art was sound, the pulse still regular. E-ton!
E-ton! Har-r-o-o-o-w!

Among the many Forsytes, present on a hunting-ground theirs, by personal
prescriptive right, or proxy, was Soames with his wife and daughter. He
had not been at either school, he took no interest in cricket, but he
wanted Fleur to show her frock, and he wanted to wear his top hat parade
it again in peace and plenty among his peers. He walked sedately with
Fleur between him and Annette. No women equalled them, so far as he
could see. They could walk, and hold themselves up; there was substance
in their good looks; the modern woman had no build, no chest, no
anything! He remembered suddenly with what intoxication of pride he had
walked round with Irene in the first years of his first marriage. And
how they used to lunch on the drag which his mother would make his father
have, because it was so "chic"--all drags and carriages in those days,
not these lumbering great Stands! And how consistently Montague Dartie
had drunk too much. He supposed that people drank too much still, but
there was not the scope for it there used to be. He remembered George
Forsyte--whose brothers Roger and Eustace had been at Harrow and Eton
--towering up on the top of the drag waving a light-blue flag with one
hand and a dark-blue flag with the other, and shouting "Etroow-Harrton!"
Just when everybody was silent, like the buffoon he had always been; and
Eustace got up to the nines below, too dandified to wear any colour or
take any notice. H'm! Old days, and Irene in grey silk shot with palest
green. He looked, sideways, at Fleur's face. Rather colourless-no
light, no eagerness! That love affair was preying on her--a bad
business! He looked beyond, at his wife's face, rather more touched up
than usual, a little disdainful--not that she had any business to
disdain, so far as he could see. She was taking Profond's defection with
curious quietude; or was his "small" voyage just a blind? If so, he
should refuse to see it! Having promenaded round the pitch and in front
of the pavilion, they sought Winifred's table in the Bedouin Club tent.
This Club--a new "cock and hen"--had been founded in the interests of
travel, and of a gentleman with an old Scottish name, whose father had
somewhat strangely been called Levi. Winifred had joined, not because
she had travelled, but because instinct told her that a Club with such a
name and such a founder was bound to go far; if