keep him waiting, of course! And suddenly he became aware of a sort of
human breeze--a short, slight form clad in a sea-green djibbah with a
metal belt and a fillet binding unruly red-gold hair all streaked with
grey. She was talking to the Gallery attendants, and something familiar
riveted his gaze--in her eyes, her chin, her hair, her spirit--something
which suggested a thin Skye terrier just before its dinner. Surely June
Forsyte! His cousin June--and coming straight to his recess! She sat
down beside him, deep in thought, took out a tablet, and made a pencil
note. Soames sat unmoving. A confounded thing, cousinship! "Disgusting!"
he heard her murmur; then, as if resenting the presence of an
overhearing stranger, she looked at him. The worst had happened.

"Soames!"

Soames turned his head a very little.

"How are you?" he said. "Haven't seen you for twenty years."

"No. Whatever made you come here?"

"My sins," said Soames. "What stuff!"

"Stuff? Oh, yes--of course; it hasn't arrived yet.

"It never will," said Soames; "it must be making a dead loss."

"Of course it is."

"How d'you know?"