ouch of the best gloss or
varnish characterized this vehicle, and seemed to distinguish it from all
the others, as though by some happy extravagance--like that which marks
out the real 'work of art' from the ordinary 'picture'--it were
designated as the typical car, the very throne of Forsytedom.

Old Jolyon did not see them pass; he was petting poor Holly who was
tired, but those in the carriage had taken in the little group; the
ladies' heads tilted suddenly, there was a spasmodic screening movement
of parasols; James' face protruded naively, like the head of a long bird,
his mouth slowly opening. The shield-like rounds of the parasols grew
smaller and smaller, and vanished.

Young Jolyon saw that he had been recognised, even by Winifred, who could
not have been more than fifteen when he had forfeited the right to be
considered a Forsyte.

There was not much change in them! He remembered the exact look of their
turn-out all that time ago: Horses, men, carriage--all different now, no
doubt--but of the precise stamp of fifteen years before; the same neat
display, the same nicely calculated arrogance ease with security! The
swing exact, the pose of the sunshades exact, exact the spirit of the
whole thing.

And in the sunlight, defended by the haughty shields of parasols,
carriage after carriage went by.

"Uncle James has just passed, with his female folk," said young Jolyon.

His father looked black. "Did your uncle see us? Yes? Hmph! What's he
want, coming down into these parts?"

An empty cab drove up at this moment, and old Jolyon stopped it.

"I shall see you again before long, my boy!" he said. "Don't you go
paying any attention to what I've been saying about young Bosinney--I
don't believe a word of it!"

Kissing the children, who tried to detain him, he stepped in and was
borne away.

Young Jolyon, who had taken Holly up in his arms, stood motionless at the
corner, looking after the cab.

CHAPTER VII

AFTERNOON AT TIMOTHY'S

If old Jolyon, as he got into his cab, had said: 'I won't believe a word
of it!' he would more truthfully have expressed his sentiments.

The notion that James and his womankind had seen him in the company of
his son had awakened in him not only the impatience he always felt when
crossed, but that secret hostility natural between brothers, the roots of
which--little nursery rivalries--sometimes toughen and deepen as life
goes on, and, all hidden, support a plant