ride. She had wanted him at home,
but it was very nice to know that his tutor was so fond of him. He went
out with a wink at Imogen, saying: "I say, Mother, could I have two
plover's eggs when I come in?--cook's got some. They top up so jolly
well. Oh! and look here--have you any money?--I had to borrow a fiver
from old Snobby."

Winifred, looking at him with fond shrewdness, answered:

"My dear, you are naughty about money. But you shouldn't pay him
to-night, anyway; you're his guest. How nice and slim he looked in his
white waistcoat, and his dark thick lashes!"

"Oh, but we may go to the theatre, you see, Mother; and I think I ought
to stand the tickets; he's always hard up, you know."

Winifred produced a five-pound note, saying:

"Well, perhaps you'd better pay him, but you mustn't stand the tickets
too."

Val pocketed the fiver.

"If I do, I can't," he said. "Good-night, Mum!"

He went out with his head up and his hat cocked joyously, sniffing the
air of Piccadilly like a young hound loosed into covert. Jolly good biz!
After that mouldy old slow hole down there!

He found his 'tutor,' not indeed at the Oxford and Cambridge, but at the
Goat's Club. This 'tutor' was a year older than himself, a good-looking
youth, with fine brown eyes, and smooth dark hair, a small mouth, an oval
face, languid, immaculate, cool to a degree, one of those young men who
without effort establish moral ascendancy over their companions. He had
missed being expelled from school a year before Val, had spent that year
at Oxford, and Val could almost see a halo round his head. His name was
Crum, and no one could get through money quicker. It seemed to be his
only aim in life--dazzling to young Val, in whom, however, the Forsyte
would stand apart, now and then, wondering where the value for that money
was.

They dined quietly, in style and taste; left the Club smoking cigars,
with just two bottles inside them, and dropped into stalls at the
Liberty. For Val the sound of comic songs, the sight of lovely legs were
fogged and interrupted by haunting fears that he would never equal Crum's
quiet dandyism. His idealism was roused; and when that is so, one is
never quite at ease. Surely he had too wide a mouth, not the best cut of
waistcoat, no braid on his trousers, and his lavender gloves had no thin
black stitchings down the back. Besides, he laughed too much--Crum never
laughed, he only smiled, with his regular dark br