is was not the
place. It should be done farther away. He took, indeed, an attitude
common to all true Forsytes, that disability of any sort in other
people was not his affair, and the State should do its business without
prejudicing in any way the natural advantages which he had acquired or
inherited. Francie, the most free-spirited Forsyte of his generation
(except perhaps that fellow Jolyon) had once asked him in her malicious
way: "Did you ever see the name Forsyte in a subscription list,
Soames?" That was as it might be, but a Sanatorium would depreciate the
neighbourhood, and he should certainly sign the petition which was
being got up against it. Returning with this decision fresh within him,
he saw Fleur coming.

She was showing him more affection of late, and the quiet time down
here with her in this summer weather had been making him feel quite
young; Annette was always running up to Town for one thing or another,
so that he had Fleur to himself almost as much as he could wish. To be
sure, young Mont had formed a habit of appearing on his motor-cycle
almost every other day. Thank goodness, the young fellow had shaved off
his half-toothbrushes, and no longer looked like a mountebank! With a
girl friend of Fleur's who was staying in the house, and a neighbouring
youth or so, they made two couples after dinner, in the hall, to the
music of the electric pianola which performed Fox-trots unassisted,
with a surprised shine on its expressive surface. Annette, even, now
and then passed gracefully up and down in the arms of one or other of
the young men. And Soames, coming to the drawing-room door, would lift
his nose a little sideways, and watch them, waiting to catch a smile
from Fleur; then move back to his chair by the drawing-room hearth, to
peruse The Times or some other collector's price-list. To his
ever-anxious eyes Fleur showed no sign of remembering that caprice of
hers.

When she reached him on the dusty road, he slipped his hand within her
arm.

"Who, do you think, has been to see you, Dad? She couldn't wait! Guess!"

"I never guess," said Soames uneasily. "Who?"

"Your cousin, June Forsyte."

Quite unconsciously Soames gripped her arm. "What did SHE want?"

"I don't know. But it was rather breaking through the feud, wasn't it?"

"Feud? What feud?"

"The one that exists in your imagination, dear."

Soames dropped her arm. Was she mocking, or trying to draw him on?

"I suppose she wanted me to