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Updated: June 22, 2025
He considered Bosinney's conduct in every way outrageous, but he did not wish to run up against him, feeling that the meeting would be awkward. Next to the Divorce Court, this court was, perhaps, the favourite emporium of justice, libel, breach of promise, and other commercial actions being frequently decided there.
We don't see much of you nowadays!" Old Jolyon paid no attention to the remark. "How's Emily?" he asked; and waiting for no reply, went on "I've come to see you about this affair of young Bosinney's. I'm told that new house of his is a white elephant." "I don't know anything about a white elephant," said James, "I know he's lost his case, and I should say he'll go bankrupt."
Her ring was not answered; she had now to make up her mind whether she would go down and ask the caretaker in the basement to let her in to await Mr. Bosinney's return, or remain patiently outside the door, trusting that no one would come up. She decided on the latter course.
"You forget," he said with a queer pride, "I can hold on, too I'm a Forsyte myself. We're all in the path of great forces. The man who leaves the shelter of the wall well you know what I mean. I don't," he ended very low, as though uttering a threat, "recommend every man to-go-my-way. It depends." The colour rushed into Bosinney's face, but soon receded, leaving it sallow-brown as before.
Bosinney having expressed the wish to show them the house from the copse below, Swithin came to a stop. "There's a fine view from here," he remarked; "you haven't such a thing as a chair?" A chair was brought him from Bosinney's tent. "You go down," he said blandly; "you two! I'll sit here and look at the view."
She must swallow down her scruples, and June must put her feelings in her pocket. She had done so once, on the day after the news of Bosinney's death; what she had done then, she could surely do again now. Four years since that injury was inflicted on her not Christian to keep the memory of old sores alive. June's will was strong, but his was stronger, for his sands were running out.
In this position Bosinney surprised him. James brought his eyes down from whatever bird's-nest they had been looking for in the sky to Bosinney's face, on which was a kind of humorous scorn. "How do you do, Mr. Forsyte? Come down to see for yourself?" It was exactly what James, as we know, had come for, and he was made correspondingly uneasy.
He sat thinking it over, and staring at the empty grate, for though autumn had come, the weather kept as gloriously fine that jubilee year as if it were still high August. It was not pleasant to be disturbed; he desired too passionately to set his foot on Bosinney's neck.
Soames reflected complacently on the work it would be sure to bring the young man; for, like every Forsyte, he could be a thorough optimist when there was anything to be had out of it. Bosinney's office was in Sloane Street, close at, hand, so that he would be able to keep his eye continually on the plans.
Through those trembling gold birch leaves he gazed out at London, and yielded to the waves of memory. He thought of Irene in Montpellier Square, when her hair was rusty-golden and her white shoulders his Irene, the prize of his love-passion, resistant to his ownership. He saw Bosinney's body lying in that white mortuary, and Irene sitting on the sofa looking at space with the eyes of a dying bird.
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