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"How are you, Mr. Bosinney?" he said, holding out his hand. "You've been spending money pretty freely down here, I should say!" Soames turned his back, and walked away. James looked from Bosinney's frowning face to Irene, and, in his agitation, spoke his thoughts aloud: "Well, I can't tell what's the matter. Nobody tells me anything!"
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.
The accounts were already prepared on a folding table, and with a nod Soames sat down to study them. It was some time before he raised his head. "I can't make them out," he said at last; "they come to nearly seven hundred more than they ought." After a glance at Bosinney's face he went on quickly: "If you only make a firm stand against these builder chaps you'll get them down.
Loyal to his resolution, he turned away from their parting, turned away from his wife as she stood under the hanging lamp to say good-night away from the sight of her golden head shining so under the light, of her smiling mournful lips; away from the sight of Bosinney's eyes looking at her, so like a dog's looking at its master.
The hour was midnight, and no Forsytes remained abroad in the streets to spy out Bosinney's wanderings; to see him return and stand against the rails of the Square garden, back from the glow of the street lamp; to see him stand there in the shadow of trees, watching the house where in the dark was hidden she whom he would have given the world to see for a single minute she who was now to him the breath of the lime-trees, the meaning of the light and the darkness, the very beating of his own heart.
Instead of disturbing her, the news had a strangely calming effect; as though she saw in the prospect of this struggle new hope for herself. She learnt that the case was expected to come on in about a month, and there seemed little or no prospect of Bosinney's success. "And whatever he'll do I can't think," said Mrs.
"Perhaps," said Soames; "but don't speak of it. I just want your opinion." "Quite so," said the architect. Soames peered about the room. "You're rather high up here," he remarked. Any information he could gather about the nature and scope of Bosinney's business would be all to the good. "It does well enough for me so far," answered the architect. "You're accustomed to the swells."
Old Jolyon, depositing his hat on the chair in the narrow hall, where that hat of Bosinney's had so long ago been mistaken for a cat, passed his thin hand grimly over his face with its great drooping white moustaches, as though to remove all traces of expression, and made his way upstairs. He found the front drawing-room full.
She had the right to know. She hurried on down Sloane Street till she came to Bosinney's number. Passing the swing-door at the bottom, she ran up the stairs, her heart thumping painfully. At the top of the third flight she paused for breath, and holding on to the bannisters, stood listening. No sound came from above. With a very white face she mounted the last flight.
Looking at the ground he held out his hand, crossed the palm of it with Bosinney's, and taking his umbrella just above the silk, walked away along the terrace. Before he turned the corner he glanced back, and saw Bosinney following him slowly 'slinking along the wall' as he put it to himself, 'like a great cat. He paid no attention when the young fellow raised his hat.
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