He turned round at last to speak to Irene, and saw her standing over in the garden entrance, with her husband and Bosinney.

Though not remarkable for sensibility, James felt at once that something was wrong.  He went up to them, and, vaguely alarmed, ignorant of the nature of the trouble, made an attempt to smooth things over.

“How are you, Mr. Bosinney?” he said, holding out his hand.  “You’ve been spending money pretty freely down here, I should say!”

Soames turned his back, and walked away.

James looked from Bosinney’s frowning face to Irene, and, in his agitation, spoke his thoughts aloud:  “Well, I can’t tell what’s the matter.  Nobody tells me anything!” And, making off after his son, he heard Bosinney’s short laugh, and his “Well, thank God!  You look so....”  Most unfortunately he lost the rest.

What had happened?  He glanced back.  Irene was very close to the architect, and her face not like the face he knew of her.  He hastened up to his son.

Soames was pacing the picture-gallery.

“What’s the matter?” said James.  “What’s all this?”

Soames looked at him with his supercilious calm unbroken, but James knew well enough that he was violently angry.

“Our friend,” he said, “has exceeded his instructions again, that’s all.  So much the worse for him this time.”

He turned round and walked back towards the door.  James followed hurriedly, edging himself in front.  He saw Irene take her finger from before her lips, heard her say something in her ordinary voice, and began to speak before he reached them.

“There’s a storm coming on.  We’d better get home.  We can’t take you, I suppose, Mr. Bosinney?  No, I suppose not.  Then, good-bye!” He held out his hand.  Bosinney did not take it, but, turning with a laugh, said: 

“Good-bye, Mr. Forsyte.  Don’t get caught in the storm!” and walked away.

“Well,” began James, “I don’t know....”

But the ’sight of Irene’s face stopped him.  Taking hold of his daughter-in-law by the elbow, he escorted her towards the carriage.  He felt certain, quite certain, they had been making some appointment or other....

Nothing in this world is more sure to upset a Forsyte than the discovery that something on which he has stipulated to spend a certain sum has cost more.  And this is reasonable, for upon the accuracy of his estimates the whole policy of his life is ordered.  If he cannot rely on definite values of property, his compass is amiss; he is adrift upon bitter waters without a helm.