there　were　one；　could　not　afford　to　hear　of　it　at　his　time　of　life；　now　that　this　new　interest　had　come。　　And　he　carefully　avoided　making　any　mention　of　it　in　a　letter　to　his　son。　　It　would　only　bring　them　back　with　a　run！　　How　far　this　silence　was　due　to　consideration　for　their　pleasure；　how　far　to　regard　for　his　own；　he　did　not　pause　to　consider。
  That　night　in　his　study　he　had　just　finished　his　cigar　and　was　dozing　off；　when　he　heard　the　rustle　of　a　gown；　and　was　conscious　of　a　scent　of　violets。　　Opening　his　eyes　he　saw　her；　dressed　in　grey；　standing　by　the　fireplace；　holding　out　her　arms。　　The　odd　thing　was　that；　though　those　arms　seemed　to　hold　nothing；　they　were　curved　as　if　round　someone's　neck；　and　her　own　neck　was　bent　back；　her　lips　open；　her　eyes　closed。　　She　vanished　at　once；　and　there　were　the　mantelpiece　and　his　bronzes。　　But　those　bronzes　and　the　mantelpiece　had　not　been　there　when　she　was；　only　the　fireplace　and　the　wall！　Shaken　and　troubled；　he　got　up。　　'I　must　take　medicine；'　he　thought；　'I　can't　be　well。'　　His　heart　beat　too　fast；　he　had　an　asthmatic　feeling　in　the　chest；　and　going　to　the　window；　he　opened　it　to　get　some　air。　　A　dog　was　barking　far　away；　one　of　the　dogs　at　Gage's　farm　no　doubt；　beyond　the　coppice。　　A　beautiful　still　night；　but　dark。　　'I　dropped　off；'　he　mused；　'that's　it！　　And　yet　I'll　swear　my　eyes　were　open！'　　A　sound　like　a　sigh　seemed　to　answer。
  〃What's　that？〃　he　said　sharply；　〃who's　there？〃
  Putting　his　hand　to　his　side　to　still　the　beating　of　his　heart；　he　stepped　out　on　the　terrace。　　Something　soft　scurried　by　in　the　dark。　〃Shoo！〃　　It　was　that　great　grey　cat。　　'Young　Bosinney　was　like　a　great　cat！'　he　thought。　　'It　was　him　in　there；　that　shethat　she　wasHe's　got　her　still！'　　He　walked　to　the　edge　of　the　terrace；　and　looked　down　into　the　darkness；　he　could　just　see　the　powdering　of　the　daisies　on　the　unmown　lawn。　　Here　to…day　and　gone　to…morrow！　　And　there　came　the　moon；　who　saw　all；　young　and　old；　alive　and　dead；　and　didn't　care　a　dump！　　His　own　turn　soon。　　For　a　single　day　of　youth　he　would　give　what　was　left！　　And　he　turned　again　towards　the　house。　　He　could　see　the　windows　of　the　night　nursery　up　there。　　His　little　sweet　would　be　asleep。　　'Hope　that　dog　won't　wake　her！'　he　thought。　'What　is　it　makes　us　love；　and　makes　us　die！　　I　must　go　to　bed。'
  And　across　the　terrace　stones；　growing　grey　in　the　moonlight；　he　passed　back　within。
  How　should　an　old　man　live　his　days　if　not　in　dreaming　of　his　well…spent　past？　In　that；　at　all　events；　there　is　no　agitating　warmth；　only　pale　winter　sunshine。　　The　shell　can　withstand　the　gentle　beating　of　the　dynamos　of　memory。　　The　present　he　should　distrust；　the　future　shun。　　From　beneath　thick　shade　he　should　watch　the　sunlight　creeping　at　his　toes。　　If　there　be　sun　of　summer；　let　him　not　go　out　into　it；　mistaking　it　for　the　Indian…summer　sun！　　Thus　peradventure　he　shall　decline　softly；　slowly；　imperceptibly；　until　impatient　Nature　clutches　his　wind…pipe　and　he　gasps　away　to　death　some　early　morning　before　the　world　is　aired；　and　they　put　on　his　tombstone：　'In　the　fulness　of　years！'　yea！　　If　he　preserve　his　principles　in　perfect　order；　a　Forsyte　may　live　on　long　after　he　is　dead。
  Old　Jolyon　was　conscious　of　all　this；　and　yet　there　was　in　him　that　which　transcended　Forsyteism。　　For　it　is　written　that　a　Forsyte　shall　not　love　beauty　more　than　reason；　nor　his　own　way　more　than　his　own　health。　　And　something　beat　within　him　in　these　days　that　with　each　throb　fretted　at　the　thinning　shell。　　His　sagacity　knew　this；　but　it　knew　too　that　he　could　not　stop　that　beating；　nor　would　if　he　could。　And　yet；　if　you　had　told　him　he　was　living　on　his　capital；　he　would　have　stared　you　down。　　No；　no；　a　man　did　not　live　on　his　capital；　it　was　not　done！　　The　shibboleths　of　the　past　are　ever　more　real　than　the　actualities　of　the　present。　　And　he；　to　whom　living　on　one's　capital　had　always　been　anathema；　could　not　have　borne　to　have　applied　so　gross　a　phrase　to　his　own　case。　　Pleasure　is　healthful；　beauty　good　to　see；　to　live　again　in　the　youth　of　the　youngand　what　else　on　earth　was　he　doing！
  Methodically；　as　had　been　the　way　of　his　whole　life；　he　now　arranged　his　time。　　On　Tuesdays　he　journeyed　up　to　town　by　train；　Irene　came　and　dined　with　him。　　And　they　went　to　the　opera。　　On　Thursdays　he　drove　to　town；　and；　putting　that　fat　chap　and　his　horses　up；　met　her　in　Kensington　Gardens；　picking　up　the　carriage　after　he　had　left　her；　and　driving　home　again　in　time　for　dinner。　　He　threw　out　the　casual　formula　that　he　had　business　in　London　on　those　two　days。　　On　Wednesdays　and　Saturdays　she　came　down　to　give　Holly　music　lessons。　The　greater　the　pleasure　he　took　in　her　society；　the　more　scrupulously　fastidious　he　became；　just　a　matter…of…fact　and　friendly　uncle。　　Not　even　in　feeling；　really；　was　he　morefor；　after　all；　there　was　his　age。　　And　yet；　if　she　were　late　he　fidgeted　himself　to　death。　　If　she　missed　coming；　which　happened　twice；　his　eyes　grew　sad　as　an　old　dog's；　and　he　failed　to　sleep。
  And　so　a　month　went　bya　month　of　summer　in　the　fields；　and　in　his　heart；　with　summer's　heat　and　the　fatigue　thereof。　　Who　could　have　believed　a　few　weeks　back　that　he　would　have　looked　forward　to　his　son's　and　his　grand…daughter's　return　with　something　like　dread！　There　was　such　a　delicious　freedom；　such　recovery　of　that　independence　a　man　enjoys　before　he　founds　a　family；　about　these　weeks　of　lovely　weather；　and　this　new　companionship　with　one　who　demanded　nothing；　and　remained　always　a　little　unknown；　retaining　the　fascination　of　mystery。　　It　was　like　a　draught　of　wine　to　him　who　has　been　drinking　water　for　so　long　that　he　has　almost　forgotten　the　stir　wine　brings　to　his　blood；　the　narcotic　to　his　brain。　　The　flowers　were　coloured　brighter；　scents　and　music　and　the　sunlight　had　a　living　valuewere　no　longer　mere　reminders　of　past　enjoy…ment。　There　was　something　now　to　live　for　which　stirred　him　continually　to　anticipation。　　He　lived　in　that；　not　in　retrospection；　the　difference　is　considerable　to　any　so　old　as　he。　　The　pleasures　of　the　table；　never　of　much　consequence　to　one　naturally　abstemious；　had　lost　all　value。　　He　ate　little；　without　knowing　what　he　ate；　and　every　day　grew　thinner　and　more　worn　to　look　at。　　He　was　again　a　'threadpaper'；　and　to　this　thinned　form　his　massive　forehead；　with　hollows　at　the　temples；　gave　more　dignity　than　ever。　　He　was　very　well　aware　that　he　ought　to　see　the　doctor；　but　liberty　was　too　sweet。　　He　could　not　afford　to　pet　his　frequent　shortness　of　breath　and　the　pain　in　his　side　at　the　expense　of　liberty。　　Return　to　the　vegetable　existence　he　had　led　among　the　agricultural　journals　with　the　life…size　mangold　wurzels；　before　this　new　attraction　came　into　his　lifeno！　He　exceeded　his　allowance　of　cigars。　　Two　a　day　had　always　been　his　rule。　　Now　he　smoked　three　and　sometimes　foura　man　will　when　he　is　filled　with　the　creative　spirit。　　But　very　often　he　thought：　'I　must　give　up　smoking；　and　coffee；　I　must　give　up　rattling　up　to　town。'　But　he　did　not；　there　was　no　one　in　any　sort　of　authority　to　notice　him；　and　this　was　a　priceless　boon。
  The　servants　perhaps　wondered；　but　they　were；　naturally；　dumb。　Mam'zelle　Beauce　was　too　concerned　with　her　own　digestion；　and　too　'wellbrrred'　to　make　personal　allusions。　　Holly　had　not　as　yet　an　eye　for　the　relative　appearance　of　him　who　was　her　plaything　and　her　god。　It　was　left　for　Irene　herself　to　beg　him　to　eat　more；　to　rest　in　the　hot　part　of　the　day；　to　take　a　tonic；　and　so　forth。　　But　she　did　not　tell　him　that　she　was　the　a　cause　of　his　thinnessfor　one　cannot　see　the　havoc　oneself　is　working。　　A　man　of　eighty…five　has　no　passions；　but　the　Beauty　which　produces　passion　works　on　in　the　old　way；　till　death　closes　the　eyes　which　crave　the　sight　of　Her。
  On　the　first　day　of　the　second　week　in　July　he　received　a　letter　from　his　son　in　Paris　to　say　that　they　would　all　be　back　on　Friday。　　This　had　always　been　more　sure　than　Fate；　but；　with　the　pathetic　improvidence　given　to　the　old；　that　they　may　endure　to　the　end；　he　had　never　quite　admitted　it。　　Now　he　did；　and　something　would　have　to　be　done。　　He　had　ceased　to　be　able　to　imagine　life　without　this　new　interest；　but　that　which　is　not　imagined　sometimes　exists；　as　Forsytes　are　perpetually　finding　to　their　cost。　　He　sat　in　his　old　leather　chair；　doubling　up　the　letter；　and　mumbling　with　his　lips　the　end　of　an　unlighted　cigar。　　After　to…morrow　his　Tuesday　expeditions　to　town　would　have　to　be　abandoned。　　He　could　still　drive　up；　perhaps；　once　a　week；　on　the　pretext　of　seeing　his　man　of　business。　But　even　that　would　be　dependent　on　his　health；　for　now　they　would　begin　to　fuss　about　him。　　The　lessons！　　The　lessons　must　go　on！　　She　must　swallow　down　her　scruples；　and　June　must　put　her　feelings　in　her　pocket。　　She　had　done　so　once；　on　the　day　after　the　news　of　Bosinney's　death；　what　she　had　done　then；　she　could　surely　do　again　now。　　Four　years　since　that　injury　was　inflicted　on　hernot　Christian　to　keep　the　memory　of　old　sores　alive。　　June's　will　was　strong；　but　his　was　stronger；　for　his　sands　were　running　out。　　Irene　was　soft；　surely　she　would　do　this　for　him；　subdue　her　natural　shrinking；　sooner　than　give　him　pain！　　The　lessons　must　continue；　for　if　they　did；　he　was　secure