ary acumen
was almost the controlling force. The Club had made a stand against the
newly rich, and it had taken all George Forsyte's prestige, and praise
of him as a "good sportsman," to bring in Prosper Profond.

The two were lunching together when the half-brothers-in-law entered
the dining-room, and attracted by George's forefinger, sat down at
their table, Val with his shrewd eyes and charming smile, Jon with
solemn lips and an attractive shyness in his glance. There was an air
of privilege around that corner table, as though past masters were
eating there. Jon was fascinated by the hypnotic atmosphere. The
waiter, lean in the chaps, pervaded with such freemasonical deference.
He seemed to hang on George Forsyte's lips, to watch the gloat in his
eye with a kind of sympathy, to follow the movements of the heavy
club-marked silver fondly. His liveried arm and confidential voice
alarmed Jon, they came so secretly over one's shoulder.

Except for George's: "Your grandfather tipped me once; he was a deuced
good judge of a cigar!" neither he nor the other past master took any
notice of him, and he was grateful for this. The talk was all about 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 sup