The Haymans again — Mrs. Hayman was the one married Forsyte sister — in a house high up on Campden Hill, shaped like agiraffe, and so tall that it gave the observer a crick in the neck; the Nicholases in Ladbroke Grove, a spacious abode and agreat bargain; and last, but not least, Timothy’s on the Bayswater Road, where Ann, and Juley, and Hester, lived under hisprotection.

But all this time James was musing, and now he inquired of his host and brother what he had given for that house inMontpellier Square. He himself had had his eye on a house there for the last two years, but they wanted such a price.

Old Jolyon recounted the details of his purchase.

“Twenty-two years to run?” repeated James; “The very house I was after — you’ve given too much for it!”

Old Jolyon frowned.

“It’s not that I want it,” said James hastily; it wouldn’t suit my purpose at that price. Soames knows the house, well —he’ll tell you it’s too dear — his opinion’s worth having.”

“I don’t,” said old Jolyon, “care a fig for his opinion.”

“Well,” murmured James, “you will have your own way — it’s a good opinion. Good-bye! We’re going to drive down toHurlingham. They tell me June’s going to Wales. You’ll be lonely tomorrow. What’ll you do with yourself? You’d better comeand dine with us!”

Old Jolyon refused. He went down to the front door and saw them into their barouche, and twinkled at them, having alreadyforgotten his spleen — Mrs. James facing the horses, tall and majestic with auburn hair; on her left, Irene — the twohusbands, father and son, sitting forward, as though they expected something, opposite their wives. Bobbing and boundingupon the spring cushions, silent, swaying to each motion of their chariot, old Jolyon watched them drive away under thesunlight.