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。