He answered abstractedly:  “How should I know?  Scoles is a humbug, though, isn’t he?” For Bosinney was looking round the table, as if pointing out the peculiarities of the guests, and Soames wondered what he was saying.  By her smile Irene was evidently agreeing with his remarks.  She seemed always to agree with other people.

Her eyes were turned on himself; Soames dropped his glance at once.  The smile had died off her lips.

A humbug?  But what did Soames mean?  If Mr. Scoles was a humbug, a clergyman—­then anybody might be—­it was frightful!

“Well, and so they are!” said Soames.

During Aunt Juley’s momentary and horrified silence he caught some words of Irene’s that sounded like:  ‘Abandon hope, all ye who enter here!’

But Swithin had finished his ham.

“Where do you go for your mushrooms?” he was saying to Irene in a voice like a courtier’s; “you ought to go to Smileybob’s—­he’ll give ’em you fresh.  These little men, they won’t take the trouble!”

Irene turned to answer him, and Soames saw Bosinney watching her and smiling to himself.  A curious smile the fellow had.  A half-simple arrangement, like a child who smiles when he is pleased.  As for George’s nickname—­’The Buccaneer’—­he did not think much of that.  And, seeing Bosinney turn to June, Soames smiled too, but sardonically—­he did not like June, who was not looking too pleased.

This was not surprising, for she had just held the following conversation with James: 

“I stayed on the river on my way home, Uncle James, and saw a beautiful site for a house.”

James, a slow and thorough eater, stopped the process of mastication.

“Eh?” he said.  “Now, where was that?”

“Close to Pangbourne.”

James placed a piece of ham in his mouth, and June waited.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know whether the land about there was freehold?” he asked at last.  “You wouldn’t know anything about the price of land about there?”

“Yes,” said June; “I made inquiries.”  Her little resolute face under its copper crown was suspiciously eager and aglow.

James regarded her with the air of an inquisitor.

“What?  You’re not thinking of buying land!” he ejaculated, dropping his fork.

June was greatly encouraged by his interest.  It had long been her pet plan that her uncles should benefit themselves and Bosinney by building country-houses.

“Of course not,” she said.  “I thought it would be such a splendid place for—­you or—­someone to build a country-house!”

James looked at her sideways, and placed a second piece of ham in his mouth....

“Land ought to be very dear about there,” he said.

What June had taken for personal interest was only the impersonal excitement of every Forsyte who hears of something eligible in danger of passing into other hands.  But she refused to see the disappearance of her chance, and continued to press her point.