like silver! Small wings, a stream bubbling,
the rambler roses! God--how empty all of it without her! In the Bible
it was written: Thou shalt leave father and mother and cleave to--Fleur!

Let him have pluck, and go and tell them! They couldn't stop him
marrying her--they wouldn't want to stop him when they knew how he felt.
Yes! He would go! Bold and open--Fleur was wrong!

The night-jar ceased, the sheep were silent; the only sound in the
darkness was the bubbling of the stream. And Jon in his bed slept, freed
from the worst of life's evils--indecision.

XI

TIMOTHY PROPHESIES

On the day of the cancelled meeting at the National Gallery began the
second anniversary of the resurrection of England's pride and glory--or,
more shortly, the top hat. "Lord's"--that festival which the War had
driven from the field--raised its light and dark blue flags for the
second time, displaying almost every feature of a glorious past. Here,
in the luncheon interval, were all species of female and one species of
male hat, protecting the multiple types of face associated with "the
classes." The observing Forsyte might discern in the free or
unconsidered seats a certain number of the squash-hatted, but they hardly
ventured on the grass; the old school--or schools--could still rejoice
that the proletariat was not yet paying the necessary half-crown. Here
was still a close borough, the only one left on a large scale--for the
papers were about to estimate the attendance at ten thousand. And the
ten thousand, all animated by one hope, were asking each other one
question: "Where are you lunching?" Something wonderfully uplifting and
reassuring in that query and the sight of so many people like themselves
voicing it! What reserve power in the British realm--enough pigeons,
lobsters, lamb, salmon mayonnaise, strawberries, and bottles of champagne
to feed the lot! No miracle in prospect--no case of seven loaves and a
few fishes--faith rested on surer foundations. Six thousand top hats,
four thousand parasols would be doffed and furled, ten thousand mouths
all speaking the same English would be filled. There was life in the old
dog yet! Tradition! And again Tradition! How strong and how elastic!
Wars might rage, taxation prey, Trades Unions take toll, and Europe
perish of starvation; but the ten thousand would be fed; and, within
their ring fence, stroll upon green turf, wear their top hats, and
meet--themselves. The he