r one ancestor) in his desire to hand this house down to his son and
his son's son. His father had loved the house, had loved the view, the
grounds, that tree; his last years had been happy there, and no one had
lived there before him. These last eleven years at Robin Hill had formed
in Jolyon's life as a painter, the important period of success. He was
now in the very van of water-colour art, hanging on the line everywhere.
His drawings fetched high prices. Specialising in that one medium with
the tenacity of his breed, he had 'arrived'--rather late, but not too
late for a member of the family which made a point of living for
ever. His art had really deepened and improved. In conformity with his
position he had grown a short fair beard, which was just beginning to
grizzle, and hid his Forsyte chin; his brown face had lost the warped
expression of his ostracised period--he looked, if anything, younger.
The loss of his wife in 1894 had been one of those domestic tragedies
which turn out in the end for the good of all. He had, indeed, loved
her to the last, for his was an affectionate spirit, but she had become
increasingly difficult: jealous of her step-daughter June, jealous even
of her own little daughter Holly, and making ceaseless plaint that he
could not love her, ill as she was, and 'useless to everyone, and better
dead.' He had mourned her sincerely, but his face had looked younger
since she died. If she could only have believed that she made him happy,
how much happier would the twenty years of their companionship have
been!

June had never really got on well with her who had reprehensibly taken
her own mother's place; and ever since old Jolyon died she had been
established in a sort of studio in London. But she had come back to
Robin Hill on her stepmother's death, and gathered the reins there into
her small decided hands. Jolly was then at Harrow; Holly still learning
from Mademoiselle Beauce. There had been nothing to keep Jolyon at home,
and he had removed his grief and his paint-box abroad. There he had
wandered, for the most part in Brittany, and at last had fetched up
in Paris. He had stayed there several months, and come back with the
younger face and the short fair beard. Essentially a man who merely
lodged in any house, it had suited him perfectly that June should reign
at Robin Hill, so that he was free to go off with his easel where and
when he liked. She was inclined, it is true, to regard the house r