nd one
could not be too careful in a new neighbourhood.

He kept assuring them that it was a new house he was looking for; it
was only, however, when he was shown the roof through the trees that
he could feel really satisfied that he had not been directed entirely
wrong.

A heavy sky seemed to cover the world with the grey whiteness of a
whitewashed ceiling. There was no freshness or fragrance in the air. On
such a day even British workmen scarcely cared to do more then they were
obliged, and moved about their business without the drone of talk which
whiles away the pangs of labour.

Through spaces of the unfinished house, shirt-sleeved figures worked
slowly, and sounds arose--spasmodic knockings, the scraping of metal,
the sawing of wood, with the rumble of wheelbarrows along boards; now
and again the foreman's dog, tethered by a string to an oaken beam,
whimpered feebly, with a sound like the singing of a kettle.

The fresh-fitted window-panes, daubed each with a white patch in the
centre, stared out at James like the eyes of a blind dog.

And the building chorus went on, strident and mirthless under the
grey-white sky. But the thrushes, hunting amongst the fresh-turned earth
for worms, were silent quite.

James picked his way among the heaps of gravel--the drive was being
laid--till he came opposite the porch. Here he stopped and raised his
eyes. There was but little to see from this point of view, and that
little he took in at once; but he stayed in this position many minutes,
and who shall know of what he thought.

His china-blue eyes under white eyebrows that jutted out in little
horns, never stirred; the long upper lip of his wide mouth, between the
fine white whiskers, twitched once or twice; it was easy to see from
that anxious rapt expression, whence Soames derived the handicapped
look which sometimes came upon his face. James might have been saying to
himself: 'I don't know--life's a tough job.'

In this position Bosinney surprised him.

James brought his eyes down from whatever bird's-nest they had been
looking for in the sky to Bosinney's face, on which was a kind of
humorous scorn.

"How do you do, Mr. Forsyte? Come down to see for yourself?"

It was exactly what James, as we know, had come for, and he was made
correspondingly uneasy. He held out his hand, however, saying:

"How are you?" without looking at Bosinney.

The latter made way for him with an ironical smile.

James scented some