Then severally, each stood aside, and putting on his hat, turned back to
inspect the new inscription on the marble of the family vault:
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF ANN FORSYTE,
THE DAUGHTER OF THE ABOVE JOLYON AND ANN FORSYTE,
WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE THE 27TH DAY OF SEPTEMBER, 1886,
AGED EIGHTY-SEVEN YEARS AND FOUR DAYS
Soon perhaps, someone else would be wanting an inscription. It was
strange and intolerable, for they had not thought somehow, that Forsytes
could die. And one and all they had a longing to get away from this
painfulness, this ceremony which had reminded them of things they could
not bear to think about--to get away quickly and go about their business
and forget.
It was cold, too; the wind, like some slow, disintegrating force,
blowing up the hill over the graves, struck them with its chilly breath;
they began to split into groups, and as quickly as possible to fill the
waiting carriages.
Swithin said he should go back to lunch at Timothy's, and he offered
to take anybody with him in his brougham. It was considered a doubtful
privilege to drive with Swithin in his brougham, which was not a large
one; nobody accepted, and he went off alone. James and Roger followed
immediately after; they also would drop in to lunch. The others
gradually melted away, Old Jolyon taking three nephews to fill up his
carriage; he had a want of those young faces.
Soames, who had to arrange some details in the cemetery office, walked
away with Bosinney. He had much to talk over with him, and, having
finished his business, they strolled to Hampstead, lunched together
at the Spaniard's Inn, and spent a long time in going into practical
details connected with the building of the house; they then proceeded to
the tram-line, and came as far as the Marble Arch, where Bosinney went
off to Stanhope Gate to see June.
Soames felt in excellent spirits when he arrived home, and confided to
Irene at dinner that he had had a good talk with Bosinney, who really
seemed a sensible fellow; they had had a capital walk too, which had
done his liver good--he had been short of exercise for a long time--and
altogether a very satisfactory day. If only it hadn't been for poor Aunt
Ann, he would have taken her to the theatre; as it was, they must make
the best of an evening at home.
"The Buccaneer asked after you more than once," he said suddenly. And
moved by some inexplicable desire to assert his proprietorship, he rose
from his chair and planted a kiss on his wife's shoulder.