that he couldn't say to her
quite simply what she had said to him:

"You were very sweet to me." Odd--one never could be nice and natural
like that! He substituted the words: "I expect we shall be sick."

They were, and reached London somewhat attenuated, having been away six
weeks and two days, without a single allusion to the subject which had
hardly ever ceased to occupy their minds.

II.--FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS

Deprived of his wife and son by the Spanish adventure, Jolyon found the
solitude at Robin Hill intolerable. A philosopher when he has all that
he wants is different from a philosopher when he has not. Accustomed,
however, to the idea, if not to the reality of resignation, he would
perhaps have faced it out but for his daughter June. He was a "lame
duck" now, and on her conscience. Having achieved--momentarily--the
rescue of an etcher in low circumstances, which she happened to have
in hand, she appeared at Robin Hill a fortnight after Irene and Jon had
gone. June was living now in a tiny house with a big studio at Chiswick.
A Forsyte of the best period, so far as the lack of responsibility was
concerned, she had overcome the difficulty of a reduced income in a
manner satisfactory to herself and her father. The rent of the Gallery
off Cork Street which he had bought for her and her increased income tax
happening to balance, it had been quite simpl--she no longer paid him
the rent. The Gallery might be expected now at any time, after eighteen
years of barren usufruct, to pay its way, so that she was sure her
father would not feel it. Through this device she still had twelve
hundred a year, and by reducing what she ate, and, in place of two
Belgians in a poor way, employing one Austrian in a poorer, practically
the same surplus for the relief of genius. After three days at Robin
Hill she carried her father back with her to Town. In those three
days she had stumbled on the secret he had kept for two years, and had
instantly decided to cure him. She knew, in fact, the very man. He
had done wonders with. Paul Post--that painter a little in advance of
Futurism; and she was impatient with her father because his eyebrows
would go up, and because he had heard of neither. Of course, if he
hadn't "faith" he would never get well! It was absurd not to have faith
in the man who had healed Paul Post so that he had only just relapsed,
from having overworked, or overlived, himself again. The great thing
about this h