The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

Young Jolyon saw that he had been recognised, even by Winifred, who

could not have been more than fifteen when he had forfeited the right to

be considered a Forsyte.

There was not much change in them! He remembered the exact look of their

turn-out all that time ago: Horses, men, carriage--all different now, no

doubt--but of the precise stamp of fifteen years before; the same neat

display, the same nicely calculated arrogance ease with security! The

swing exact, the pose of the sunshades exact, exact the spirit of the

whole thing.

And in the sunlight, defended by the haughty shields of parasols,

carriage after carriage went by.

"Uncle James has just passed, with his female folk," said young Jolyon.

His father looked black. "Did your uncle see us? Yes? Hmph! What's he

want, coming down into these parts?"

An empty cab drove up at this moment, and old Jolyon stopped it.

"I shall see you again before long, my boy!" he said. "Don't you go

paying any attention to what I've been saying about young Bosinney--I

don't believe a word of it!"

Kissing the children, who tried to detain him, he stepped in and was

borne away.

Young Jolyon, who had taken Holly up in his arms, stood motionless at

the corner, looking after the cab.