She greeted June with the careful effusion of which she was a mistress, a little afraid of her as far as a woman of her eminence in the commercial and Christian world could be afraid-- for so slight a girl June had a great dignity, the fearlessness of her eyes gave her that. And Mrs. Baynes, too, shrewdly recognized that behind the uncompromising frankness of June's manner there was much of the Forsyte. If the girl had been merely frank and courageous, Mrs. Baynes would have thought her 'cranky,' and despised her; if she had been merely a Forsyte, like Francie--let us say--she would have patronized her from sheer weight of metal; but June, small though she was--Mrs.
Baynes habitually admired quantity--gave her an uneasy feeling; and she placed her in a chair opposite the light.
There was another reason for her respect which Mrs. Baynes, too good a churchwoman to be worldly, would have been the last to admit--she often heard her husband describe old Jolyon as extremely well off, and was biassed towards his granddaughter for the soundest of all reasons. To-day she felt the emotion with which we read a novel describing a hero and an inheritance, nervously anxious lest, by some frightful lapse of the novelist, the young man should be left without it at the end.
Her manner was warm; she had never seen so clearly before how distinguished and desirable a girl this was. She asked after old Jolyon's health. A wonderful man for his age; so upright, and young looking, and how old was he? Eighty-one! She would never have thought it! They were at the sea! Very nice for them; she supposed June heard from Phil every day? Her light grey eyes became more prominent as she asked this question; but the girl met the glance without flinching.
"No," she said, "he never writes!"
Mrs. Baynes's eyes dropped; they had no intention of doing so, but they did. They recovered immediately.
"Of course not. That's Phil all over--he was always like that!"
"Was he?" said June.
The brevity of the answer caused Mrs. Baynes's bright smile a moment's hesitation; she disguised it by a quick movement, and spreading her skirts afresh, said: "Why, my dear--he's quite the most harum-scarum person; one never pays the slightest attention to what he does!"
The conviction came suddenly to June that she was wasting her time; even were she to put a question point-blank, she would never get anything out of this woman.
'Do you see him?' she asked, her face crimsoning.
The perspiration broke out on Mrs. Baynes' forehead beneath the powder.
"Oh, yes! I don't remember when he was here last--indeed, we haven't seen much of him lately. He's so busy with your cousin's house; I'm told it'll be finished directly. We must organize a little dinner to celebrate the event; do come and stay the night with us!"
"Thank you," said June. Again she thought: 'I'm only wasting my time. This woman will tell me nothing.'
