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Dartie said: "It'll put Master Soames's nose out of joint to hear his wife's been drivin' in a hansom with Master Bosinney!" Winifred replied: "Don't talk such nonsense, Monty!" "Nonsense!" repeated Dartie. "You don't know women, my fine lady!" On the other occasion he merely asked: "How am I looking? A bit puffy about the gills? That fizz old George is so fond of is a windy wine!"
The book was as thorough as it was brilliantly written. And thus the omission found by me was an all the deadlier record of poor Soames's failure to impress himself on his decade. I dare say I am the only person who noticed the omission. Soames had failed so piteously as all that!
"If my eyes are not mistaken, there is my friend, Major Grantly," said Mr Crawley. "There he is, as large as life," said Toogood. "But stop a moment before you go to him, and give me your hand. I must have the first shake of it." Hereupon Crawley extended his hand. "That's right. And now let me tell you we know all about the cheque, Soames's cheque. We know where you got it. We know who stole it.
It all tallied too well with whispers and hints that had been going about for some time past. Recollections of Euphemia's account of the visit to the theatre Mr. Bosinney always at Soames's? Oh, indeed! Yes, of course, he would be about the house! Nothing open. Only upon the greatest, the most important provocation was it necessary to say anything open on Forsyte 'Change.
This feeling had long been at the bottom of Soames's heart; he had never, however, put it into words. "Oh!" he Muttered, "so you're beginning to...." He stopped, but added, with an uncontrollable burst of spite: "June's got a temper of her own always had." "A temper's not a bad thing in an angel." Soames had never called Irene an angel.
The noise of this place breaks the rhythm. He's tolerable here." Soames took up the book and glanced through the pages. He laughed. Soames's laugh was a short, single, and mirthless sound from the throat, unaccompanied by any movement of the face or brightening of the eyes. "What a period!" he uttered, laying the book down. And, "What a country!" he added.
But I liked the third, it was so bracingly unorthodox, even according to the tenets of Soames's peculiar sect in the faith. Not much "trusting and encouraging" here! Soames triumphantly exposing the devil as a liar, and laughing "full shrill," cut a quite heartening figure, I thought, then! Now, in the light of what befell, none of his other poems depresses me so much as "Nocturne."
When he went to Soames's that evening he felt that life was hard on him: There was Emily with a bad toe, and Rachel gadding about in the country; he got no sympathy from anybody; and Ann, she was ill he did not believe she would last through the summer; he had called there three times now without her being able to see him!
I do not expect that people's tongues should be stopped. I am not saying what men will do, but what good wishes should dictate." "Well, perhaps you'll hear me out for a minute." Mr Crawley again bowed his head. "Whether we were wise or unwise, we were discussing this affair." "Whether I stole Mr Soames's money?" "No; nobody supposed for a moment you had stolen it."
It was still under Soames's control; for in the adoption of a sleeping partnership at that painful period twenty years back when he had divorced Irene, Soames had found himself almost insensibly retaining control of all purely Forsyte affairs. Hesitating for just a moment, he nodded and went in.
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