The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

She had looked forward to this evening with keen delight; it was stolen,

chaperone-less, undreamed of at Stanhope Gate, where she was supposed to

be at Soames'. She had expected reward for her subterfuge, planned for

her lover's sake; she had expected it to break up the thick, chilly

cloud, and make the relations between them which of late had been so

puzzling, so tormenting--sunny and simple again as they had been

before the winter. She had come with the intention of saying something

definite; and she looked at the stage with a furrow between her brows,

seeing nothing, her hands squeezed together in her lap. A swarm of

jealous suspicions stung and stung her.

If Bosinney was conscious of her trouble he made no sign.

The curtain dropped. The first act had come to an end.

"It's awfully hot here!" said the girl; "I should like to go out."

She was very white, and she knew--for with her nerves thus sharpened she

saw everything--that he was both uneasy and compunctious.

At the back of the theatre an open balcony hung over the street; she

took possession of this, and stood leaning there without a word, waiting

for him to begin.

At last she could bear it no longer.

"I want to say something to you, Phil," she said.

"Yes?"

The defensive tone of his voice brought the colour flying to her cheek,

the words flying to her lips: "You don't give me a chance to be nice to

you; you haven't for ages now!"

Bosinney stared down at the street. He made no answer....

June cried passionately: "You know I want to do everything for you--that

I want to be everything to you...."

A hum rose from the street, and, piercing it with a sharp 'ping,'

the bell sounded for the raising of the curtain. June did not stir. A

desperate struggle was going on within her. Should she put everything to

the proof? Should she challenge directly that influence, that attraction

which was driving him away from her? It was her nature to challenge, and

she said: "Phil, take me to see the house on Sunday!"

With a smile quivering and breaking on her lips, and trying, how hard,

not to show that she was watching, she searched his face, saw it waver

and hesitate, saw a troubled line come between his brows, the blood rush

into his face. He answered: "Not Sunday, dear; some other day!"

"Why not Sunday? I shouldn't be in the way on Sunday."

He made an evident effort, and said: "I have an engagement."

"You are going to take...."

His eyes grew angry; he shrugged his shoulders, and answered: "An

engagement that will prevent my taking you to see the house!"