hink you ought to let him, dear!" they had said.

June had answered in her imperious brisk way, like the little embodiment
of will she was: "Oh! what does it matter? Phil never knows what he's
got on!"

No one had credited an answer so outrageous. A man not to know what he
had on? No, no! What indeed was this young man, who, in becoming
engaged to June, old Jolyon's acknowledged heiress, had done so well for
himself? He was an architect, not in itself a sufficient reason for
wearing such a hat. None of the Forsytes happened to be architects, but
one of them knew two architects who would never have worn such a hat upon
a call of ceremony in the London season.

Dangerous--ah, dangerous! June, of course, had not seen this, but,
though not yet nineteen, she was notorious. Had she not said to Mrs.
Soames--who was always so beautifully dressed--that feathers were vulgar?
Mrs. Soames had actually given up wearing feathers, so dreadfully
downright was dear June!

These misgivings, this disapproval, and perfectly genuine distrust, did
not prevent the Forsytes from gathering to old Jolyon's invitation. An
'At Home' at Stanhope Gate was a great rarity; none had been held for
twelve years, not indeed, since old Mrs. Jolyon had died.

Never had there been so full an assembly, for, mysteriously united in
spite of all their differences, they had taken arms against a common
peril. Like cattle when a dog comes into the field, they stood head to
head and shoulder to shoulder, prepared to run upon and trample the
invader to death. They had come, too, no doubt, to get some notion of
what sort of presents they would ultimately be expected to give; for
though the question of wedding gifts was usually graduated in this way:
'What are you givin'? Nicholas is givin' spoons!'--so very much depended
on the bridegroom. If he were sleek, well-brushed, prosperous-looking,
it was more necessary to give him nice things; he would expect them. In
the end each gave exactly what was right and proper, by a species of
family adjustment arrived at as prices are arrived at on the Stock
Exchange--the exact niceties being regulated at Timothy's commodious,
red-brick residence in Bayswater, overlooking the Park, where dwelt Aunts
Ann, Juley, and Hester.

The uneasiness of the Forsyte family has been justified by the simple
mention of the hat. How impossible and wrong would it have been for any
family, with the regard for appearances which s