"Yes," said old Jolyon, "Soames's wife!"
Young Jolyon did not whistle: The circumstances of his own life had
rendered him incapable of whistling on such a subject, but he looked at
his father, while the ghost of a smile hovered over his face.
If old Jolyon saw, he took no notice.
"She and June were bosom friends!" he muttered.
"Poor little June!" said young Jolyon softly. He thought of his daughter
still as a babe of three.
Old Jolyon came to a sudden halt.
"I don't believe a word of it," he said, "it's some old woman's tale.
Get me a cab, Jo, I'm tired to death!"
They stood at a corner to see if an empty cab would come along, while
carriage after carriage drove past, bearing Forsytes of all descriptions
from the Zoo. The harness, the liveries, the gloss on the horses' coats,
shone and glittered in the May sunlight, and each equipage, landau,
sociable, barouche, Victoria, or brougham, seemed to roll out proudly
from its wheels:
'I and my horses and my men you know,' Indeed the whole turn-out have
cost a pot. But we were worth it every penny. Look At Master and at
Missis now, the dawgs! Ease with security--ah! that's the ticket!
And such, as everyone knows, is fit accompaniment for a perambulating
Forsyte.
Amongst these carriages was a barouche coming at a greater pace than
the others, drawn by a pair of bright bay horses. It swung on its high
springs, and the four people who filled it seemed rocked as in a cradle.
This chariot attracted young Jolyon's attention; and suddenly, on the
back seat, he recognised his Uncle James, unmistakable in spite of the
increased whiteness of his whiskers; opposite, their backs defended by
sunshades, Rachel Forsyte and her elder but married sister, Winifred
Dartie, in irreproachable toilettes, had posed their heads haughtily,
like two of the birds they had been seeing at the Zoo; while by James'
side reclined Dartie, in a brand-new frock-coat buttoned tight and
square, with a large expanse of carefully shot linen protruding below
each wristband.
An extra, if subdued, sparkle, an added touch of the best gloss or
varnish characterized this vehicle, and seemed to distinguish it from
all the others, as though by some happy extravagance--like that which
marks out the real 'work of art' from the ordinary 'picture'--it were
designated as the typical car, the very throne of Forsytedom.
Old Jolyon did not see them pass; he was petting poor Holly who was
tired, but those in the carriage had taken in the little group; the
ladies' heads tilted suddenly, there was a spasmodic screening movement
of parasols; James' face protruded naively, like the head of a long
bird, his mouth slowly opening. The shield-like rounds of the parasols
grew smaller and smaller, and vanished.