“I can’t tell you off-hand,” thoughtfully answered Bosinney, “but I know it was a deuce of a lot!”

“I should think so,” said James.  “I should....”  He caught the architect’s eye, and broke off.  And now, whenever he came to anything of which he desired to know the cost, he stifled that curiosity.

Bosinney appeared determined that he should see everything, and had not James been of too ‘noticing’ a nature, he would certainly have found himself going round the house a second time.  He seemed so anxious to be asked questions, too, that James felt he must be on his guard.  He began to suffer from his exertions, for, though wiry enough for a man of his long build, he was seventy-five years old.

He grew discouraged; he seemed no nearer to anything, had not obtained from his inspection any of the knowledge he had vaguely hoped for.  He had merely increased his dislike and mistrust of this young man, who had tired him out with his politeness, and in whose manner he now certainly detected mockery.

The fellow was sharper than he had thought, and better-looking than he had hoped.  He had a—­a ‘don’t care’ appearance that James, to whom risk was the most intolerable thing in life, did not appreciate; a peculiar smile, too, coming when least expected; and very queer eyes.  He reminded James, as he said afterwards, of a hungry cat.  This was as near as he could get, in conversation with Emily, to a description of the peculiar exasperation, velvetiness, and mockery, of which Bosinney’s manner had been composed.

At last, having seen all that was to be seen, he came out again at the door where he had gone in; and now, feeling that he was wasting time and strength and money, all for nothing, he took the courage of a Forsyte in both hands, and, looking sharply at Bosinney, said: 

“I dare say you see a good deal of my daughter-in-law; now, what does she think of the house?  But she hasn’t seen it, I suppose?”

This he said, knowing all about Irene’s visit not, of course, that there was anything in the visit, except that extraordinary remark she had made about ’not caring to get home’—­and the story of how June had taken the news!

He had determined, by this way of putting the question, to give Bosinney a chance, as he said to himself.

The latter was long in answering, but kept his eyes with uncomfortable steadiness on James.

“She has seen the house, but I can’t tell you what she thinks of it.”

Nervous and baffled, James was constitutionally prevented from letting the matter drop.

“Oh!” he said, “she has seen it?  Soames brought her down, I suppose?”

Bosinney smilingly replied:  “Oh, no!”

“What, did she come down alone?”

“Oh, no!”

“Then—­who brought her?”

“I really don’t know whether I ought to tell you who brought her.”

To James, who knew that it was Swithin, this answer appeared incomprehensible.