far away was "Superior Dosset" now. Was there, in the
crease of his trousers, the expression of his moustache, his accent, or
the shine on his top hat, a pin to choose between Soames and the ninth
baronet himself? Was not Fleur as self-possessed, quick, glancing,
pretty, and hard as the likeliest Muskham, Mont, or Charwell filly
present? If anything, the Forsytes had it in dress and looks and
manners. They had become "upper class" and now their name would be
formally recorded in the Stud Book, their money joined to land. Whether
this was a little late in the day, and those rewards of the possessive
instinct, lands and money destined for the melting-pot--was still a
question so moot that it was not mooted. After all, Timothy had said
Consols were goin' up. Timothy, the last, the missing link; Timothy in
extremis on the Bayswater Road--so Francie had reported. It was
whispered, too, that this young Mont was a sort of socialist--strangely
wise of him, and in the nature of insurance, considering the days they
lived in. There was no uneasiness on that score. The landed classes
produced that sort of amiable foolishness at times, turned to safe uses
and confined to theory. As George remarked to his sister Francie:
"They'll soon be having puppies--that'll give him pause."

The church with white flowers and something blue in the middle of the
East window, looked extremely chaste, as though endeavouring to
counteract the somewhat lurid phraseology of a Service calculated to
keep the thoughts of all on puppies. Forsytes, Haymans, Tweetymans, sat
in the left aisle; Monts, Charwells, Muskhams in the right; while a
sprinkling of Fleur's fellow-sufferers at school, and of Mont's
fellow-sufferers in the war, gaped indiscriminately from either side,
and three maiden ladies, who had dropped in on their way from
Skyward's, brought up the rear, together with two Mont retainers and
Fleur's old nurse. In the unsettled state of the country as full a
house as could be expected.

Mrs. Val Dartie, who sat with her husband in the third row, squeezed
his hand more than once during the performance. To her, who knew the
plot of this tragi-comedy, its most dramatic moment was well-nigh
painful. 'I wonder if Jon knows by instinct,' she thought--Jon, out in
British Columbia. She had received a letter from him only that morning
which had made her smile and say:

"Jon's in British Columbia, Val, because he wants to be in California.
He thinks it's too