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end. J. G.

CONTENTS

PART I
I. ENCOUNTER II. FINE FLEUR FORSYTE III. AT ROBIN HILL
IV. THE MAUSOLEUM V. THE NATIVE HEATH VI. JON VII.
FLEUR VIII. IDYLL ON GRASS IX. GOYA X. TRIO XI. DUET XII.
CAPRICE

PART II
I. MOTHER AND SON II. FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS III.
MEETINGS IV. IN GREEN STREET V. PURELY FORSYTE
AFFAIRS VI. SOAMES' PRIVATE LIFE VII. JUNE TAKES A
HAND VIII. THE BIT BETWEEN THE TEETH IX. FAT IN THE
FIRE X. DECISION XI. TIMOTHY PROPHESIES

PART III
I. OLD JOLYON WALKS II. CONFESSION III. IRENE! IV.
SOAMES COGITATES V. THE FIXED IDEA VI. DESPERATE VII.
EMBASSY VIII. THE DARK TUNE IX. UNDER THE OAK-TREE

X. FLEUR'S WEDDING XI. THE LAST OF THE FORSYTES

PART I
I
ENCOUNTER
Soames Forsyte emerged from the Knightsbridge Hotel, where he was
staying, in the afternoon of the 12th of May, 1920, with the intention of
visiting a collection of pictures in a Gallery off Cork Street, and
looking into the Future. He walked. Since the War he never took a cab
if he could help it. Their drivers were, in his view, an uncivil lot,
though, now that the War was over and supply beginning to exceed
demand again, getting more civil in accordance with the custom of
human nature. Still, he had not forgiven them, deeply identifying them
with gloomy memories and, now dimly, like all members of their class,
with revolution. The considerable anxiety he had passed through during
the War, and the more considerable anxiety he had since undergone in
the Peace, had produced psychological consequences in a tenacious
nature. He had, mentally, so frequently experienced ruin, that he had
ceased to believe in its material probability. Paying away four thousand
a year in income and super-tax, one could not very well be worse off! A
fortune of a quarter of a million, encumbered only by a wife and one
daughter, and very diversely invested, afforded substantial guarantee
even against that "wildcat notion"--a levy on capital. And as to
confiscation of war profits, he was entirely in favor of it, for he had
none, and "serve the beggars right!" The price of pictures, moreover,
had, if anything, gone up, and he had done better with his collection
since the War began than ever before. Air-raids, also, had acted
beneficially on a spirit congenitally cautious, and hardened a character
already dogged. To be in danger of being entirely dispersed inclined
one to be less apprehensive of the more partial dispersions involved in
levies and taxation, while the habit of condemning the impudence of
the Germans had led naturally to condemning that of Labor, if not
openly at least in the sanctuary of his soul.

He walked. There was, moreover, time to spare, for Fleur was to meet
him at the Gallery at four o'clock, and it was as yet but half past two. It
was good for him to walk--his liver was a little constricted and his
nerves rather on edge. His wife was always out when she was in Town,
and his daughter WOULD flibberty- gibbet all over the place like most
young women since the War. Still, he must be thankful that she had
been too young to do anything in that War itself. Not, of course, that he
had not supported the War from its inception, with all his soul, but
between that and supporting it with the bodies of his wife and daughter,
there had been a gap fixed by something old-fashioned within him
which abhorred emotional extravagance. He had, for instance, strongly
objected to Annette, so attractive, and in 1914 only thirty-five, going to
her native France, her "chere patrie" as, under the stimulus of war, she
had begun to call it, to nurse her "braves poilus," forsooth! Ruining her
health and her looks! As if she were really a nurse! He had put a
stopper on it. Let her do needlework for them at home, or knit! She had
not gone, therefore, and had never been quite the same woman since. A
bad tendency of hers to mock at him, not openly, but in continual little
ways, had grown. As for Fleur, the War had resolved the vexed
problem whether or not she should go to school. She was better away
from her mother in her war mood, from the chance of air-raids, and the
impetus to do extravagant things; so he had placed her in a seminary as
far West as had seemed to him compatible with excellence, and had
missed her horribly. Fleur! He had never regretted the somewhat
outlandish name by which at her birth he had decided so suddenly to
call her--marked concession though it had been to the French. Fleur! A
pretty name--a pretty child! But restless--too restless; and