avagant
affair--he entered the Tube elevator with his mere brown-paper parcel,
and was borne down into the bowels of the earth.

VI

SOAMES' PRIVATE LIFE

On his way to Green Street it occurred to Soames that he ought to go into
Dumetrius' in Suffolk Street about the possibility of the Bolderby Old
Crome. Almost worth while to have fought the war to have the Bolderby
Old Crome, as it were, in flux! Old Bolderby had died, his son and
grandson had been killed--a cousin was coming into the estate, who meant
to sell it, some said because of the condition of England, others said
because he had asthma.

If Dumetrius once got hold of it the price would become prohibitive; it
was necessary for Soames to find out whether Dumetrius had got it, before
he tried to get it himself. He therefore confined himself to discussing
with Dumetrius whether Monticellis would come again now that it was the
fashion for a picture to be anything except a picture; and the future of
Johns, with a side-slip into Buxton Knights. It was only when leaving
that he added: "So they're not selling the Bolderby Old Crome, after
all?" In sheer pride of racial superiority, as he had calculated would
be the case, Dumetrius replied:

"Oh! I shall get it, Mr. Forsyte, sir!"

The flutter of his eyelid fortified Soames in a resolution to write
direct to the new Bolderby, suggesting that the only dignified way of
dealing with an Old Crome was to avoid dealers. He therefore said,
"Well, good-day!" and went, leaving Dumetrius the wiser.

At Green Street he found that Fleur was out and would be all the evening;
she was staying one more night in London. He cabbed on dejectedly, and
caught his train.

He reached his house about six o'clock. The air was heavy, midges
biting, thunder about. Taking his letters he went up to his
dressing-room to cleanse himself of London.

An uninteresting post. A receipt, a bill for purchases on behalf of
Fleur. A circular about an exhibition of etchings. A letter beginning:

"SIR, "I feel it my duty..."

That would be an appeal or something unpleasant. He looked at once for
the signature. There was none! Incredulously he turned the page over and
examined each corner. Not being a public man, Soames had never yet had
an anonymous letter, and his first impulse was to tear it up, as a
dangerous thing; his second to read it, as a thing still more dangerous.

"SIR, "I feel it my duty to inform you that having