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Updated: June 12, 2025
We won't talk of it. It'll all come right, I dare say." And James: "Well, I can't see how it can come right. And if she hasn't gone off with that young Bosinney, my advice to you is not to listen to her, but to follow her and get her back."
Somebody tapped Soames on the back, and spoke to him; and in the exchange of those platitudes over his shoulder, he missed her answer, and took a resolution. "We're just going in," he said to Bosinney; "you'd better come back to dinner with us."
He saw Irene take her finger from before her lips, heard her say something in her ordinary voice, and began to speak before he reached them. "There's a storm coming on. We'd better get home. We can't take you, I suppose, Mr. Bosinney? No, I suppose not. Then, good-bye!" He held out his hand. Bosinney did not take it, but, turning with a laugh, said: "Good-bye, Mr. Forsyte.
"Where do you go for your mushrooms?" he was saying to Irene in a voice like a courtier's; "you ought to go to Smileybob's he'll give 'em you fresh. These little men, they won't take the trouble!" Irene turned to answer him, and Soames saw Bosinney watching her and smiling to himself. A curious smile the fellow had. A half-simple arrangement, like a child who smiles when he is pleased.
What did she do with herself evening after evening in that little hole? How mysterious women were! One lived alongside and knew nothing of them. What could she have seen in that fellow Bosinney to send her mad? For there was madness after all in what she had done crazy moonstruck madness, in which all sense of values had been lost, and her life and his life ruined!
And he went to bed with the certainty that Bosinney was in love with his wife. The summer night was hot, so hot and still that through every opened window came in but hotter air. For long hours he lay listening to her breathing. She could sleep, but he must lie awake. And, lying awake, he hardened himself to play the part of the serene and trusting husband.
The following Sunday therefore he called for Bosinney in a hansom, and drove him to the station. On arriving at Robin Hill, they found no cab, and started to walk the mile and a half to the site. It was the 1st of August a perfect day, with a burning sun and cloudless sky and in the straight, narrow road leading up the hill their feet kicked up a yellow dust.
It was strange to be hated! the emotion was too extreme; yet he hated Bosinney, that Buccaneer, that prowling vagabond, that night-wanderer. For in his thoughts Soames always saw him lying in wait wandering. Ah, but he must be in very low water! Young Burkitt, the architect, had seen him coming out of a third-rate restaurant, looking terribly down in the mouth!
But it was a real relief to get to his cigar on the terrace of flag-stones cunningly chosen by young Bosinney for shape and colour with night closing in around him, so beautiful a night, hardly whispering in the trees, and smelling so sweet that it made him ache.
Serve him right for sticking at the price; the only thing the fellow thought of was money. Had he given too much, though? It wanted a lot of doing to He dared say he would want all his money before he had done with this affair of June's. He ought never to have allowed the engagement. She had met this Bosinney at the house of Baynes, Baynes and Bildeboy, the architects.
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