sinney himself.

She made a movement to cross into the traffic. Their eyes met, and he
raised his hat. An omnibus passed, obscuring her view; then, from the
edge of the pavement, through a gap in the traffic, she saw him walking
on.

And June stood motionless, looking after him.

CHAPTER XIII

PERFECTION OF THE HOUSE

'One mockturtle, clear; one oxtail; two glasses of port.'

In the upper room at French's, where a Forsyte could still get heavy
English food, James and his son were sitting down to lunch.

Of all eating-places James liked best to come here; there was something
unpretentious, well-flavoured, and filling about it, and though he had
been to a certain extent corrupted by the necessity for being
fashionable, and the trend of habits keeping pace with an income that
would increase, he still hankered in quiet City moments after the tasty
fleshpots of his earlier days. Here you were served by hairy English
waiters in aprons; there was sawdust on the floor, and three round gilt
looking-glasses hung just above the line of sight. They had only
recently done away with the cubicles, too, in which you could have your
chop, prime chump, with a floury-potato, without seeing your neighbours,
like a gentleman.

He tucked the top corner of his napkin behind the third button of his
waistcoat, a practice he had been obliged to abandon years ago in the
West End. He felt that he should relish his soup--the entire morning had
been given to winding up the estate of an old friend.

After filling his mouth with household bread, stale, he at once began:
"How are you going down to Robin Hill? You going to take Irene? You'd
better take her. I should think there'll be a lot that'll want seeing
to."

Without looking up, Soames answered: "She won't go."

"Won't go? What's the meaning of that? She's going to live in the
house, isn't she?"

Soames made no reply.

"I don't know what's coming to women nowadays," mumbled James; "I never
used to have any trouble with them. She's had too much liberty. She's
spoiled...."

Soames lifted his eyes: "I won't have anything said against her," he said
unexpectedly.

The silence was only broken now by the supping of James's soup.

The waiter brought the two glasses of port, but Soames stopped him.

"That's not the way to serve port," he said; "take them away, and bring
the bottle."

Rousing himself from his reverie over the soup, James took one of his
rapid shifti