Standing by the french-window,looking out across the terrace at the oak tree,were two figures,middle-aged and young,and he thought:'Who's that boy?Surely they never had a child.'
The elder figure turned.The meeting of those two Forsytes of the second generation,so much more sophisticated than the first,in the house built for the one and owned and occupied by the other,was marked by subtle defensiveness beneath distinct attempt at cordiality.'Has he come about his wife?'Jolyon was thinking;and Soames,'How shall I begin?'while Val,brought to break the ice,stood negligently scrutinising this 'bearded pard'from under his dark,thick eyelashes.
"This is Val Dartie,"said Soames,"my sister's son.He's just going up to Oxford.I thought I'd like him to know your boy.""Ah!I'm sorry Jolly's away.What college?""B.N.C.,"replied Val.
"Jolly's at the 'House,'but he'll be delighted to look you up.""Thanks awfully."
"Holly's in--if you could put up with a female relation,she'd show you round.You'll find her in the hall if you go through the curtains.I was just painting her."With another "Thanks,awfully!"Val vanished,leaving the two cousins with the ice unbroken.
"I see you've some drawings at the 'Water Colours,'"said Soames.
Jolyon winced.He had been out of touch with the Forsyte family at large for twenty-six years,but they were connected in his mind with Frith's 'Derby Day'and Landseer prints.He had heard from June that Soames was a connoisseur,which made it worse.He had become aware,too,of a curious sensation of repugnance.
"I haven't seen you for a long time,"he said.