Old Jolyon ran his eyes unwillingly over the letter:  “What he says is clear enough,” he said.

“He talks about ‘a free hand,’” replied Soames.

Old Jolyon looked at him.  The long-suppressed irritation and antagonism towards this young fellow, whose affairs were beginning to intrude upon his own, burst from him.

“Well, if you don’t trust him, why do you employ him?”

Soames stole a sideway look:  “It’s much too late to go into that,” he said, “I only want it to be quite understood that if I give him a free hand, he doesn’t let me in.  I thought if you were to speak to him, it would carry more weight!”

“No,” said old Jolyon abruptly; “I’ll have nothing to do with it!”

The words of both uncle and nephew gave the impression of unspoken meanings, far more important, behind.  And the look they interchanged was like a revelation of this consciousness.

“Well,” said Soames; “I thought, for June’s sake, I’d tell you, that’s all; I thought you’d better know I shan’t stand any nonsense!”

“What is that to me?” old Jolyon took him up.

“Oh!  I don’t know,” said Soames, and flurried by that sharp look he was unable to say more.  “Don’t say I didn’t tell you,” he added sulkily, recovering his composure.

“Tell me!” said old Jolyon; “I don’t know what you mean.  You come worrying me about a thing like this.  I don’t want to hear about your affairs; you must manage them yourself!”

“Very well,” said Soames immovably, “I will!”

“Good-morning, then,” said old Jolyon, and they parted.

Soames retraced his steps, and going into a celebrated eating-house, asked for a plate of smoked salmon and a glass of Chablis; he seldom ate much in the middle of the day, and generally ate standing, finding the position beneficial to his liver, which was very sound, but to which he desired to put down all his troubles.

When he had finished he went slowly back to his office, with bent head, taking no notice of the swarming thousands on the pavements, who in their turn took no notice of him.

The evening post carried the following reply to Bosinney: 

’Forsyte, Bustard and Forsyte, ’Commissioners for Oaths, ’92001, branch lane, poultry, E.C.,

’May 17, 1887. 
’Dear Bosinney,

’I have, received your letter, the terms of which not a little surprise me.  I was under the impression that you had, and have had all along, a “free hand”; for I do not recollect that any suggestions I have been so unfortunate as to make have met with your approval.  In giving you, in accordance with your request, this “free hand,” I wish you to clearly understand that the total cost of the house as handed over to me completely decorated, inclusive of your fee (as arranged between us), must not exceed twelve thousand pounds—­L12,000.  This gives you an ample margin, and, as you know, is far more than I originally contemplated.