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Updated: June 23, 2025
"He wouldn't go to bed till you came in. He's still in the diningroom." Soames responded in the hushed tone to which the house was now accustomed. "What's the matter with him, Warmson?" "Nervous, sir, I think. Might be the funeral; might be Mrs. Dartie's comin' round this afternoon. I think he overheard something. I've took him in a negus. The mistress has just gone up."
He decided on Park Lane, not unmoved by the thought that to go up to Oxford without affording his grandfather a chance to tip him was hardly fair to either of them. His mother would hear he had been there, of course, and might think it funny; but he couldn't help that. He rang the bell. "Hullo, Warmson, any dinner for me, d'you think?" "They're just going in, Master Val. Mr.
It seemed so right and simple a suggestion that even Winifred was surprised when she said: "No, I'll keep him now he's back; he must just behave that's all." They all looked at her. It had always been known that Winifred had pluck. "Out there!" said James elliptically, "who knows what cut-throats! You look for his revolver! Don't go to bed without. You ought to have Warmson to sleep in the house.
Soames hung his hat on a mahogany stag's-horn. "All right, Warmson, you can go to bed; I'll take him up myself." And he passed into the dining-room. James was sitting before the fire, in a big armchair, with a camel-hair shawl, very light and warm, over his frock-coated shoulders, on to which his long white whiskers drooped.
"She is pretty," said Emily; "she ought to make a good match." "There you go," murmured James; "she'd much better stay at home and look after her mother." A second Dartie carrying off his pretty granddaughter would finish him! He had never quite forgiven Emily for having been as much taken in by Montague Dartie as he himself had been. "Where's Warmson?" he said suddenly.
"I should like a glass of Madeira to-night." "There's champagne, James." James shook his head. "No body," he said; "I can't get any good out of it." Emily reached forward on her side of the fire and rang the bell. "Your master would like a bottle of Madeira opened, Warmson." "No, no!" said James, the tips of his ears quivering with vehemence, and his eyes fixed on an object seen by him alone.
He heard his grandmother's admiring, "Well, Val, that was plucky of you;" was conscious of Warmson deferentially filling his champagne glass; and of his grandfather's voice moaning: "I don't know what'll become of you if you go on like this."
He had certainly done something heroic and exceptional in giving his age as twenty-one. Emily's voice brought him back to earth. "You mustn't have a second glass, James. Warmson!" "Won't they be astonished at Timothy's!" burst out Imogen. "I'd give anything to see their faces. Do you have a sword, Val, or only a popgun?" "What made you?"
Just as it would surely have been endorsed by that wider body of Forsytes all over London, who were merely excluded from judgment by ignorance of the story. In spite then of Emily's efforts, the dinner was served by Warmson and the footman almost in silence. Dartie was sulky, and drank all he could get; the girls seldom talked to each other at any time.
Forsyte will be very glad to see you. He was saying at lunch that he never saw you nowadays." Val grinned. "Well, here I am. Kill the fatted calf, Warmson, let's have fizz." Warmson smiled faintly in his opinion Val was a young limb. "I will ask Mrs. Forsyte, Master Val." "I say," Val grumbled, taking off his overcoat, "I'm not at school any more, you know."
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