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!" And, making off after his son, he
heard Bosinney's short laugh, and his "Well, thank God! You look so...."
Most unfortunately he lost the rest.
What had happened? He glanced back. Irene was very close to the
architect, and her face not like the face he knew of her. He hastened up
to his son.
Soames was pacing the picture-gallery.
"What's the matter?" said James. "What's all this?"
Soames looked at him with his supercilious calm unbroken, but James knew
well enough that he was violently angry.
"Our friend," he said, "has exceeded his instructions again, that's all.
So much the worse for him this time."
He turned round and walked back towards the door. James followed
hurriedly, edging himself in front. He saw Irene take her finger from
before her lips, heard her say something in her ordinary voice, and
began to speak before he reached them.
"There's a storm coming on. We'd better get home. We can't take you, I
suppose, Mr. Bosinney? No, I suppose not. Then, good-bye!" He held out
his hand. Bosinney did not take it, but, turning with a laugh, said:
"Good-bye, Mr. Forsyte. Don't get caught in the storm!" and walked away.
"Well," began James, "I don't know...."
But the 'sight of Irene's face stopped him. Taking hold of his
daughter-in-law by the elbow, he escorted her towards the carriage. He
felt certain, quite certain, they had been making some appointment or
other....
Nothing in this world is more sure to upset a Forsyte than the discovery
that something on which he has stipulated to spend a certain sum
has cost more. And this is reasonable, for upon the accuracy of his
estimates the whole policy of his life is ordered. If he cannot rely
on definite values of property, his compass is amiss; he is adrift upon
bitter waters without a helm.
After writing to Bosinney in the terms that have already been
chronicled, Soames had dismissed the cost of the house from his mind.
He believed that he had made the matter of the final cost so very
plain that the possibility of its being again exceeded had really never
entered his head. On hearing from Bosinney that his limit of twelve
thousand pounds would be exceeded by something like four hundred, he had
grown white with anger. His original estimate of the cost of the house
completed had been ten thousand pounds, and he had often blamed himself
severely for allowing himself to be led into repeated excesses. Over
this last expenditure, however, Bosinney had put himself completely
in the wrong. How on earth a fellow could make such an ass of himself
Soames could not conceive; but he had done so, and all the rancour and
hidden jealousy that had been burning against him for so long was now
focussed in rage at this crowning piece of extravagance. The attitude of
the confident and friendly husband was gone. To preserve property--his
wife--he had assumed it, to preserve property of another kind he lost it
now.