Buttheydidnotgototheoperaafterall，foringettingupfromdinnerthedizzinesscameoverhimagain，andsheinsistedonhisstayingquietandgoingtobedearly。Whenhepartedfromheratthedoorofthehotel，havingpaidthecabmantodrivehertoChelsea，hesatdownagainforamomenttoenjoythememoryofherwords：”Youaresuchadarlingtome，UncleJolyon！”Why！Whowouldn’tbe！HewouldhavelikedtostayupanotherdayandtakehertotheZoo，buttwodaysrunningofhimwouldborehertodeath。No，hemustwaittillnextSunday；shehadpromisedtocomethen。TheywouldsettlethoselessonsforHolly，ifonlyforamonth。Itwouldbesomething。ThatlittleMam’zelleBeaucewouldn’tlikeit，butshewouldhavetolumpit。Andcrushinghisoldoperahatagainsthischesthesoughtthelift。
HedrovetoWaterloonextmorning，strugglingwithadesiretosay：
’DrivemetoChelsea。’Buthissenseofproportionwastoostrong。
Besides，hestillfeltshaky，anddidnotwanttoriskanotheraberrationlikethatoflastnight，awayfromhome。Holly，too，wasexpectinghim，andwhathehadinhisbagforher。Notthattherewasanycupboardloveinhislittlesweet——shewasabundleofaffection。Then，withtheratherbittercynicismoftheold，hewonderedforasecondwhetheritwasnotcupboardlovewhichmadeIreneputupwithhim。No，shewasnotthatsorteither。Shehad，ifanything，toolittlenotionofhowtobutterherbread，nosenseofproperty，poorthing！Besides，hehadnotbreathedawordaboutthatcodicil，norshouldhe——sufficientuntothedaywasthegoodthereof。
InthevictoriawhichmethimatthestationHollywasrestrainingthedogBalthasar，andtheircaressesmade’jubey’hisdrivehome。
Alltherestofthatfinehotdayandmostofthenexthewascontentandpeaceful，reposingintheshade，whilethelonglingeringsunshineshoweredgoldonthelawnsandtheflowers。ButonThursdayeveningathislonelydinnerhebegantocountthehours；sixty-fivetillhewouldgodowntomeetheragaininthelittlecoppice，andwalkupthroughthefieldsatherside。Hehadintendedtoconsultthedoctorabouthisfaintingfit，butthefellowwouldbesuretoinsistonquiet，noexcitementandallthat；andhedidnotmeantobetiedbytheleg，didnotwanttobetoldofaninfirmity——iftherewereone，couldnotaffordtohearofitathistimeoflife，nowthatthisnewinteresthadcome。
Andhecarefullyavoidedmakinganymentionofitinalettertohisson。Itwouldonlybringthembackwitharun！Howfarthissilencewasduetoconsiderationfortheirpleasure，howfartoregardforhisown，hedidnotpausetoconsider。
Thatnightinhisstudyhehadjustfinishedhiscigarandwasdozingoff，whenheheardtherustleofagown，andwasconsciousofascentofviolets。Openinghiseyeshesawher，dressedingrey，standingbythefireplace，holdingoutherarms。Theoddthingwasthat，thoughthosearmsseemedtoholdnothing，theywerecurvedasifroundsomeone’sneck，andherownneckwasbentback，herlipsopen，hereyesclosed。Shevanishedatonce，andtherewerethemantelpieceandhisbronzes。Butthosebronzesandthemantelpiecehadnotbeentherewhenshewas，onlythefireplaceandthewall！Shakenandtroubled，hegotup。’Imusttakemedicine，’
hethought；’Ican’tbewell。’Hisheartbeattoofast，hehadanasthmaticfeelinginthechest；andgoingtothewindow，heopenedittogetsomeair。Adogwasbarkingfaraway，oneofthedogsatGage’sfarmnodoubt，beyondthecoppice。Abeautifulstillnight，butdark。’Idroppedoff，’hemused，’that’sit！AndyetI’llswearmyeyeswereopen！’Asoundlikeasighseemedtoanswer。”What’sthat?”hesaidsharply，”who’sthere?”
Puttinghishandtohissidetostillthebeatingofhisheart，hesteppedoutontheterrace。Somethingsoftscurriedbyinthedark。”Shoo！”Itwasthatgreatgreycat。’YoungBosinneywaslikeagreatcat！’hethought。’Itwashiminthere，thatshe——
thatshewas——He’sgotherstill！’Hewalkedtotheedgeoftheterrace，andlookeddownintothedarkness；hecouldjustseethepowderingofthedaisiesontheunmownlawn。Hereto-dayandgoneto-morrow！Andtherecamethemoon，whosawall，youngandold，aliveanddead，anddidn’tcareadump！Hisownturnsoon。Forasingledayofyouthhewouldgivewhatwasleft！Andheturnedagaintowardsthehouse。Hecouldseethewindowsofthenightnurseryupthere。Hislittlesweetwouldbeasleep。’Hopethatdogwon’twakeher！’hethought。’Whatisitmakesuslove，andmakesusdie！Imustgotobed。’
Andacrosstheterracestones，growinggreyinthemoonlight，hepassedbackwithin。
Howshouldanoldmanlivehisdaysifnotindreamingofhiswell-spentpast?Inthat，atallevents，thereisnoagitatingwarmth，onlypalewintersunshine。Theshellcanwithstandthegentlebeatingofthedynamosofmemory。Thepresentheshoulddistrust；thefutureshun。Frombeneaththickshadeheshouldwatchthesunlightcreepingathistoes。Iftherebesunofsummer，lethimnotgooutintoit，mistakingitfortheIndian-summersun！Thusperadventureheshalldeclinesoftly，slowly，imperceptibly，untilimpatientNatureclutcheshiswind-pipeandhegaspsawaytodeathsomeearlymorningbeforetheworldisaired，andtheyputonhistombstone：’Inthefulnessofyears！’yea！Ifhepreservehisprinciplesinperfectorder，aForsytemayliveonlongafterheisdead。
OldJolyonwasconsciousofallthis，andyettherewasinhimthatwhichtranscendedForsyteism。ForitiswrittenthataForsyteshallnotlovebeautymorethanreason；norhisownwaymorethanhisownhealth。Andsomethingbeatwithinhiminthesedaysthatwitheachthrobfrettedatthethinningshell。Hissagacityknewthis，butitknewtoothathecouldnotstopthatbeating，norwouldifhecould。Andyet，ifyouhadtoldhimhewaslivingonhiscapital，hewouldhavestaredyoudown。No，no；amandidnotliveonhiscapital；itwasnotdone！Theshibbolethsofthepastareevermorerealthantheactualitiesofthepresent。Andhe，towhomlivingonone’scapitalhadalwaysbeenanathema，couldnothavebornetohaveappliedsogrossaphrasetohisowncase。
Pleasureishealthful；beautygoodtosee；toliveagainintheyouthoftheyoung——andwhatelseonearthwashedoing！
Methodically，ashadbeenthewayofhiswholelife，henowarrangedhistime。OnTuesdayshejourneyeduptotownbytrain；
Irenecameanddinedwithhim。Andtheywenttotheopera。OnThursdayshedrovetotown，and，puttingthatfatchapandhishorsesup，metherinKensingtonGardens，pickingupthecarriageafterhehadlefther，anddrivinghomeagainintimefordinner。
HethrewoutthecasualformulathathehadbusinessinLondononthosetwodays。OnWednesdaysandSaturdaysshecamedowntogiveHollymusiclessons。Thegreaterthepleasurehetookinhersociety，themorescrupulouslyfastidioushebecame，justamatter-
of-factandfriendlyuncle。Noteveninfeeling，really，washemore——for，afterall，therewashisage。Andyet，ifshewerelatehefidgetedhimselftodeath。Ifshemissedcoming，whichhappenedtwice，hiseyesgrewsadasanolddog’s，andhefailedtosleep。
Andsoamonthwentby——amonthofsummerinthefields，andinhisheart，withsummer’sheatandthefatiguethereof。Whocouldhavebelievedafewweeksbackthathewouldhavelookedforwardtohisson’sandhisgrand-daughter’sreturnwithsomethinglikedread！
Therewassuchadeliciousfreedom，suchrecoveryofthatindependenceamanenjoysbeforehefoundsafamily，abouttheseweeksoflovelyweather，andthisnewcompanionshipwithonewhodemandednothing，andremainedalwaysalittleunknown，retainingthefascinationofmystery。Itwaslikeadraughtofwinetohimwhohasbeendrinkingwaterforsolongthathehasalmostforgottenthestirwinebringstohisblood，thenarcotictohisbrain。Theflowerswerecolouredbrighter，scentsandmusicandthesunlighthadalivingvalue——werenolongermereremindersofpastenjoy-ment。Therewassomethingnowtoliveforwhichstirredhimcontinuallytoanticipation。Helivedinthat，notinretrospection；thedifferenceisconsiderabletoanysooldashe。
Thepleasuresofthetable，neverofmuchconsequencetoonenaturallyabstemious，hadlostallvalue。Heatelittle，withoutknowingwhatheate；andeverydaygrewthinnerandmoreworntolookat。Hewasagaina’threadpaper’；andtothisthinnedformhismassiveforehead，withhollowsatthetemples，gavemoredignitythanever。Hewasverywellawarethatheoughttoseethedoctor，butlibertywastoosweet。Hecouldnotaffordtopethisfrequentshortnessofbreathandthepaininhissideattheexpenseofliberty。Returntothevegetableexistencehehadledamongtheagriculturaljournalswiththelife-sizemangoldwurzels，beforethisnewattractioncameintohislife——no！Heexceededhisallowanceofcigars。Twoadayhadalwaysbeenhisrule。Nowhesmokedthreeandsometimesfour——amanwillwhenheisfilledwiththecreativespirit。Butveryoftenhethought：’Imustgiveupsmoking，andcoffee；Imustgiveuprattlinguptotown。’Buthedidnot；therewasnooneinanysortofauthoritytonoticehim，andthiswasapricelessboon。
Theservantsperhapswondered，buttheywere，naturally，dumb。
Mam’zelleBeaucewastooconcernedwithherowndigestion，andtoo’wellbrrred’tomakepersonalallusions。Hollyhadnotasyetaneyefortherelativeappearanceofhimwhowasherplaythingandhergod。ItwasleftforIreneherselftobeghimtoeatmore，torestinthehotpartoftheday，totakeatonic，andsoforth。
Butshedidnottellhimthatshewastheacauseofhisthinness——
foronecannotseethehavoconeselfisworking。Amanofeighty-
fivehasnopassions，buttheBeautywhichproducespassionworksonintheoldway，tilldeathclosestheeyeswhichcravethesightofHer。
OnthefirstdayofthesecondweekinJulyhereceivedaletterfromhissoninParistosaythattheywouldallbebackonFriday。
ThishadalwaysbeenmoresurethanFate；but，withthepatheticimprovidencegiventotheold，thattheymayenduretotheend，hehadneverquiteadmittedit。Nowhedid，andsomethingwouldhavetobedone。Hehadceasedtobeabletoimaginelifewithoutthisnewinterest，butthatwhichisnotimaginedsometimesexists，asForsytesareperpetuallyfindingtotheircost。Hesatinhisoldleatherchair，doublinguptheletter，andmumblingwithhislipstheendofanunlightedcigar。Afterto-morrowhisTuesdayexpeditionstotownwouldhavetobeabandoned。Hecouldstilldriveup，perhaps，onceaweek，onthepretextofseeinghismanofbusiness。Buteventhatwouldbedependentonhishealth，fornowtheywouldbegintofussabouthim。Thelessons！Thelessonsmustgoon！Shemustswallowdownherscruples，andJunemustputherfeelingsinherpocket。Shehaddonesoonce，onthedayafterthenewsofBosinney’sdeath；whatshehaddonethen，shecouldsurelydoagainnow。Fouryearssincethatinjurywasinflictedonher——
notChristiantokeepthememoryofoldsoresalive。June’swillwasstrong，buthiswasstronger，forhissandswererunningout。