the
breeding, points, and prices of horses, and he listened to it vaguely at
first, wondering how it was possible to retain so much knowledge in a
head. He could not take his eyes off the dark past master--what he said
was so deliberate and discouraging--such heavy, queer, smiled-out words.
Jon was thinking of butterflies, when he heard him say:

"I want to see Mr. Soames Forsyde take an interest in 'orses."

"Old Soames! He's too dry a file!"

With all his might Jon tried not to grow red, while the dark past master
went on.

"His daughter's an attractive small girl. Mr. Soames Forsyde is a bit
old-fashioned. I want to see him have a pleasure some day." George
Forsyte grinned.

"Don't you worry; he's not so miserable as he looks. He'll never show
he's enjoying anything--they might try and take it from him. Old Soames!
Once bit, twice shy!"

"Well, Jon," said Val, hastily, "if you've finished, we'll go and have
coffee."

"Who were those?" Jon asked, on the stairs. "I didn't quite---"

"Old George Forsyte is a first cousin of your father's and of my Uncle
Soames. He's always been here. The other chap, Profond, is a queer
fish. I think he's hanging round Soames' wife, if you ask me!"

Jon looked at him, startled. "But that's awful," he said: "I mean--for
Fleur."

"Don't suppose Fleur cares very much; she's very up-to-date."

"Her mother!"

"You're very green, Jon."

Jon grew red. "Mothers," he stammered angrily, "are different."

"You're right," said Val suddenly; "but things aren't what they were when
I was your age. There's a 'To-morrow we die' feeling. That's what old
George meant about my Uncle Soames. He doesn't mean to die to-morrow."

Jon said, quickly: "What's the matter between him and my father?"

"Stable secret, Jon. Take my advice, and bottle up. You'll do no good
by knowing. Have a liqueur?"

Jon shook his head.

"I hate the way people keep things from one," he muttered, "and then
sneer at one for being green."

"Well, you can ask Holly. If she won't tell you, you'll believe it's for
your own good, I suppose."

Jon got up. "I must go now; thanks awfully for the lunch."

Val smiled up at him half-sorry, and yet amused. The boy looked so
upset.

"All right! See you on Friday."

"I don't know," murmured Jon.

And he did not. This conspiracy of silence made him desperate. It was
humiliating to be treated like a child! He retraced his moody steps to
Stratton