He had become conscious of a woman and a youth standing between
him and the "Future Town." Their backs were turned; but very
suddenly Soames put his catalogue before his face, and drawing his
hat forward, gazed through the slit between. No mistaking that
back, elegant as ever though the hair above had gone grey. Irene!
His divorced wife--Irene! And this, no doubt, was her son--by that
fellow Jolyon Forsyte--their boy, six months older than his own
girl! And mumbling over in his mind the bitter days of his
divorce, he rose to get out of sight, but quickly sat down again.
She had turned her head to speak to her boy; her profile was still
so youthful that it made her grey hair seem powdery, as if fancy-
dressed; and her lips were smiling as Soames, first possessor of
them, had never seen them smile. Grudgingly he admitted her still
beautiful, and in figure almost as young as ever. And how that boy
smiled back at her! Emotion squeezed Soames' heart. The sight
infringed his sense of justice. He grudged her that boy's smile--
it went beyond what Fleur gave him, and it was undeserved. Their
son might have been his son; Fleur might have been her daughter,
if she had kept straight! He lowered his catalogue. If she saw
him, all the better! A reminder of her conduct in the presence of
her son, who probably knew nothing of it, would be a salutary
touch from the finger of that Nemesis which surely must soon or
late visit her! Then, half-conscious that such a thought was
extravagant for a Forsyte of his age, Soames took out his watch.
Past four! Fleur was late. She had gone to his niece Imogen
Cardigan's, and there they would keep her smoking cigarettes and
gossiping, and that. He heard the boy laugh, and say eagerly: "I
say, Mum, is this one of Auntie June's lame ducks?"