Dartie recoiled; he saw as plainly as possible that the fellow meant it.
In the space he made Irene had slipped by, her dress brushed his legs.
Bosinney stepped in after her.
"Go on!" he heard the Buccaneer cry. The cabman flicked his horse. It
sprang forward.
Dartie stood for a moment dumbfounded; then, dashing at the cab where
his wife sat, he scrambled in.
"Drive on!" he shouted to the driver, "and don't you lose sight of that
fellow in front!"
Seated by his wife's side, he burst into imprecations. Calming himself
at last with a supreme effort, he added: "A pretty mess you've made of
it, to let the Buccaneer drive home with her; why on earth couldn't you
keep hold of him? He's mad with love; any fool can see that!"
He drowned Winifred's rejoinder with fresh calls to the Almighty; nor
was it until they reached Barnes that he ceased a Jeremiad, in the
course of which he had abused her, her father, her brother, Irene,
Bosinney, the name of Forsyte, his own children, and cursed the day when
he had ever married.
Winifred, a woman of strong character, let him have his say, at the end
of which he lapsed into sulky silence. His angry eyes never deserted
the back of that cab, which, like a lost chance, haunted the darkness in
front of him.
Fortunately he could not hear Bosinney's passionate pleading--that
pleading which the man of the world's conduct had let loose like a
flood; he could not see Irene shivering, as though some garment had
been torn from her, nor her eyes, black and mournful, like the eyes of a
beaten child. He could not hear Bosinney entreating, entreating, always
entreating; could not hear her sudden, soft weeping, nor see that poor,
hungry-looking devil, awed and trembling, humbly touching her hand.
In Montpellier Square their cabman, following his instructions to the
letter, faithfully drew up behind the cab in front. The Darties saw
Bosinney spring out, and Irene follow, and hasten up the steps with
bent head. She evidently had her key in her hand, for she disappeared
at once. It was impossible to tell whether she had turned to speak to
Bosinney.
The latter came walking past their cab; both husband and wife had an
admirable view of his face in the light of a street lamp. It was working
with violent emotion.
"Good-night, Mr. Bosinney!" called Winifred.
Bosinney started, clawed off his hat, and hurried on. He had obviously
forgotten their existence.
"There!" said Dartie, "did you see the beast's face? What did I say?
Fine games!" He improved the occasion.