n, and every morning about an hour later, still fifty yards apart,
they cantered up again. Every evening, wherever they had dined, they
might be observed about half-past ten, leaning over the balustrade of
the Alhambra promenade.

They were never seen otherwise than together; in this way passing their
lives, apparently perfectly content.

Inspired by some dumb stirring within them of the feelings of gentlemen,
they turned at this painful moment to Mrs. MacAnder, and said in
precisely the same voice: "Have you seen the...?"

Such was her surprise at being thus addressed that she put down her
fork; and Smither, who was passing, promptly removed her plate. Mrs.
MacAnder, however, with presence of mind, said instantly: "I must have a
little more of that nice mutton."

But afterwards in the drawing--room she sat down by Mrs. Small,
determined to get to the bottom of the matter. And she began:

"What a charming woman, Mrs. Soames; such a sympathetic temperament!
Soames is a really lucky man!"

Her anxiety for information had not made sufficient allowance for that
inner Forsyte skin which refuses to share its troubles with outsiders.

Mrs. Septimus Small, drawing herself up with a creak and rustle of her
whole person, said, shivering in her dignity:

"My dear, it is a subject we do not talk about!"

CHAPTER II--NIGHT IN THE PARK

Although with her infallible instinct Mrs. Small had said the very thing
to make her guest 'more intriguee than ever,' it is difficult to see how
else she could truthfully have spoken.

It was not a subject which the Forsytes could talk about even among
themselves--to use the word Soames had invented to characterize to
himself the situation, it was 'subterranean.'

Yet, within a week of Mrs. MacAnder's encounter in Richmond Park, to all
of them--save Timothy, from whom it was carefully kept--to James on his
domestic beat from the Poultry to Park Lane, to George the wild one,
on his daily adventure from the bow window at the Haversnake to the
billiard room at the 'Red Pottle,' was it known that 'those two' had
gone to extremes.

George (it was he who invented many of those striking expressions still
current in fashionable circles) voiced the sentiment more accurately
than any one when he said to his brother Eustace that 'the Buccaneer'
was 'going it'; he expected Soames was about 'fed up.'

It was felt that he must be, and yet, what could be done? He ought
perhaps to take steps;