"This is a ripping place," said Val from under the oak tree, where they
had paused to allow the dog Balthasar to come up.
"Yes," said Holly, and sighed. "Of course I want to go everywhere. I
wish I were a gipsy."
"Yes, gipsies are jolly," replied Val, with a conviction which had just
come to him; "you're rather like one, you know."
Holly's face shone suddenly and deeply, like dark leaves gilded by the
sun.
"To go mad-rabbiting everywhere and see everything, and live in the
open--oh! wouldn't it be fun?"
"Let's do it!" said Val.
"Oh yes, let's!"
"It'd be grand sport, just you and I."
Then Holly perceived the quaintness and gushed.
"Well, we've got to do it," said Val obstinately, but reddening too.
"I believe in doing things you want to do. What's down there?"
"The kitchen-garden, and the pond and the coppice, and the farm."
"Let's go down!"
Holly glanced back at the house.
"It's tea-time, I expect; there's Dad beckoning."
Val, uttering a growly sound, followed her towards the house.
When they re-entered the hall gallery the sight of two middle-aged
Forsytes drinking tea together had its magical effect, and they became
quite silent. It was, indeed, an impressive spectacle. The two were
seated side by side on an arrangement in marqueterie which looked like
three silvery pink chairs made one, with a low tea-table in front of
them. They seemed to have taken up that position, as far apart as the
seat would permit, so that they need not look at each other too much;
and they were eating and drinking rather than talking--Soames with
his air of despising the tea-cake as it disappeared, Jolyon of finding
himself slightly amusing. To the casual eye neither would have seemed
greedy, but both were getting through a good deal of sustenance. The two
young ones having been supplied with food, the process went on silent
and absorbative, till, with the advent of cigarettes, Jolyon said to
Soames:
"And how's Uncle James?"
"Thanks, very shaky."
"We're a wonderful family, aren't we? The other day I was calculating
the average age of the ten old Forsytes from my father's family Bible.
I make it eighty-four already, and five still living. They ought to beat
the record;" and looking whimsically at Soames, he added:
"We aren't the men they were, you know."
Soames smiled. 'Do you really think I shall admit that I'm not their
equal'; he seemed to be saying, 'or that I've got to give up anything,
especially life?'
"We may live to their age, perhaps," pursued Jolyon, "but
self-consciousness is a handicap, you know, and that's the difference
between us. We've lost conviction. How and when self-consciousness was
born I never can make out. My father had a little, but I don't believe
any other of the old Forsytes ever had a scrap. Never to see yourself as
others see you, it's a wonderful preservative. The whole history of the
last century is in the difference between us. And between us and you,"
he added, gazing through a ring of smoke at Val and Holly, uncomfortable
under his quizzical regard, "there'll be--another difference. I wonder
what."