Art represented by a set of
Bartolozzi prints which had belonged to old Jolyon, and by college
photographs--of young men, live young men, a little heroic, and to be
compared with her memories of Val. Jolyon also scrutinised with care
that evidence of his boy's character and tastes.

Jolly was anxious that they should see him rowing, so they set forth to
the river. Holly, between her brother and her father, felt elated when
heads were turned and eyes rested on her. That they might see him to the
best advantage they left him at the Barge and crossed the river to the
towing-path. Slight in build--for of all the Forsytes only old Swithin
and George were beefy--Jolly was rowing 'Two' in a trial eight. He
looked very earnest and strenuous. With pride Jolyon thought him the
best-looking boy of the lot; Holly, as became a sister, was more struck
by one or two of the others, but would not have said so for the world.
The river was bright that afternoon, the meadows lush, the trees still
beautiful with colour. Distinguished peace clung around the old city;
Jolyon promised himself a day's sketching if the weather held. The Eight
passed a second time, spurting home along the Barges--Jolly's face was
very set, so as not to show that he was blown. They returned across the
river and waited for him.

"Oh!" said Jolly in the Christ Church meadows, "I had to ask that chap
Val Dartie to dine with us to-night. He wanted to give you lunch and
show you B.N.C., so I thought I'd better; then you needn't go. I don't
like him much."

Holly's rather sallow face had become suffused with pink.

"Why not?"

"Oh! I don't know. He seems to me rather showy and bad form. What are
his people like, Dad? He's only a second cousin, isn't he?"

Jolyon took refuge in a smile.

"Ask Holly," he said; "she saw his uncle."

"I liked Val," Holly answered, staring at the ground before her; "his
uncle looked--awfully different." She stole a glance at Jolly from under
her lashes.

"Did you ever," said Jolyon with whimsical intention, "hear our family
history, my dears? It's quite a fairy tale. The first Jolyon
Forsyte--at all events the first we know anything of, and that would be
your great-great-grandfather--dwelt in the land of Dorset on the edge of
the sea, being by profession an 'agriculturalist,' as your great-aunt put
it, and the son of an agriculturist--farmers, in fact; your grandfather
used to call them, 'Very small beer.'" He lo