The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

What if she did? What if she made him a confession? How would he stand

then? He would have to bring a divorce!

A divorce! Thus close, the word was paralyzing, so utterly at variance

with all the principles that had hitherto guided his life. Its lack of

compromise appalled him; he felt--like the captain of a ship, going to

the side of his vessel, and, with his own hands throwing over the most

precious of his bales. This jettisoning of his property with his own

hand seemed uncanny to Soames. It would injure him in his profession: He

would have to get rid of the house at Robin Hill, on which he had spent

so much money, so much anticipation--and at a sacrifice. And she! She

would no longer belong to him, not even in name! She would pass out of

his life, and he--he should never see her again!

He traversed in the cab the length of a street without getting beyond

the thought that he should never see her again!

But perhaps there was nothing to confess, even now very likely there was

nothing to confess. Was it wise to push things so far? Was it wise to

put himself into a position where he might have to eat his words? The

result of this case would ruin Bosinney; a ruined man was desperate,

but--what could he do? He might go abroad, ruined men always went

abroad. What could they do--if indeed it was 'they'--without money? It

would be better to wait and see how things turned out. If necessary,

he could have her watched. The agony of his jealousy (for all the world

like the crisis of an aching tooth) came on again; and he almost cried

out. But he must decide, fix on some course of action before he got

home. When the cab drew up at the door, he had decided nothing.

He entered, pale, his hands moist with perspiration, dreading to meet

her, burning to meet her, ignorant of what he was to say or do.

The maid Bilson was in the hall, and in answer to his question: "Where

is your mistress?" told him that Mrs. Forsyte had left the house about

noon, taking with her a trunk and bag.

Snatching the sleeve of his fur coat away from her grasp, he confronted

her:

"What?" he exclaimed; "what's that you said?" Suddenly recollecting that

he must not betray emotion, he added: "What message did she leave?" and

noticed with secret terror the startled look of the maid's eyes.

"Mrs. Forsyte left no message, sir."

"No message; very well, thank you, that will do. I shall be dining out."