The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

In leaving the Court Soames did not go straight home. He felt

disinclined for the City, and drawn by need for sympathy in his triumph,

he, too, made his way, but slowly and on foot, to Timothy's in the

Bayswater Road.

His father had just left; Mrs. Small and Aunt Hester, in possession of

the whole story, greeted him warmly. They were sure he was hungry after

all that evidence. Smither should toast him some more muffins, his dear

father had eaten them all. He must put his legs up on the sofa; and he

must have a glass of prune brandy too. It was so strengthening.

Swithin was still present, having lingered later than his wont, for he

felt in want of exercise. On hearing this suggestion, he 'pished.' A

pretty pass young men were coming to! His own liver was out of order,

and he could not bear the thought of anyone else drinking prune brandy.

He went away almost immediately, saying to Soames: "And how's your wife?

You tell her from me that if she's dull, and likes to come and dine with

me quietly, I'll give her such a bottle of champagne as she doesn't get

every day." Staring down from his height on Soames he contracted his

thick, puffy, yellow hand as though squeezing within it all this small

fry, and throwing out his chest he waddled slowly away.

Mrs. Small and Aunt Hester were left horrified. Swithin was so droll!

They themselves were longing to ask Soames how Irene would take the

result, yet knew that they must not; he would perhaps say something

of his own accord, to throw some light on this, the present burning

question in their lives, the question that from necessity of silence

tortured them almost beyond bearing; for even Timothy had now been told,

and the effect on his health was little short of alarming. And what,

too, would June do? This, also, was a most exciting, if dangerous

speculation!

They had never forgotten old Jolyon's visit, since when he had not once

been to see them; they had never forgotten the feeling it gave all who

were present, that the family was no longer what it had been--that the

family was breaking up.

But Soames gave them no help, sitting with his knees crossed, talking of

the Barbizon school of painters, whom he had just discovered. These were

the coming men, he said; he should not wonder if a lot of money were

made over them; he had his eye on two pictures by a man called Corot,

charming things; if he could get them at a reasonable price he was going

to buy them--they would, he thought, fetch a big price some day.