good breakfast. I'm not eighty. You're the same age, James. You look
very shaky."

James Forsyte said: "You ought to have another opinion. Have Blank; he's
the first man now. I had him for Emily; cost me two hundred guineas.
He sent her to Homburg; that's the first place now. The Prince was
there--everybody goes there."

Swithin Forsyte answered: "I don't get any sleep at night, now I can't
get out; and I've bought a new carriage--gave a pot of money for it. D'
you ever have bronchitis? They tell me champagne's dangerous; it's my
belief I couldn't take a better thing."

James Forsyte rose.

"You ought to have another opinion. Emily sent her love; she would have
come in, but she had to go to Niagara. Everybody goes there; it's the
place now. Rachel goes every morning: she overdoes it--she'll be laid up
one of these days. There's a fancy ball there to-night; the Duke gives
the prizes."

Swithin Forsyte said angrily: "I can't get things properly cooked here;
at the club I get spinach decently done." The bed-clothes jerked at the
tremor of his legs.

James Forsyte replied: "You must have done well with Tintos; you must
have made a lot of money by them. Your ground-rents must be falling
in, too. You must have any amount you don't know what to do with." He
mouthed the words, as if his lips were watering.

Swithin Forsyte glared. "Money!" he said; "my doctor's bill's enormous."

James Forsyte stretched out a cold, damp hand "Goodbye! You ought to
have another opinion. I can't keep the horses waiting: they're a new
pair--stood me in three hundred. You ought to take care of yourself. I
shall speak to Blank about you. You ought to have him--everybody says
he's the first man. Good-bye!"

Swithin Forsyte continued to stare at the ceiling. He thought: 'A
poor thing, James! a selfish beggar! Must be worth a couple of hundred
thousand!' He wheezed, meditating on life....

He was ill and lonely. For many years he had been lonely, and for two
years ill; but as he had smoked his first cigar, so he would live his
life-stoutly, to its predestined end. Every day he was driven to the
club; sitting forward on the spring cushions of a single brougham, his
hands on his knees, swaying a little, strangely solemn. He ascended
the steps into that marble hall--the folds of his chin wedged into the
aperture of his collar--walking squarely with a stick. Later he would
dine, eating majestically, and savouring his food, behind a bottle of