“Well, Aunt Ann?” said a voice behind.

Soames Forsyte, flat-shouldered, clean-shaven, flat-cheeked, flat-waisted, yet with something round and secret about his whole appearance, looked downwards and aslant at Aunt Ann, as though trying to see through the side of his own nose.

“And what do you think of the engagement?” he asked.

Aunt Ann’s eyes rested on him proudly; of all the nephews since young Jolyon’s departure from the family nest, he was now her favourite, for she recognised in him a sure trustee of the family soul that must so soon slip beyond her keeping.

“Very nice for the young man,” she said; “and he’s a good-looking young fellow; but I doubt if he’s quite the right lover for dear June.”

Soames touched the edge of a gold-lacquered lustre.

“She’ll tame him,” he said, stealthily wetting his finger and rubbing it on the knobby bulbs.  “That’s genuine old lacquer; you can’t get it nowadays.  It’d do well in a sale at Jobson’s.”  He spoke with relish, as though he felt that he was cheering up his old aunt.  It was seldom he was so confidential.  “I wouldn’t mind having it myself,” he added; “you can always get your price for old lacquer.”

“You’re so clever with all those things,” said 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.