It is uncertain what Soames expected to get out of this interview.

Apart from that somewhat mysterious awe in which Forsytes in general held old Jolyon, due to his philosophic twist, or perhaps—­as Hemmings would doubtless have said—­to his chin, there was, and always had been, a subtle antagonism between the younger man and the old.  It had lurked under their dry manner of greeting, under their non-committal allusions to each other, and arose perhaps from old Jolyon’s perception of the quiet tenacity (’obstinacy,’ he rather naturally called it) of the young man, of a secret doubt whether he could get his own way with him.

Both these Forsytes, wide asunder as the poles in many respects, possessed in their different ways—­to a greater degree than the rest of the family—­that essential quality of tenacious and prudent insight into ‘affairs,’ which is the highwater mark of their great class.  Either of them, with a little luck and opportunity, was equal to a lofty career; either of them would have made a good financier, a great contractor, a statesman, though old Jolyon, in certain of his moods when under the influence of a cigar or of Nature—­would have been capable of, not perhaps despising, but certainly of questioning, his own high position, while Soames, who never smoked cigars, would not.

Then, too, in old Jolyon’s mind there was always the secret ache, that the son of James—­of James, whom he had always thought such a poor thing, should be pursuing the paths of success, while his own son...!

And last, not least—­for he was no more outside the radiation of family gossip than any other Forsyte—­he had now heard the sinister, indefinite, but none the less disturbing rumour about Bosinney, and his pride was wounded to the quick.

Characteristically, his irritation turned not against Irene but against Soames.  The idea that his nephew’s wife (why couldn’t the fellow take better care of her—­Oh! quaint injustice! as though Soames could possibly take more care!)—­should be drawing to herself June’s lover, was intolerably humiliating.  And seeing the danger, he did not, like James, hide it away in sheer nervousness, but owned with the dispassion of his broader outlook, that it was not unlikely; there was something very attractive about Irene!

He had a presentiment on the subject of Soames’ communication as they left the Board Room together, and went out into the noise and hurry of Cheapside.  They walked together a good minute without speaking, Soames with his mousing, mincing step, and old Jolyon upright and using his umbrella languidly as a walking-stick.

They turned presently into comparative quiet, for old Jolyon’s way to a second Board led him in the direction of Moorage Street.

Then Soames, without lifting his eyes, began:  “I’ve had this letter from Bosinney.  You see what he says; I thought I’d let you know.  I’ve spent a lot more than I intended on this house, and I want the position to be clear.”