupt if it goes against him." He took a large bite at his

sandwich and a mouthful of sherry. "Your mother," he said, "wants you

and Irene to come and dine to-night."

A chill smile played round Soames' lips; he looked back at his father.

Anyone who had seen the look, cold and furtive, thus interchanged, might

have been pardoned for not appreciating the real understanding between

them. James finished his sherry at a draught.

"How much?" he asked.

On returning to the court Soames took at once his rightful seat on the

front bench beside his solicitor. He ascertained where his father was

seated with a glance so sidelong as to commit nobody.

James, sitting back with his hands clasped over the handle of his

umbrella, was brooding on the end of the bench immediately behind

counsel, whence he could get away at once when the case was over. He

considered Bosinney's conduct in every way outrageous, but he did not

wish to run up against him, feeling that the meeting would be awkward.