At last the Chairman, whose voice always reminded Soames of a raw salad with oil poured over it, said ironically:

“Well, gentlemen, we await your pleasure.”

That stout, red-faced fellow, next to Michael, stood up, opening his pug’s mouth.

“To put it shortly, Mr. Chairman, we’re not at all satisfied; but before we take any resolution, we want to ‘ear what you’ve got to say.”

Just below Soames, some one jumped up and added: “We’d like to know, sir, what assurances you can offer us against anything of this sort in the future.”

Soames saw the Chairman smile—no real backbone in that fellow!

“In the nature of things, sir,” he said, “none whatever! You can hardly suppose that if we had known our manager was not worthy of our confidence, we should have continued him in the post for a moment!”

Soames thought: ‘That won’t do—he’s gone back on himself!’ Yes, and that other pug-faced chap had seen it!

“That’s just the point, sir,” he was saying: “Two of you DID know, and yet, there the fellow was for months afterwards, playin’ ‘is own ‘and, cheatin’ the Society for all he was worth, I shouldn’t wonder.”

One after another, they were yelping now:

“What about your own words?”

“You admitted collective responsibility.”

“You said you were perfectly satisfied with the attitude of your co-directors in the matter.” Regular pack!

Soames saw the Chairman incline his head as if he wanted to shake it; old Fontenoy muttering, old Mothergill blowing his nose, Meyricke shrugging his sharp shoulders. Suddenly he was cut off from view of them—Sir Lawrence was standing up between.

“Allow me a word! Speaking for myself, I find it impossible to accept the generous attempt of the Chairman to shoulder a responsibility which clearly rests on me. If I made a mistake of judgment in not disclosing our suspicions, I must pay the penalty; and I think it will clear the—er—situation if I tender my resignation to the meeting.”

Soames saw him give a little bow, place his monocle in his eye, and sit down.

A murmur greeted the words—approval, surprise, deprecation, admiration? It had been gallantly done. Soames distrusted gallantry—there was always a dash of the peacock about it. He felt curiously savage.

“I, apparently,” he said, rising, “am the other incriminated director. Very good! I am not conscious of having done anything but my duty from beginning to end of this affair. I am confident that I made no mistake of judgment. And I consider it entirely unjust that I should be penalised. I have had worry and anxiety enough, without being made a scapegoat by shareholders who accepted this policy without a murmur, before ever I came on the Board, and are now angry because they have lost by it. You owe it to me that the policy has been dropped: You owe it to me that you have no longer a fraudulent person for a manager. And you owe it to me that you were called together today to pass judgment on the matter. I have no intention whatever of singing small. But there is another aspect to this affair. I am not prepared to go on giving my services to people who don’t value them. I have no patience with the attitude displayed this afternoon. If any one here thinks he has a grievance against me, let him bring an action. I shall be happy to carry it to the House of Lords, if necessary. I have been familiar with the City all my life, and I have not been in the habit of meeting with suspicions and ingratitude. If this is an instance of present manners, I have been familiar with the City long enough. I do not tender my resignation to the meeting; I resign.”

Bowing to the Chairman, and pushing back his chair, he walked doggedly to the door, opened it and passed through.

He sought his hat. He had not the slightest doubt but that he had astonished their weak nerves! Those pug-faced fellows had their mouths open! He would have liked to see what he had left behind, but it was hardly consistent with dignity to open the door again. He took a sandwich instead, and began to eat it with his back to the door and his hat on. He felt better than he had for months. A voice said:

“‘And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more!’ I’d no idea, Forsyte, you were such an orator! You gave it ’em between the eyes! Never saw a meeting so knocked out! Well, you’ve saved the Board by focussing their resentment entirely on yourself. It was very gallant, Forsyte!”

Soames growled through his sandwich:

“Nothing of the sort! Are you out, too?”

“Yes. I pressed my resignation. That red-faced fellow was proposing a vote of confidence in the Board when I left—and they’ll pass it, Forsyte—they’ll pass it! Something was said about financial liability, by the way!”

“Was there?” said Soames, with a grim smile: “That cock won’t fight. Their only chance was to claim against the Board for initiating foreign assurance ultra vires; if they’re re-affirming the Board, after the question’s been raised in open meeting, they’re dished. Nothing’ll lie against you and me, for not disclosing our suspicions—that’s certain.”

“A relief, I confess,” said Sir Lawrence, with a sigh. “It was the speech of your life, Forsyte!”

Perfectly well aware of that, Soames shook his head. Apart from the horror of seeing himself in print, he was beginning to feel that he had been extravagant. It was always a mistake to lose your temper! A bitter little smile came on his lips. Nobody, not even Mont, would see how unjustly he had been treated.

“Well,” he said, “I shall go.”

“I think I shall wait, Forsyte, and hear the upshot.”

“Upshot? They’ll appoint two other fools, and slaver over each other. Shareholders! Good-bye!” He moved to the door.

Passing the Bank of England, he had a feeling of walking away from his own life. His acumen, his judgment, his manner of dealing with affairs—aspersed! They didn’t like it; well—he would leave it! Catch him meddling, in future! It was all of a piece with the modern state of things. Hand to mouth, and the steady men pushed to the wall! The men to whom a pound was a pound, and not a mess of chance and paper. The men who knew that the good of the country was the strict, straight conduct of their own affairs. They were not wanted. One by one, they would get the go-by—as he had got it—in favour of Jack-o’-lanterns, revolutionaries, restless chaps, or clever, unscrupulous fellows, like Elderson. It was in the air. No amount of eating your cake and wanting to have it could take the place of common honesty.

He turned into the Poultry before he knew why he had come there. Well, he might as well tell Gradman at once that he must exercise his own judgment in the future. At the mouth of the backwater he paused for a second, as if to print its buffness on his brain. He would resign his trusts, private and all! He had no notion of being sneered at in the family. But a sudden wave of remembrance almost washed his heart into his boots. What a tale of trust deeds executed, leases renewed, houses sold, investments decided on—in that back room up there; what a mint of quiet satisfaction in estates well managed! Ah! well! He would continue to manage his own. As for the others, they must look out for themselves, now. And a precious time they’d have of it, in face of the spirit there was about!

He mounted the stone steps slowly.

In the repository of Forsyte affairs, he was faced by the unusual—not Gradman, but, on the large ripe table, a large ripe melon alongside a straw bag. Soames sniffed. The thing smelled delicious. He held it to the light. Its greeny yellow tinge, its network of threads—quite Chinese! Was old Gradman going to throw its rind about, like that white monkey?

He was still holding it when a voice said:

“Aoh! I wasn’t expecting you today, Mr. Soames. I was going early; my wife’s got a little party.”

“So I see!” said Soames, restoring the melon to the table. “There’s nothing for you to do at the moment, but I came in to tell you to draw my resignations from the Forsyte trusts.”