The Forsyte Saga John Galsworthy (hot novels to read TXT) đ
- Author: John Galsworthy
Book online «The Forsyte Saga John Galsworthy (hot novels to read TXT) đ». Author John Galsworthy
Irene came out at once, and stepped inâ âhe afterward described it at Timothyâsâ ââas light asâ âerâ âTaglioni, no fuss about it, no wanting this or wanting that;â and above all, Swithin dwelt on this, staring at Mrs. Septimus in a way that disconcerted her a good deal, âno silly nervousness!â To Aunt Hester he portrayed Ireneâs hat. âNot one of your great flopping things, sprawling about, and catching the dust, that women are so fond of nowadays, but a neat littleâ ââ he made a circular motion of his hand, âwhite veilâ âcapital taste.â
âWhat was it made of?â inquired Aunt Hester, who manifested a languid but permanent excitement at any mention of dress.
âMade of?â returned Swithin; ânow how should I know?â
He sank into silence so profound that Aunt Hester began to be afraid he had fallen into a trance. She did not try to rouse him herself, it not being her custom.
âI wish somebody would come,â she thought; âI donât like the look of him!â
But suddenly Swithin returned to life. âMade of?â he wheezed out slowly, âwhat should it be made of?â
They had not gone four miles before Swithin received the impression that Irene liked driving with him. Her face was so soft behind that white veil, and her dark eyes shone so in the spring light, and whenever he spoke she raised them to him and smiled.
On Saturday morning Soames had found her at her writing-table with a note written to Swithin, putting him off. Why did she want to put him off? he asked. She might put her own people off when she liked, he would not have her putting off his people!
She had looked at him intently, had torn up the note, and said: âVery well!â
And then she began writing another. He took a casual glance presently, and saw that it was addressed to Bosinney.
âWhat are you writing to him about?â he asked.
Irene, looking at him again with that intent look, said quietly: âSomething he wanted me to do for him!â
âHumph!â said Soamesâ ââCommissions!â
âYouâll have your work cut out if you begin that sort of thing!â He said no more.
Swithin opened his eyes at the mention of Robin Hill; it was a long way for his horses, and he always dined at half-past seven, before the rush at the Club began; the new chef took more trouble with an early dinnerâ âa lazy rascal!
He would like to have a look at the house, however. A house appealed to any Forsyte, and especially to one who had been an auctioneer. After all he said the distance was nothing. When he was a younger man he had had rooms at Richmond for many years, kept his carriage and pair there, and drove them up and down to business every day of his life.
Four-in-hand Forsyte they called him! His T-cart, his horses had been known from Hyde Park Corner to the Star and Garter. The Duke of Zâ âžș wanted to get hold of them, would have given him double the money, but he had kept them; know a good thing when you have it, eh? A look of solemn pride came portentously on his shaven square old face, he rolled his head in his stand-up collar, like a turkey-cock preening himself.
She was really a charming woman! He enlarged upon her frock afterwards to Aunt Juley, who held up her hands at his way of putting it.
Fitted her like a skinâ âtight as a drum; that was how he liked âem, all of a piece, none of your daverdy, scarecrow women! He gazed at Mrs. Septimus Small, who took after Jamesâ âlong and thin.
âThereâs style about her,â he went on, âfit for a king! And sheâs so quiet with it too!â
âShe seems to have made quite a conquest of you, anyway,â drawled Aunt Hester from her corner.
Swithin heard extremely well when anybody attacked him.
âWhatâs that?â he said. âI know aâ âprettyâ âwoman when I see one, and all I can say is, I donât see the young man about thatâs fit for her; but perhapsâ âyouâ âdo, come, perhapsâ âyouâ âdo!â
âOh?â murmured Aunt Hester, âask Juley!â
Long before they reached Robin Hill, however, the unaccustomed airing had made him terribly sleepy; he drove with his eyes closed, a lifetime of deportment alone keeping his tall and bulky form from falling askew.
Bosinney, who was watching, came out to meet them, and all three entered the house together; Swithin in front making play with a stout gold-mounted Malacca cane, put into his hand by Adolf, for his knees were feeling the effects of their long stay in the same position. He had assumed his fur coat, to guard against the draughts of the unfinished house.
The staircaseâ âhe saidâ âwas handsome! the baronial style! They would want some statuary about! He came to a standstill between the columns of the doorway into the inner court, and held out his cane inquiringly.
What was this to beâ âthis vestibule, or whatever they called it? But gazing at the skylight, inspiration came to him.
âAh! the billiard-room!â
When told it was to be a tiled court with plants in the centre, he turned to Irene:
âWaste this on plants? You take my advice and have a billiard table here!â
Irene smiled. She had lifted her veil, banding it like a nunâs coif across her forehead, and the smile of her dark eyes below this seemed to Swithin more charming than ever. He nodded. She would take his advice he saw.
He had little to say of the drawing or dining-rooms, which he described as âspaciousâ; but fell into such raptures as he permitted to a man of his dignity, in the wine-cellar, to which he descended by stone steps, Bosinney going first with a light.
âYouâll have room here,â he said, âfor six or seven hundred dozenâ âa very pooty little cellar!â
Bosinney having expressed the wish to show them the house from the copse below, Swithin came to a stop.
âThereâs a fine
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