those slangy, ill-bred young females. And yet she was frighteningly self-willed, and full of life, and determined to enjoy it. Enjoy! The word brought no puritan terror to Soames; but it brought the terror suited to his temperament. He had always been afraid to enjoy to-day for fear he might not enjoy to- morrow so much. And it was terrifying to feel that his daughter was divested of that safeguard. The very way she sat in that chair showed it--lost in her dream. He had never been lost in a dream himself--there was nothing to be had out of it; and where she got it from he did not know! Certainly not from Annette! And yet Annette, as a young girl, when he was hanging about her, had once had a flowery look. Well, she had lost it now!
Fleur rose from her chair--swiftly, restlessly, and flung herself down at a writing-table. Seizing ink and writing-paper, she began to write as if she had not time to breathe before she got her letter written. And suddenly she saw him. The air of desperate absorption vanished, she smiled, waved a kiss, made a pretty face as if she were a little puzzled and a little bored.
Ah! She was 'fine'--'fine!'
AT ROBIN HILL
JOLYON FORSYTE had spent his boy's nineteenth birthday at Robin Hill, quietly going into his affairs. He did everything quietly now, because his heart was in a poor way, and, like all his family, he disliked the idea of dying. He had never realized how much till one day, two years ago, he had gone to his doctor about certain symptoms, and been told:
'At any moment, on any overstrain.'
He had taken, it with a smile--the natural Forsyte reaction against an unpleasant truth. But with an increase of symptoms in the train on the way home, he had realized to the full the sentence hanging over him. To leave Irene, his boy, his home, his work--though he did little enough work now! To leave them for unknown darkness, for the unimaginable state, for such