dn't like him."

Holly looked at the distance and said:

"I love him."

"That settles it," said Jolyon dryly, then catching the expression on her
face, he kissed her, with the thought: 'Is anything more pathetic than
the faith of the young?' Unless he actually forbade her going it was
obvious that he must make the best of it, so he went up to town with
June. Whether due to her persistence, or the fact that the official they
saw was an old school friend of Jolyon's, they obtained permission for
Holly to share the single cabin. He took them to Surbiton station the
following evening, and they duly slid away from him, provided with money,
invalid foods, and those letters of credit without which Forsytes do not
travel.

He drove back to Robin Hill under a brilliant sky to his late dinner,
served with an added care by servants trying to show him that they
sympathised, eaten with an added scrupulousness to show them that he
appreciated their sympathy. But it was a real relief to get to his cigar
on the terrace of flag-stones--cunningly chosen by young Bosinney for
shape and colour--with night closing in around him, so beautiful a night,
hardly whispering in the trees, and smelling so sweet that it made him
ache. The grass was drenched with dew, and he kept to those flagstones,
up and down, till presently it began to seem to him that he was one of
three, not wheeling, but turning right about at each end, so that his
father was always nearest to the house, and his son always nearest to the
terrace edge. Each had an arm lightly within his arm; he dared not lift
his hand to his cigar lest he should disturb them, and it burned away,
dripping ash on him, till it dropped from his lips, at last, which were
getting hot. They left him then, and his arms felt chilly. Three
Jolyons in one Jolyon they had walked.

He stood still, counting the sounds--a carriage passing on the highroad,
a distant train, the dog at Gage's farm, the whispering trees, the groom
playing on his penny whistle. A multitude of stars up there--bright and
silent, so far off! No moon as yet! Just enough light to show him the
dark flags and swords of the iris flowers along the terrace edge--his
favourite flower that had the night's own colour on its curving crumpled
petals. He turned round to the house. Big, unlighted, not a soul beside
himself to live in all that part of it. Stark loneliness! He could not
go on living here alone. And yet, so long as