The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

But Irene's silence this evening was exceptional. He had never before

seen such an expression on her face. And since it is always the unusual

which alarms, Soames was alarmed. He ate his savoury, and hurried the

maid as she swept off the crumbs with the silver sweeper. When she had

left the room, he filled his glass with wine and said:

"Anybody been here this afternoon?"

"June."

"What did she want?" It was an axiom with the Forsytes that people did

not go anywhere unless they wanted something. "Came to talk about her

lover, I suppose?"

Irene made no reply.

"It looks to me," continued Soames, "as if she were sweeter on him than

he is on her. She's always following him about."

Irene's eyes made him feel uncomfortable.

"You've no business to say such a thing!" she exclaimed.

"Why not? Anybody can see it."

"They cannot. And if they could, it's disgraceful to say so."

Soames's composure gave way.

"You're a pretty wife!" he said. But secretly he wondered at the heat of

her reply; it was unlike her. "You're cracked about June! I can tell

you one thing: now that she has the Buccaneer in tow, she doesn't care

twopence about you, and, you'll find it out. But you won't see so much

of her in future; we're going to live in the country."

He had been glad to get his news out under cover of this burst of

irritation. He had expected a cry of dismay; the silence with which his

pronouncement was received alarmed him.

"You don't seem interested," he was obliged to add.

"I knew it already."

He looked at her sharply.

"Who told you?"

"June."

"How did she know?"

Irene did not answer. Baffled and uncomfortable, he said:

"It's a fine thing for Bosinney, it'll be the making of him. I suppose

she's told you all about it?"

"Yes."

There was another pause, and then Soames said:

"I suppose you don't want to, go?"

Irene made no reply.

"Well, I can't tell what you want. You never seem contented here."

"Have my wishes anything to do with it?"

She took the vase of roses and left the room. Soames remained seated.

Was it for this that he had signed that contract? Was it for this that

he was going to spend some ten thousand pounds? Bosinney's phrase came

back to him: "Women are the devil!"

But presently he grew calmer. It might have, been worse. She might have

flared up. He had expected something more than this. It was lucky, after

all, that June had broken the ice for him. She must have wormed it out

of Bosinney; he might have known she would.