said nothing.

"And then," went on old Jolyon, "there's this Bosinney. I should like to
punch the fellow's head, but I can't, I suppose, though--I don't see why
you shouldn't," he added doubtfully.

"What has he done? Far better that it should come to an end, if they
don't hit it off!"

Old Jolyon looked at his son. Now they had actually come to discuss
a subject connected with the relations between the sexes he felt
distrustful. Jo would be sure to hold some loose view or other.

"Well, I don't know what you think," he said; "I dare say your
sympathy's with him--shouldn't be surprised; but I think he's behaving
precious badly, and if he comes my way I shall tell him so." He dropped
the subject.

It was impossible to discuss with his son the true nature and meaning of
Bosinney's defection. Had not his son done the very same thing (worse,
if possible) fifteen years ago? There seemed no end to the consequences
of that piece of folly.

Young Jolyon also was silent; he had quickly penetrated his father's
thought, for, dethroned from the high seat of an obvious and
uncomplicated view of things, he had become both perceptive and subtle.

The attitude he had adopted towards sexual matters fifteen years before,
however, was too different from his father's. There was no bridging the
gulf.

He said coolly: "I suppose he's fallen in love with some other woman?"

Old Jolyon gave him a dubious look: "I can't tell," he said; "they say
so!"

"Then, it's probably true," remarked young Jolyon unexpectedly; "and I
suppose they've told you who she is?"

"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, barou