At Hyde Park Corner he ran into George Forsyte, very sunburnt from

racing, holding a false nose in his hand.

"Hallo, Soames!" he said, "have a nose!"

Soames responded with a pale smile.

"Got this from one of these sportsmen," went on George, who had

evidently been dining; "had to lay him out--for trying to bash my hat.

I say, one of these days we shall have to fight these chaps, they're

getting so damned cheeky--all radicals and socialists. They want our

goods. You tell Uncle James that, it'll make him sleep."

'In vino veritas,' thought Soames, but he only nodded, and passed on up

Hamilton Place. There was but a trickle of roysterers in Park Lane, not

very noisy. And looking up at the houses he thought: 'After all, we're

the backbone of the country. They won't upset us easily. Possession's

nine points of the law.'

But, as he closed the door of his father's house behind him, all that

queer outlandish nightmare in the streets passed out of his mind almost

as completely as if, having dreamed it, he had awakened in the warm

clean morning comfort of his spring-mattressed bed.

Walking into the centre of the great empty drawing-room, he stood still.

A wife! Somebody to talk things over with. One had a right! Damn it! One

had a right!




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