It was difficult to refuse!  But why give the thing to him to do?  That was surely quite unbecoming; but so long as a Forsyte got what he was after, he was not too particular about the means, provided appearances were saved.

How should he set about it, or how refuse?  Both seemed impossible.  So, young Jolyon!

He arrived at the Club at three o’clock, and the first person he saw was Bosinney himself, seated in a corner, staring out of the window.

Young Jolyon sat down not far off, and began nervously to reconsider his position.  He looked covertly at Bosinney sitting there unconscious.  He did not know him very well, and studied him attentively for perhaps the first time; an unusual looking man, unlike in dress, face, and manner to most of the other members of the Club—­young Jolyon himself, however different he had become in mood and temper, had always retained the neat reticence of Forsyte appearance.  He alone among Forsytes was ignorant of Bosinney’s nickname.  The man was unusual, not eccentric, but unusual; he looked worn, too, haggard, hollow in the cheeks beneath those broad, high cheekbones, though without any appearance of ill-health, for he was strongly built, with curly hair that seemed to show all the vitality of a fine constitution.

Something in his face and attitude touched young Jolyon.  He knew what suffering was like, and this man looked as if he were suffering.

He got up and touched his arm.

Bosinney started, but exhibited no sign of embarrassment on seeing who it was.

Young Jolyon sat down.

“I haven’t seen you for a long time,” he said.  “How are you getting on with my cousin’s house?”

“It’ll be finished in about a week.”

“I congratulate you!”

“Thanks—­I don’t know that it’s much of a subject for congratulation.”

“No?” queried young Jolyon; “I should have thought you’d be glad to get a long job like that off your hands; but I suppose you feel it much as I do when I part with a picture—­a sort of child?”

He looked kindly at Bosinney.

“Yes,” said the latter more cordially, “it goes out from you and there’s an end of it.  I didn’t know you painted.”

“Only water-colours; I can’t say I believe in my work.”

“Don’t believe in it?  There—­how can you do it?  Work’s no use unless you believe in it!”

“Good,” said young Jolyon; “it’s exactly what I’ve always said.  By-the-bye, have you noticed that whenever one says ‘Good,’ one always adds ‘it’s exactly what I’ve always said’!  But if you ask me how I do it, I answer, because I’m a Forsyte.”

“A Forsyte!  I never thought of you as one!”

“A Forsyte,” replied young Jolyon, “is not an uncommon animal.  There are hundreds among the members of this Club.  Hundreds out there in the streets; you meet them wherever you go!”

“And how do you tell them, may I ask?” said Bosinney.