Timothy nodded. He seemed trying to get used to the apparition before him.
“Have you got everything you want?”
“No,” said Timothy.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No,” said Timothy.
“I'm Soames, you know; your nephew, Soames Forsyte. Your brother James' son.”
Timothy nodded.
“I shall be delighted to do anything I can for you.”
Timothy beckoned. Soames went close to him:
“You—” said Timothy in a voice which seemed to have outlived tone, “you tell them all from me—you tell them all—” and his finger tapped on Soames' arm, “to hold on—hold on—Consols are goin' up,” and he nodded thrice.