Her suspicions were fortunately confirmed.  A young man coming from the Drugs had snatched off his hat, and was accosting the lady with the unknown back.

It was then that she saw with whom she had to deal; the lady was undoubtedly Mrs. Soames, the young man Mr. Bosinney.  Concealing herself rapidly over the purchase of a box of Tunisian dates, for she was impatient of awkwardly meeting people with parcels in her hands, and at the busy time of the morning, she was quite unintentionally an interested observer of their little interview.

Mrs. Soames, usually somewhat pale, had a delightful colour in her cheeks; and Mr. Bosinney’s manner was strange, though attractive (she thought him rather a distinguished-looking man, and George’s name for him, ’The Buccaneer’—­about which there was something romantic—­quite charming).  He seemed to be pleading.  Indeed, they talked so earnestly—­or, rather, he talked so earnestly, for Mrs. Soames did not say much—­that they caused, inconsiderately, an eddy in the traffic.  One nice old General, going towards Cigars, was obliged to step quite out of the way, and chancing to look up and see Mrs. Soames’ face, he actually took off his hat, the old fool!  So like a man!

But it was Mrs. Soames’ eyes that worried Euphemia.  She never once looked at Mr. Bosinney until he moved on, and then she looked after him.  And, oh, that look!

On that look Euphemia had spent much anxious thought.  It is not too much to say that it had hurt her with its dark, lingering softness, for all the world as though the woman wanted to drag him back, and unsay something she had been saying.

Ah, well, she had had no time to go deeply into the matter just then, with that prunella silk on her hands; but she was ’very intriguee’—­very!  She had just nodded to Mrs. Soames, to show her that she had seen; and, as she confided, in talking it over afterwards, to her chum Francie (Roger’s daughter), “Didn’t she look caught out just? ....”

James, most averse at the first blush to accepting any news confirmatory of his own poignant suspicions, took her up at once.

“Oh” he said, “they’d be after wall-papers no doubt.”

Euphemia smiled.  “In the Groceries?” she said softly; and, taking ‘Passion and Paregoric’ from the table, added:  “And so you’ll lend me this, dear Auntie?  Good-bye!” and went away.

James left almost immediately after; he was late as it was.

When he reached the office of Forsyte, Bustard and Forsyte, he found Soames, sitting in his revolving, chair, drawing up a defence.  The latter greeted his father with a curt good-morning, and, taking an envelope from his pocket, said: 

“It may interest you to look through this.”

James read as follows: 

309D, Sloane street, May 15.  ’Dear Forsyte,

’The construction of your house being now completed, my duties as architect have come to an end.  If I am to go on with the business of decoration, which at your request I undertook, I should like you to clearly understand that I must have a free hand.