“Well! Is there anything you would like me to say to him?”
“Only that I’m sorry he’s not free. He had his chance once. I don’t know why he didn’t take it.”
“Because he was a Forsyte; we never part with things, you know, unless we want something in their place; and not always then.”
Irene smiled. “Don’t you, Cousin Jolyon?—I think you do.”
“Of course, I’m a bit of a mongrel—not quite a pure Forsyte. I never take the halfpennies off my cheques, I put them on,” said Jolyon uneasily.
“Well, what does Soames want in place of me now?”
“I don’t know; perhaps children.”
She was silent for a little, looking down.
“Yes,” she murmured; “it’s hard. I would help him to be free if I could.”
Jolyon gazed into his hat, his embarrassment was increasing fast; so was his admiration, his wonder, and his pity. She was so lovely, and so lonely; and altogether it was such a coil!