"Well, Aunt Ann?" said a voice behind.

Soames Forsyte, flat-shouldered, clean-shaven, flat-cheeked,
flat-waisted, yet with something round and secret about his whole
appearance, looked downwards and aslant at Aunt Ann, as though trying to
see through the side of his own nose.

"And what do you think of the engagement?" he asked.

Aunt Ann's eyes rested on him proudly; of all the nephews since young
Jolyon's departure from the family nest, he was now her favourite, for
she recognised in him a sure trustee of the family soul that must so
soon slip beyond her keeping.

"Very nice for the young man," she said; "and he's a good-looking young
fellow; but I doubt if he's quite the right lover for dear June."

Soames touched the edge of a gold-lacquered lustre.

"She'll tame him," he said, stealthily wetting his finger and rubbing
it on the knobby bulbs. "That's genuine old lacquer; you can't get it
nowadays. It'd do well in a sale at Jobson's." He spoke with relish, as
though he felt that he was cheering up his old aunt. It was seldom he
was so confidential. "I wouldn't mind having it myself," he added; "you
can always get your price for old lacquer."

"You're so clever with all those things," said Aunt Ann. "And how is
dear Irene?"

Soames's smile died.