Swithin Forsyte, tall, square, and broad, with a chest like a pouter pigeon’s in its plumage of bright waistcoats, camestrutting towards them.

“Er — how are you?” he said in his dandified way, aspirating the ‘h’ strongly (this difficult letter was almostabsolutely safe in his keeping)—“how are you?”

Each brother wore an air of aggravation as he looked at the other two, knowing by experience that they would try toeclipse his ailments.

“We were just saying,” said James, “that you don’t get any thinner.”

Swithin protruded his pale round eyes with the effort of hearing.

“Thinner? I’m in good case,” he said, leaning a little forward, “not one of your thread-papers like you!”

But, afraid of losing the expansion of his chest, he leaned back again into a state of immobility, for he prized nothingso highly as a distinguished appearance.

Aunt Ann turned her old eyes from one to the other. Indulgent and severe was her look. In turn the three brothers lookedat Ann. She was getting shaky. Wonderful woman! Eighty-six if a day; might live another ten years, and had never beenstrong. Swithin and James, the twins, were only seventy-five, Nicholas a mere baby of seventy or so. All were strong, andthe inference was comforting. Of all forms of property their respective healths naturally concerned them most.

“I’m very well in myself,” proceeded James, “but my nerves are out of order. The least thing worries me to death. I shallhave to go to Bath.”

“Bath!” said Nicholas. “I’ve tried Harrogate. That’s no good. What I want is sea air. There’s nothing like Yarmouth. Now,when I go there I sleep....”

“My liver’s very bad,” interrupted Swithin slowly. “Dreadful pain here;” and he placed his hand on his right side.

“Want of exercise,” muttered James, his eyes on the china. He quickly added: “I get a pain there, too.”

Swithin reddened, a resemblance to a turkey-cock coming upon his old face.