The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

"A temper's not a bad thing in an angel."

Soames had never called Irene an angel. He could not so have violated

his best instincts, letting other people into the secret of her value,

and giving himself away. He made no reply.

They had struck into a half-made road across a warren. A cart-track led

at right-angles to a gravel pit, beyond which the chimneys of a cottage

rose amongst a clump of trees at the border of a thick wood. Tussocks of

feathery grass covered the rough surface of the ground, and out of these

the larks soared into the hate of sunshine. On the far horizon, over a

countless succession of fields and hedges, rose a line of downs.

Soames led till they had crossed to the far side, and there he stopped.

It was the chosen site; but now that he was about to divulge the spot to

another he had become uneasy.

"The agent lives in that cottage," he said; "he'll give us some

lunch--we'd better have lunch before we go into this matter."

He again took the lead to the cottage, where the agent, a tall man named

Oliver, with a heavy face and grizzled beard, welcomed them. During

lunch, which Soames hardly touched, he kept looking at Bosinney, and

once or twice passed his silk handkerchief stealthily over his forehead.

The meal came to an end at last, and Bosinney rose.

"I dare say you've got business to talk over," he said; "I'll just go

and nose about a bit." Without waiting for a reply he strolled out.

Soames was solicitor to this estate, and he spent nearly an hour in the

agent's company, looking at ground-plans and discussing the Nicholl and

other mortgages; it was as it were by an afterthought that he brought up

the question of the building site.

"Your people," he said, "ought to come down in their price to me,

considering that I shall be the first to build."

Oliver shook his head.

The site you've fixed on, Sir, he said, "is the cheapest we've got.

Sites at the top of the slope are dearer by a good bit."

"Mind," said Soames, "I've not decided; it's quite possible I shan't

build at all. The ground rent's very high."

"Well, Mr. Forsyte, I shall be sorry if you go off, and I think you'll

make a mistake, Sir. There's not a bit of land near London with such a

view as this, nor one that's cheaper, all things considered; we've only

to advertise, to get a mob of people after it."

They looked at each other. Their faces said very plainly: 'I respect

you as a man of business; and you can't expect me to believe a word you

say.'