THE COMPLETE FORSYTE SAGA SERIES: The Forsyte Saga, A Modern Comedy, End of the Chapter & On Forsyte 'Change (A Prequel). John Galsworthy
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set up, and I could be running to continually. But the children," he added, "are dear little things!"
Then, in the midst of this grave, rather transparent, explanation of changed policy, his eyes twinkled. "This'll astonish Timothy's weak nerves. That precious young thing will have something to say about this, or I'm a Dutchman!"
June had not yet spoken. Perched thus on the arm of his chair, with her head above him, her face was invisible. But presently he felt her warm cheek against his own, and knew that, at all events, there was nothing very alarming in her attitude towards his news. He began to take courage.
"You'll like your father," he said—"an amiable chap. Never was much push about him, but easy to get on with. You'll find him artistic and all that."
And old Jolyon bethought him of the dozen or so water-colour drawings all carefully locked up in his bedroom; for now that his son was going to become a man of property he did not think them quite such poor things as heretofore.
"As to your—your stepmother," he said, using the word with some little difficulty, "I call her a refined woman—a bit of a Mrs. Gummidge, I shouldn't wonder—but very fond of Jo. And the children," he repeated—indeed, this sentence ran like music through all his solemn self-justification—"are sweet little things!"
If June had known, those words but reincarnated that tender love for little children, for the young and weak, which in the past had made him desert his son for her tiny self, and now, as the cycle rolled, was taking him from her.
But he began to get alarmed at her silence, and asked impatiently: "Well, what do you say?"
June slid down to his knee, and she in her turn began her tale. She thought it would all go splendidly; she did not see any difficulty, and she did not care a bit what people thought.
Old Jolyon wriggled. H'm! then people would think! He had thought that after all these years perhaps they wouldn't! Well, he couldn't help it! Nevertheless, he could not approve of his granddaughter's way of putting it—she ought to mind what people thought!
Yet he said nothing. His feelings were too mixed, too inconsistent for expression.
No—went on June—she did not care; what business was it of theirs? There was only one thing—and with her cheek pressing against his knee, old Jolyon knew at once that this something was no trifle: As he was going to buy a house in the country, would he not—to please her—buy that splendid house of Soames' at Robin Hill? It was finished, it was perfectly beautiful, and no one would live in it now. They would all be so happy there.
Old Jolyon was on the alert at once. Wasn't the 'man of property' going to live in his new house, then? He never alluded to Soames now but under this title.
"No"—June said—"he was not; she knew that he was not!"
How did she know?
She could not tell him, but she knew. She knew nearly for certain! It was most unlikely; circumstances had changed! Irene's words still rang in her head: "I have left Soames. Where should I go?"
But she kept silence about that.
If her grandfather would only buy it and settle that wretched claim that ought never to have been made on Phil! It would be the very best thing for everybody, and everything—everything might come straight.
And June put her lips to his forehead, and pressed them close.
But old Jolyon freed himself from her caress, his face wore the judicial look which came upon it when he dealt with affairs. He asked: What did she mean? There was something behind all this—had she been seeing Bosinney?
June answered: "No; but I have been to his rooms."
"Been to his rooms? Who took you there?"
June faced him steadily. "I went alone. He has lost that case. I don't care whether it was right or wrong. I want to help him; and I will!"
Old Jolyon asked again: "Have you seen him?" His glance seemed to pierce right through the girl's eyes into her soul.
Again June answered: "No; he was not there. I waited, but he did not come."
Old Jolyon made a movement of relief. She had risen and looked down at him; so slight, and light, and young, but so fixed, and so determined; and disturbed, vexed, as he was, he could not frown away that fixed look. The feeling of being beaten, of the reins having slipped, of being old and tired, mastered him.
"Ah!" he said at last, "you'll get yourself into a mess one of these days, I can see. You want your own way in everything."
Visited by one of his strange bursts of philosophy, he added: "Like that you were born; and like that you'll stay until you die!"
And he, who in his dealings with men of business, with Boards, with Forsytes of all descriptions, with such as were not Forsytes, had always had his own way, looked at his indomitable grandchild sadly—for he felt in her that quality which above all others he unconsciously admired.
"Do you know what they say is going on?" he said slowly.
June crimsoned.
"Yes—no! I know—and I don't know—I don't care!" and she stamped her foot.
"I believe," said old Jolyon, dropping his eyes, "that you'd have him if he were dead!"
There was a long silence before he spoke again.
"But as to buying this house—you don't know what you're talking about!"
June said that she did. She knew that he could get it if he wanted. He would only have to give what it cost.
"What it cost! You know nothing about it. I won't go to Soames—I'll have nothing more to do with that young man."
"But you needn't; you can go to Uncle James. If you can't buy the house, will you pay his lawsuit claim? I know he is terribly hard up—I've seen it. You can stop it out of my money!"
A twinkle came into old Jolyon's eyes.
"Stop it out of your money! A pretty way. And what will you do, pray, without your money?"
But secretly, the idea of wresting the house from James and his son had begun to take hold of him. He had heard on Forsyte 'Change much comment, much rather doubtful praise of this house. It was 'too artistic,' but a fine place. To take from the 'man of property' that on which he had set his heart, would be a crowning triumph over James, practical proof that he was going to make a man of property of Jo, to put him back in his proper position, and there to keep him secure. Justice once for all on those who had chosen to regard his son as a poor, penniless outcast.
He would see, he would see! It might be out of the question; he was not going to pay a fancy price, but if it could be done, why, perhaps he would do it!
And still more secretly he knew that he could not refuse her.
But he did not commit himself. He would think it over—he said to June.
CHAPTER VIII—BOSINNEY'S DEPARTURE
Old Jolyon was not given to hasty decisions; it is probable that he would have continued to think over the purchase of the house at Robin Hill, had not June's face told him that he would have no peace until he acted.
At breakfast next morning she asked him what time she should order the carriage.
"Carriage!" he said, with some appearance of innocence; "what for? I'm not going out!"
She answered: "If you don't go early, you won't catch Uncle James before he goes into the City."
"James! what about your Uncle James?"
"The house," she replied, in such a voice that he no longer pretended ignorance.
"I've not made up my mind," he said.