Soames’ sister, Winifred Dartie, who had imbibed with the breezes of Mayfair⁠—she lived in Green Street⁠—more fashionable principles in regard to matrimonial behaviour than were current, for instance, in Ladbroke Grove, laughed at the idea of there being anything in it. The “little thing”⁠—Irene was taller than herself, and it was real testimony to the solid worth of a Forsyte that she should always thus be a “little thing”⁠—the little thing was bored. Why shouldn’t she amuse herself? Soames was rather tiring; and as to Mr. Bosinney⁠—only that buffoon George would have called him the Buccaneer⁠—she maintained that he was very chic.

This dictum⁠—that Bosinney was chic⁠—caused quite a sensation. It failed to convince. That he was “good-looking in a way” they were prepared to admit, but that anyone could call a man with his pronounced cheekbones, curious eyes, and soft felt hats “chic” was only another instance of Winifred’s extravagant way of running after something new.