The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

But with young Jolyon following to his wife's room it was different.

He found her seated on a chair before her dressing-glass, with her hands

before her face.

Her shoulders were shaking with sobs. This passion of hers for suffering

was mysterious to him. He had been through a hundred of these moods; how

he had survived them he never knew, for he could never believe they were

moods, and that the last hour of his partnership had not struck.

In the night she would be sure to throw her arms round his neck and say:

"Oh! Jo, how I make you suffer!" as she had done a hundred times before.

He reached out his hand, and, unseen, slipped his razor-case into his

pocket. 'I cannot stay here,' he thought, 'I must go down!' Without a

word he left the room, and went back to the lawn.

Old Jolyon had little Holly on his knee; she had taken possession of

his watch; Jolly, very red in the face, was trying to show that he could

stand on his head. The dog Balthasar, as close as he might be to the

tea-table, had fixed his eyes on the cake.

Young Jolyon felt a malicious desire to cut their enjoyment short.

What business had his father to come and upset his wife like this? It

was a shock, after all these years! He ought to have known; he ought to

have given them warning; but when did a Forsyte ever imagine that his

conduct could upset anybody! And in his thoughts he did old Jolyon

wrong.

He spoke sharply to the children, and told them to go in to their tea.

Greatly surprised, for they had never heard their father speak sharply

before, they went off, hand in hand, little Holly looking back over her

shoulder.

Young Jolyon poured out the tea.

"My wife's not the thing today," he said, but he knew well enough that

his father had penetrated the cause of that sudden withdrawal, and

almost hated the old man for sitting there so calmly.

"You've got a nice little house here," said old Jolyon with a shrewd

look; "I suppose you've taken a lease of it!"

Young Jolyon nodded.

"I don't like the neighbourhood," said old Jolyon; "a ramshackle lot."

Young Jolyon replied: "Yes, we're a ramshackle lot."'

The silence was now only broken by the sound of the dog Balthasar's

scratching.

Old Jolyon said simply: "I suppose I oughtn't to have come here, Jo; but

I get so lonely!"

At these words young Jolyon got up and put his hand on his father's

shoulder.