om-and-silver coat untouched by the rain or dew; watching over
Irene's bent head, and the soft look of her pitying eyes; and over that
young man's head, gazing at her so hard, so strangely. Walking on with
them, too, across the open space where a wood-cutter had been at work,
where the bluebells were trampled down, and a trunk had swayed and
staggered down from its gashed stump. Climbing it with them, over, and
on to the very edge of the copse, whence there stretched an undiscovered
country, from far away in which came the sounds, 'Cuckoo-cuckoo!'

Silent, standing with them there, and uneasy at their silence! Very
queer, very strange!

Then back again, as though guilty, through the wood--back to the cutting,
still silent, amongst the songs of birds that never ceased, and the wild
scent--hum! what was it--like that herb they put in--back to the log
across the path....

And then unseen, uneasy, flapping above them, trying to make noises, his
Forsyte spirit watched her balanced on the log, her pretty figure
swaying, smiling down at that young man gazing up with such strange,
shining eyes, slipping now--a--ah! falling, o--oh! sliding--down his
breast; her soft, warm body clutched, her head bent back from his lips;
his kiss; her recoil; his cry: "You must know--I love you!" Must
know--indeed, a pretty...? Love! Hah!

Swithin awoke; virtue had gone out of him. He had a taste in his mouth.
Where was he?

Damme! He had been asleep!

He had dreamed something about a new soup, with a taste of mint in it.

Those young people--where had they got to? His left leg had pins and
needles.

"Adolf!" The rascal was not there; the rascal was asleep somewhere.

He stood up, tall, square, bulky in his fur, looking anxiously down over
the fields, and presently he saw them coming.

Irene was in front; that young fellow--what had they nicknamed him--'The
Buccaneer?' looked precious hangdog there behind her; had got a flea in
his ear, he shouldn't wonder. Serve him right, taking her down all that
way to look at the house! The proper place to look at a house from was
the lawn.

They saw him. He extended his arm, and moved it spasmodically to
encourage them. But they had stopped. What were they standing there
for, talking--talking? They came on again. She had been, giving him a
rub, he had not the least doubt of it, and no wonder, over a house like
that--a great ugly thing, not the sort of house he was accustomed to.