tarvation; but the ten
thousand would be fed; and, within their ring fence, stroll upon green
turf, wear their top hats, and meet--themselves. The heart was sound,
the pulse still regular. E-ton! E-ton! Har-r-o-o-o-w!

Among the many Forsytes, present on a hunting-ground theirs, by personal
prescriptive right, or proxy, was Soames with his wife and daughter. He
had not been at either school, he took no interest in cricket, but he
wanted Fleur to show her frock, and he wanted to wear his top hat parade
it again in peace and plenty among his peers. He walked sedately with
Fleur between him and Annette. No women equalled them, so far as he
could see. They could walk, and hold themselves up; there was substance
in their good looks; the modern woman had no build, no chest, no
anything! He remembered suddenly with what intoxication of pride he had
walked round with Irene in the first years of his first marriage. And
how they used to lunch on the drag which his mother would make his
father have, because it was so "chic"--all drags and carriages in those
days, not these lumbering great Stands! And how consistently Montague
Dartie had drunk too much. He supposed that people drank too much still,
but there was not the scope for it there used to be. He remembered
George Forsyte--whose brothers Roger and Eustace had been at Harrow and
Eton--towering up on the top of the drag waving a light-blue flag
with one hand and a dark-blue flag with the other, and shouting
"Etroow-Harrton!" Just when everybody was silent, like the buffoon he
had always been; and Eustace got up to the nines below, too dandified
to wear any colour or take any notice. H'm! Old days, and Irene in
grey silk shot with palest green. He looked, sideways, at Fleur's face.
Rather colourless-no light, no eagerness! That love affair was preying
on her--a bad business! He looked beyond, at his wife's face, rather
more touched up than usual, a little disdainful--not that she had any
business to disdain, so far as he could see. She was taking Profond's
defection with curious quietude; or was his "small" voyage just a blind?
If so, he should refuse to see it! Having promenaded round the pitch and
in front of the pavilion, they sought Winifred's table in the Bedouin
Club tent. This Club--a new "cock and hen"--had been founded in the
interests of travel, and of a gentleman with an old Scottish name, whose
father had somewhat strangely been called Levi. Winifred had joined,
not