But there was between the cousins another far less obvious antipathy--coming from the unseizable family resemblance,which each perhaps resented;or from some half-consciousness of that old feud persisting still between their branches of the clan,formed within them by odd words or half-hints dropped by their elders.
And Jolly,tinkling his teaspoon,was musing:'His tie-pin and his waistcoat and his drawl and his betting--good Lord!'
And Val,finishing his bun,was thinking:'He's rather a young beast!'
"I suppose you'll be meeting your people?"he said,getting up.
"I wish you'd tell them I should like to show them over B.N.C.--not that there's anything much there--if they'd care to come.""Thanks,I'll ask them."
"Would they lunch?I've got rather a decent scout."Jolly doubted if they would have time.
"You'll ask them,though?"
"Very good of you,"said Jolly,fully meaning that they should not go;but,instinctively polite,he added:"You'd better come and have dinner with us to-morrow.""Rather.What time?"
"Seven-thirty."
"Dress?"
"No."And they parted,a subtle antagonism alive within them.
Holly and her father arrived by a midday train.It was her first visit to the city of spires and dreams,and she was very silent,looking almost shyly at the brother who was part of this wonderful place.After lunch she wandered,examining his household gods with intense curiosity.Jolly's sitting-room was panelled,and Art represented by a set of Bartolozzi prints which had belonged to old Jolyon,and by college photographs--of young men,live young men,a little heroic,and to be compared with her memories of Val.Jolyon also scrutinised with care that evidence of his boy's character and tastes.
Jolly was anxious that they should see him rowing,so they set forth to the river.Holly,between her brother and her father,felt elated when heads were turned and eyes rested on her.That they might see him to the best advantage they left him at the Barge and crossed the river to the towing-path.Slight in build--for of all the Forsytes only old Swithin and George were beefy--Jolly was rowing 'Two'in a trial eight.He looked very earnest and strenuous.With pride Jolyon thought him the best-looking boy of the lot;Holly,as became a sister,was more struck by one or two of the others,but would not have said so for the world.The river was bright that afternoon,the meadows lush,the trees still beautiful with colour.Distinguished peace clung around the old city;Jolyon promised himself a day's sketching if the weather held.The Eight passed a second time,spurting home along the Barges--Jolly's face was very set,so as not to show that he was blown.They returned across the river and waited for him.
"Oh!"said Jolly in the Christ Church meadows,"I had to ask that chap Val Dartie to dine with us to-night.He wanted to give you lunch and show you B.N.C.,so I thought I'd better;then you needn't go.I don't like him much."Holly's rather sallow face had become suffused with pink.
"Why not?"
"Oh!I don't know.He seems to me rather showy and bad form.What are his people like,Dad?He's only a second cousin,isn't he?"Jolyon took refuge in a smile.
"Ask Holly,"he said;"she saw his uncle."
"I liked Val,"Holly answered,staring at the ground before her;"his uncle looked--awfully different."She stole a glance at Jolly from under her lashes.
"Did you ever,"said Jolyon with whimsical intention,"hear our family history,my dears?It's quite a fairy tale.The first Jolyon Forsyte--at all events the first we know anything of,and that would be your great-great-grandfather--dwelt in the land of Dorset on the edge of the sea,being by profession an 'agriculturalist,'as your great-aunt put it,and the son of an agriculturist--farmers,in fact;your grandfather used to call them,'Very small beer,'"He looked at Jolly to see how his lordliness was standing it,and with the other eye noted Holly's malicious pleasure in the slight drop of her brother's face.