He tucked the top corner of his napkin behind the third button of his waistcoat, a practice he had been obliged to abandon years ago in the West End.  He felt that he should relish his soup—­the entire morning had been given to winding up the estate of an old friend.

After filling his mouth with household bread, stale, he at once began:  “How are you going down to Robin Hill?  You going to take Irene?  You’d better take her.  I should think there’ll be a lot that’ll want seeing to.”

Without looking up, Soames answered:  “She won’t go.”

“Won’t go?  What’s the meaning of that?  She’s going to live in the house, isn’t she?”

Soames made no reply.

“I don’t know what’s coming to women nowadays,” mumbled James; “I never used to have any trouble with them.  She’s had too much liberty.  She’s spoiled....”

Soames lifted his eyes:  “I won’t have anything said against her,” he said unexpectedly.

The silence was only broken now by the supping of James’s soup.

The waiter brought the two glasses of port, but Soames stopped him.

“That’s not the way to serve port,” he said; “take them away, and bring the bottle.”

Rousing himself from his reverie over the soup, James took one of his rapid shifting surveys of surrounding facts.

“Your mother’s in bed,” he said; “you can have the carriage to take you down.  I should think Irene’d like the drive.  This young Bosinney’ll be there, I suppose, to show you over”

Soames nodded.

“I should like to go and see for myself what sort of a job he’s made finishing off,” pursued James.  “I’ll just drive round and pick you both up.”

“I am going down by train,” replied Soames.  “If you like to drive round and see, Irene might go with you, I can’t tell.”

He signed to the waiter to bring the bill, which James paid.

They parted at St. Paul’s, Soames branching off to the station, James taking his omnibus westwards.

He had secured the corner seat next the conductor, where his long legs made it difficult for anyone to get in, and at all who passed him he looked resentfully, as if they had no business to be using up his air.

He intended to take an opportunity this afternoon of speaking to Irene.  A word in time saved nine; and now that she was going to live in the country there was a chance for her to turn over a new leaf!  He could see that Soames wouldn’t stand very much more of her goings on!

It did not occur to him to define what he meant by her ‘goings on’; the expression was wide, vague, and suited to a Forsyte.  And James had more than his common share of courage after lunch.

On reaching home, he ordered out the barouche, with special instructions that the groom was to go too.  He wished to be kind to her, and to give her every chance.

When the door of No.62 was opened he could distinctly hear her singing, and said so at once, to prevent any chance of being denied entrance.