a hundred of these moods; how
he had survived them he never knew, for he could never believe they were
moods, and that the last hour of his partnership had not struck.

In the night she would be sure to throw her arms round his neck and say:
"Oh! Jo, how I make you suffer!" as she had done a hundred times before.

He reached out his hand, and, unseen, slipped his razor-case into his
pocket. 'I cannot stay here,' he thought, 'I must go down!' Without a
word he left the room, and went back to the lawn.

Old Jolyon had little Holly on his knee; she had taken possession of his
watch; Jolly, very red in the face, was trying to show that he could
stand on his head. The dog Balthasar, as close as he might be to the
tea-table, had fixed his eyes on the cake.

Young Jolyon felt a malicious desire to cut their enjoyment short.

What business had his father to come and upset his wife like this? It
was a shock, after all these years! He ought to have known; he ought to
have given them warning; but when did a Forsyte ever imagine that his
conduct could upset anybody! And in his thoughts he did old Jolyon
wrong.

He spoke sharply to the children, and told them to go in to their tea.
Greatly surprised, for they had never heard their father speak sharply
before, they went off, hand in hand, little Holly looking back over her
shoulder.

Young Jolyon poured out the tea.

"My wife's not the thing today," he said, but he knew well enough that
his father had penetrated the cause of that sudden withdrawal, and almost
hated the old man for sitting there so calmly.

"You've got a nice little house here," said old Jolyon with a shrewd
look; "I suppose you've taken a lease of it!"

Young Jolyon nodded.

"I don't like the neighbourhood," said old Jolyon; "a ramshackle lot."

Young Jolyon replied: "Yes, we're a ramshackle lot."'

The silence was now only broken by the sound of the dog Balthasar's
scratching.

Old Jolyon said simply: "I suppose I oughtn't to have come here, Jo; but
I get so lonely!"

At these words young Jolyon got up and put his hand on his father's
shoulder.

In the next house someone was playing over and over again: 'La Donna
mobile' on an untuned piano; and the little garden had fallen into shade,
the sun now only reached the wall at the end, whereon basked a crouching
cat, her yellow eyes turned sleepily down on the dog Balthasar. There
was a drowsy hum of very distant traffic; the creepered trellis r