The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

That evening, on his return from the City, he called at Bosinney's

office. He found the architect in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a pipe, and

ruling off lines on a plan. Soames refused a drink, and came at once to

the point.

"If you've nothing better to do on Sunday, come down with me to Robin

Hill, and give me your opinion on a building site."

"Are you going to build?"

"Perhaps," said Soames; "but don't speak of it. I just want your

opinion."

"Quite so," said the architect.

Soames peered about the room.

"You're rather high up here," he remarked.

Any information he could gather about the nature and scope of Bosinney's

business would be all to the good.

"It does well enough for me so far," answered the architect. "You're

accustomed to the swells."

He knocked out his pipe, but replaced it empty between his teeth; it

assisted him perhaps to carry on the conversation. Soames noted a hollow

in each cheek, made as it were by suction.

"What do you pay for an office like this?" said he.

"Fifty too much," replied Bosinney.

This answer impressed Soames favourably.

"I suppose it is dear," he said. "I'll call for you--on Sunday about

eleven."

The following Sunday therefore he called for Bosinney in a hansom, and

drove him to the station. On arriving at Robin Hill, they found no cab,

and started to walk the mile and a half to the site.

It was the 1st of August--a perfect day, with a burning sun and

cloudless sky--and in the straight, narrow road leading up the hill

their feet kicked up a yellow dust.

"Gravel soil," remarked Soames, and sideways he glanced at the coat

Bosinney wore. Into the side-pockets of this coat were thrust bundles

of papers, and under one arm was carried a queer-looking stick. Soames

noted these and other peculiarities.

No one but a clever man, or, indeed, a buccaneer, would have taken such

liberties with his appearance; and though these eccentricities were

revolting to Soames, he derived a certain satisfaction from them, as

evidence of qualities by which he must inevitably profit. If the fellow

could build houses, what did his clothes matter?

"I told you," he said, "that I want this house to be a surprise, so

don't say anything about it. I never talk of my affairs until they're

carried through."

Bosinney nodded.

"Let women into your plans," pursued Soames, "and you never know where

it'll end."

"Ah!" Said Bosinney, "women are the devil!"

This feeling had long been at the--bottom of Soames's heart; he had

never, however, put it into words.

"Oh!" he Muttered, "so you're beginning to...." He stopped, but added,

with an uncontrollable burst of spite: "June's got a temper of her

own--always had."