thirty-eight, whose first and only child he was, little Jon had done well and wisely. What had saved him from becoming across between a lap dog and a little prig, had been his father’s adoration of his mother, for even little Jon could see thatshe was not merely just his mother, and that he played second fiddle to her in his father’s heart: What he played in hismother’s heart he knew not yet. As for “Auntie” June, his half-sister (but so old that she had grown out of therelationship) she loved him, of course, but was too sudden. His devoted “Da,” too, had a Spartan touch. His bath was coldand his knees were bare; he was not encouraged to be sorry for himself. As to the vexed question of his education, littleJon shared the theory of those who considered that children should not be forced. He rather liked the Mademoiselle who camefor two hours every morning to teach him her language, together with history, geography and sums; nor were the piano lessonswhich his mother gave him disagreeable, for she had a way of luring him from tune to tune, never making him practise onewhich did not give him pleasure, so that he remained eager to convert ten thumbs into eight fingers. Under his father helearned to draw pleasure-pigs and other animals. He was not a highly educated little boy. Yet, on the whole, the silverspoon stayed in his mouth without spoiling it, though “Da” sometimes said that other children would do him a “world ofgood.”

It was a disillusionment, then, when at the age of nearly seven she held him down on his back, because he wanted to dosomething of which she did not approve. This first interference with the free individualism of a Forsyte drove him almostfrantic. There was something appalling in the utter helplessness of that position, and the uncertainty as to whether itwould ever come to an end. Suppose she never let him get up any more! He suffered torture at the top of his voice for fiftyseconds. Worse than anything was his perception that “Da” had taken all that time to realise the agony of fear he wasenduring. Thus, dreadfully, was revealed to him the lack of imagination in the human being.