The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

"You may depend upon it, they're a cranky lot, the Forsytes--and you'll

find it out, as you grow older!"

Timothy alone held apart, for though he ate saddle of mutton heartily,

he was, he said, afraid of it.

To anyone interested psychologically in Forsytes, this great

saddle-of-mutton trait is of prime importance; not only does it

illustrate their tenacity, both collectively and as individuals, but it

marks them as belonging in fibre and instincts to that great class

which believes in nourishment and flavour, and yields to no sentimental

craving for beauty.

Younger members of the family indeed would have done without a joint

altogether, preferring guinea-fowl, or lobster salad--something which

appealed to the imagination, and had less nourishment--but these were

females; or, if not, had been corrupted by their wives, or by mothers,

who having been forced to eat saddle of mutton throughout their married

lives, had passed a secret hostility towards it into the fibre of their

sons.

The great saddle-of-mutton controversy at an end, a Tewkesbury ham

commenced, together with the least touch of West Indian--Swithin was

so long over this course that he caused a block in the progress of the

dinner. To devote himself to it with better heart, he paused in his

conversation.

From his seat by Mrs. Septimus Small Soames was watching. He had a

reason of his own connected with a pet building scheme, for observing

Bosinney. The architect might do for his purpose; he looked clever, as

he sat leaning back in his chair, moodily making little ramparts with

bread-crumbs. Soames noted his dress clothes to be well cut, but too

small, as though made many years ago.

He saw him turn to Irene and say something and her face sparkle as he

often saw it sparkle at other people--never at himself. He tried to

catch what they were saying, but Aunt Juley was speaking.

Hadn't that always seemed very extraordinary to Soames? Only last Sunday

dear Mr. Scole, had been so witty in his sermon, so sarcastic, "For

what," he had said, "shall it profit a man if he gain his own soul,

but lose all his property?" That, he had said, was the motto of the

middle-class; now, what had he meant by that? Of course, it might be

what middle-class people believed--she didn't know; what did Soames

think?

He answered abstractedly: "How should I know? Scoles is a humbug,

though, isn't he?" For Bosinney was looking round the table, as if

pointing out the peculiarities of the guests, and Soames wondered

what he was saying. By her smile Irene was evidently agreeing with his

remarks. She seemed always to agree with other people.