rcase, saw June go, and drew a
breath of satisfaction. But why didn't Fleur come? They would miss
their train. That train would bear her away from him, yet he could not
help fidgeting at the thought that they would lose it. And then she did
come, running down in her tan-coloured frock and black velvet cap, and
passed him into the drawing-room. He saw her kiss her mother, her aunt,
Val's wife, Imogen, and then come forth, quick and pretty as ever. How
would she treat him at this last moment of her girlhood? He couldn't
hope for much!

Her lips pressed the middle of his cheek.

"Daddy!" she said, and was past and gone. Daddy! She hadn't called him
that for years. He drew a long breath and followed slowly down. There
was all the folly with that confetti stuff and the rest of it to go
through with, yet. But he would like just to catch her smile, if she
leaned out, though they would hit her in the eye with the shoe, if they
didn't take care. Young Mont's voice said fervently in his ear:

"Good-bye, sir; and thank you! I'm so fearfully bucked."

"Good-bye," he said; "don't miss your train."

He stood on the bottom step but three, whence he could see above the
heads--the silly hats and heads. They were in the car now; and there
was that stuff, showering, and there went the shoe. A flood of
something welled up in Soames, and--he didn't know--he couldn't see!

XI

THE LAST OF THE FORSYTES

When they came to prepare that terrific symbol Timothy Forsyte--the one
pure individualist left, the only man who hadn't heard of the Great
War--they found him wonderful--not even death had undermined his
soundness.

To Smither and Cook that preparation came like final evidence of what
they had never believed possible--the end of the old Forsyte family on
earth. Poor Mr. Timothy must now take a harp and sing in the company of
Miss Forsyte, Mrs. Julia, Miss Hester; with Mr. Jolyon, Mr. Swithin,
Mr. James, Mr. Roger, and Mr. Nicholas of the party. Whether Mrs.
Hayman would be there was more doubtful, seeing that she had been
cremated. Secretly Cook thought that Mr. Timothy would be upset--he had
always been so set against barrel organs. How many times had she not
said: "Drat the thing! There it is again! Smither, you'd better run up
and see what you can do." And in her heart she would so have enjoyed
the tunes, if she hadn't known that Mr. Timothy would ring the bell in
a minute and say: "Here, take him a halfpenny and tell hi