d Aunt Ann. "And how is
dear Irene?"

Soames's smile died.

"Pretty well," he said. "Complains she can't sleep; she sleeps a great
deal better than I do," and he looked at his wife, who was talking to
Bosinney by the door.

Aunt Ann sighed.

"Perhaps," she said, "it will be just as well for her not to see so much
of June. She's such a decided character, dear June!"

Soames flushed; his flushes passed rapidly over his flat cheeks and
centered between his eyes, where they remained, the stamp of disturbing
thoughts.

"I don't know what she sees in that little flibbertigibbet," he burst
out, but noticing that they were no longer alone, he turned and again
began examining the lustre.

"They tell me Jolyon's bought another house," said his father's voice
close by; "he must have a lot of money--he must have more money than he
knows what to do with! Montpellier Square, they say; close to Soames!
They never told me, Irene never tells me anything!"

"Capital position, not two minutes from me," said the voice of Swithin,
"and from my rooms I can drive to the Club in eight."

The position of their houses was of vital importance to the Forsytes,
nor was this remarkable, since the whole spirit of their success was
embodied therein.

Their father, of farming stock, had come from Dorsetshire near the
beginning of the century.

'Superior Dosset Forsyte, as he was called by his intimates, had been a
stonemason by trade, and risen to the position of a master-builder.

Towards the end of his life he moved to London, where, building on until
he died, he was buried at Highgate. He left over thirty thousand pounds
between his ten children. Old Jolyon alluded to him, if at all, as 'A
hard, thick sort of man; not much refinement about him.' The second
generation of Forsytes felt indeed that he was not greatly to their
credit. The only aristocratic trait they could find in his character was
a habit of drinking Madeira.

Aunt Hester, an authority on family history, described him thus: "I
don't recollect that he ever did anything; at least, not in my time. He
was er--an owner of houses, my dear. His hair about your Uncle Swithin's
colour; rather a square build. Tall? No--not very tall" (he had been
five feet five, with a mottled face); "a fresh-coloured man. I remember
he used to drink Madeira; but ask your Aunt Ann. What was his father?
He--er--had to do with the land down in Dorsetshire, by the sea."

James once went down to s