Young Jolyon put his hand on his father's shoulder, and, as neither
spoke, the episode closed.
Having seen his father into a hansom, young Jolyon came back to the
drawing-room and stood, where old Jolyon had stood, looking down on
the little garden. He tried to realize all that this meant to him, and,
Forsyte that he was, vistas of property were opened out in his brain;
the years of half rations through which he had passed had not sapped his
natural instincts. In extremely practical form, he thought of travel,
of his wife's costume, the children's education, a pony for Jolly, a
thousand things; but in the midst of all he thought, too, of Bosinney
and his mistress, and the broken song of the thrush. Joy--tragedy!
Which? Which?
The old past--the poignant, suffering, passionate, wonderful past,
that no money could buy, that nothing could restore in all its burning
sweetness--had come back before him.
When his wife came in he went straight up to her and took her in his
arms; and for a long time he stood without speaking, his eyes closed,
pressing her to him, while she looked at him with a wondering, adoring,
doubting look in her eyes.