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Updated: June 12, 2025
He was excited, too, for he had just found out that Bosinney was not in court. 'Now, what's he mean by that? he kept on thinking. The case having been called on, Waterbuck, Q.C., pushing back his papers, hitched his gown on his shoulder, and, with a semi-circular look around him, like a man who is going to bat, arose and addressed the Court.
He stole a glance at Bosinney, whose eyes, the eyes of the coachman's 'half-tame leopard, seemed running wild over the landscape. The sunlight had caught the promontories of the fellow's face, the bumpy cheekbones, the point of his chin, the vertical ridges above his brow; and Soames watched this rugged, enthusiastic, careless face with an unpleasant feeling.
His rooms in Sloane Street, on the top floor, outside which, on a plate, was his name, 'Philip Baynes Bosinney, Architect, were not those of a Forsyte. He had no sitting-room apart from his office, but a large recess had been screened off to conceal the necessaries of life a couch, an easy chair, his pipes, spirit case, novels and slippers.
He remembered having seen her sitting in the Botanical Gardens waiting for Bosinney a passive, fascinating figure, reminding him of Titian's 'Heavenly Love, and again, when, charged by his father, he had gone to Montpellier Square on the afternoon when Bosinney's death was known.
She was sitting idly in the corner of the sofa, her favourite seat; and there were circles under her eyes, as though she had not slept. He asked: "How is it you're in? Are you expecting somebody?" "Yes that is, not particularly." "Who?" "Mr. Bosinney said he might come." "Bosinney. He ought to be at work." To this she made no answer.
I've never known. The cab branched off, along the side of a wood, and he heard a late cuckoo calling, almost the first he had heard that year. He was now almost opposite the site he had originally chosen for his house, and which had been so unceremoniously rejected by Bosinney in favour of his own choice.
On the following Sunday morning, while Soames was shaving, a message was brought him to the effect that Mr. Bosinney was below, and would be glad to see him. Opening the door into his wife's room, he said: "Bosinney's downstairs. Just go and entertain him while I finish shaving. I'll be down in a minute. It's about the plans, I expect."
This young Bosinney, he's got himself into a mess. I knew how it would be!" He held out the papers, regarding his elder brother with nervous gloom. Old Jolyon read them in silence, and while he read them James looked at the floor, biting his fingers the while.
Oddly ironical now he came to think of it if Jon had taken the gruel of his discovery down in the coppice where his mother and Bosinney in those old days had made the plunge of acknowledging their love. Where he himself, on the log seat the Sunday morning he came back from Paris, had realised to the full that Irene had become the world to him.
He knocked out his pipe, but replaced it empty between his teeth; it assisted him perhaps to carry on the conversation. Soames noted a hollow in each cheek, made as it were by suction. "What do you pay for an office like this?" said he. "Fifty too much," replied Bosinney. This answer impressed Soames favourably. "I suppose it is dear," he said. "I'll call for you on Sunday about eleven."
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