Man of Property | Page 9

he used to drink Madeira; but ask your Aunt Ann. What was
his father? He--er-- had to do with the land down in Dorsetshire, by the
sea."
James once went down to see for himself what sort of place this was
that they had come from. He found two old farms, with a cart track
rutted into the pink earth, leading down to a mill by the beach; a little
grey church with a buttressed outer wall, and a smaller and greyer
chapel. The stream which worked the mill came bubbling down in a
dozen rivulets, and pigs were hunting round that estuary. A haze

hovered over the prospect. Down this hollow, with their feet deep in the
mud and their faces towards the sea, it appeared that the primeval
Forsytes had been content to walk Sunday after Sunday for hundreds of
years.
Whether or no James had cherished hopes of an inheritance, or of
something rather distinguished to be found down there, he came back
to town in a poor way, and went about with a pathetic attempt at
making the best of a bad job.
"There's very little to be had out of that," he said; "regular country little
place, old as the hills...."
Its age was felt to be a comfort. Old Jolyon, in whom a desperate
honesty welled up at times, would allude to his ancestors as:
"Yeomen--I suppose very small beer." Yet he would repeat the word
'yeomen' as if it afforded him consolation.
They had all done so well for themselves, these Forsytes, that they were
all what is called 'of a certain position.' They had shares in all sorts of
things, not as yet--with the exception of Timothy--in consols, for they
had no dread in life like that of 3 per cent. for their money. They
collected pictures, too, and were supporters of such charitable
institutions as might be beneficial to their sick domestics. From their
father, the builder, they inherited a talent for bricks and mortar.
Originally, perhaps, members of some primitive sect, they were now in
the natural course of things members of the Church of England, and
caused their wives and children to attend with some regularity the more
fashionable churches of the Metropolis. To have doubted their
Christianity would have caused them both pain and surprise. Some of
them paid for pews, thus expressing in the most practical form their
sympathy with the teachings of Christ.
Their residences, placed at stated intervals round the park, watched like
sentinels, lest the fair heart of this London, where their desires were
fixed, should slip from their clutches, and leave them lower in their
own estimations.

There was old Jolyon in Stanhope Place; the Jameses in Park Lane;
Swithin in the lonely glory of orange and blue chambers in Hyde Park
Mansions--he had never married, not he--the Soamses in their nest off
Knightsbridge; the Rogers in Prince's Gardens (Roger was that
remarkable Forsyte who had conceived and carried out the notion of
bringing up his four sons to a new profession. "Collect house property,
nothing like it," he would say; "I never did anything else").
The Haymans again--Mrs. Hayman was the one married Forsyte
sister--in a house high up on Campden Hill, shaped like a giraffe, and
so tall that it gave the observer a crick in the neck; the Nicholases in
Ladbroke Grove, a spacious abode and a great bargain; and last, but not
least, Timothy's on the Bayswater Road, where Ann, and Juley, and
Hester, lived under his protection.
But all this time James was musing, and now he inquired of his host
and brother what he had given for that house in Montpellier Square. He
himself had had his eye on a house there for the last two years, but they
wanted such a price.
Old Jolyon recounted the details of his purchase.
"Twenty-two years to run?" repeated James; "The very house I was
after--you've given too much for it!"
Old Jolyon frowned.
"It's not that I want it," said James hastily; it wouldn't suit my purpose
at that price. Soames knows the house, well--he'll tell you it's too
dear--his opinion's worth having."
"I don't," said old Jolyon, "care a fig for his opinion."
"Well," murmured James, "you will have your own way--it's a good
opinion. Good-bye! We're going to drive down to Hurlingham. They
tell me June's going to Wales. You'll be lonely tomorrow. What'll you
do with yourself? You'd better come and dine with us!"

Old Jolyon refused. He went down to the front door and saw them into
their barouche, and twinkled at them, having already forgotten his
spleen--Mrs. James facing the horses, tall and majestic with auburn hair;
on her left, Irene--the two husbands, father and son, sitting forward, as
though they expected something, opposite their wives. Bobbing