d rather lordly self.

And then one day he saw that which moved him to uneasy wrath--two riders,
in a glade of the Park close to the Ham Gate, of whom she on the
left-hand was most assuredly Holly on her silver roan, and he on the
right-hand as assuredly that 'squirt' Val Dartie. His first impulse was
to urge on his own horse and demand the meaning of this portent, tell the
fellow to 'bunk,' and take Holly home. His second--to feel that he would
look a fool if they refused. He reined his horse in behind a tree, then
perceived that it was equally impossible to spy on them. Nothing for it
but to go home and await her coming! Sneaking out with that young
bounder! He could not consult with June, because she had gone up that
morning in the train of Eric Cobbley and his lot. And his father was
still in 'that rotten Paris.' He felt that this was emphatically one of
those moments for which he had trained himself, assiduously, at school,
where he and a boy called Brent had frequently set fire to newspapers and
placed them in the centre of their studies to accustom them to coolness
in moments of danger. He did not feel at all cool waiting in the
stable-yard, idly stroking the dog Balthasar, who queasy as an old fat
monk, and sad in the absence of his master, turned up his face, panting
with gratitude for this attention. It was half an hour before Holly
came, flushed and ever so much prettier than she had any right to look.
He saw her look at him quickly--guiltily of course--then followed her in,
and, taking her arm, conducted her into what had been their grandfather's
study. The room, not much used now, was still vaguely haunted for them
both by a presence with which they associated tenderness, large drooping
white moustaches, the scent of cigar smoke, and laughter. Here Jolly, in
the prime of his youth, before he went to school at all, had been wont to
wrestle with his grandfather, who even at eighty had an irresistible
habit of crooking his leg. Here Holly, perched on the arm of the great
leather chair, had stroked hair curving silvery over an ear into which
she would whisper secrets. Through that window they had all three
sallied times without number to cricket on the lawn, and a mysterious
game called 'Wopsy-doozle,' not to be understood by outsiders, which made
old Jolyon very hot. Here once on a warm night Holly had appeared in her
'nighty,' having had a bad dream, to have the clutch of it released. And
here J