the Ford discharging cargo, then the stillness
of the summer night stole back--with only the bleating of very distant
sheep, and a night-jar's harsh purring. He leaned far out. Cold
moon--warm air--the Downs like silver! Small wings, a stream bubbling,
the rambler roses! God-how empty all of it without her! In the Bible it
was written: Thou shalt leave father and mother and cleave to--Fleur!

Let him have pluck, and go and tell them! They couldn't stop him
marrying her--they wouldn't want to stop him when they knew how he
felt. Yes! He would go! Bold and open--Fleur was wrong!

The night-jar ceased, the sheep were silent; the only sound in the
darkness was the bubbling of the stream. And Jon in his bed slept,
freed from the worst of life's evils--indecision.

XI

TIMOTHY PROPHESIES

On the day of the cancelled meeting at the National Gallery, began the
second anniversary of the resurrection of England's pride and
glory--or, more shortly, the top hat. "Lord's"--that festival which the
war had driven from the field--raised its light and dark blue flags for
the second time, displaying almost every feature of a glorious past.
Here, in the luncheon interval, were all species of female and one
species of male hat, protecting the multiple types of face associated
with "the classes" The observing Forsyte might discern in the free or
unconsidered seats a certain number of the squash-hatted, but they
hardly ventured on the grass; the old school--or schools--could still
rejoice that the proletariat was not yet paying the necessary
half-crown. Here was still a close borough, the only one left on a
large scale--for the papers were about to estimate the attendance at
ten thousand. And the ten thousand, all animated by one hope, were
asking each other one question: "Where are you lunching?" Something
wonderfully uplifting and reassuring in that query and the sight of so
many people like themselves voicing it! What reserve power in the
British realm--enough pigeons, lobsters, lamb, salmon mayonnaise,
strawberries, and bottles of champagne, to feed the lot! No miracle in
prospect--no case of seven loaves and a few fishes--faith rested on
surer foundations. Six thousand top hats, four thousand parasols would
be doffed and furled, ten thousand mouths all speaking the same English
would be filled. There was life in the old dog yet! Tradition! And
again Tradition! How strong and how elastic! Wars might rage, taxation
prey, Tra