live in a town like that, or with it on his walls?"

June contemplated the picture for a moment. "It's a vision," she
said.

"The deuce!"

There was silence, then June rose. 'Crazy-looking creature!' he
thought.

"Well," he said, "you'll find your young stepbrother here with a
woman I used to know. If you take my advice, you'll close this
exhibition."

June looked back at him. "Oh! You Forsyte!" she said, and moved
on. About her light, fly-away figure, passing so suddenly away,
was a look of dangerous decisions. Forsyte! Of course, he was a
Forsyte! And so was she! But from the time when, as a mere girl,
she brought Bosinney into his life to wreck it, he had never hit
it off with June--and never would! And here she was, unmarried to
this day, owning a Gallery!... And suddenly it came to Soames how
little he knew now of his own family. The old aunts at Timothy's
had been dead so many years; there was no clearing-house for news.
What had they all done in the War? Young Roger's boy had been
wounded, St. John Hayman's second son killed; young Nicholas'
eldest had got an O. B. E., or whatever they gave them. They had
all joined up somehow, he believed. That boy of Jolyon's and
Irene's, he supposed, had been too young; his own generation, of
course, too old, though Giles Hayman had driven a car for the Red
Cross--and Jesse Hayman been a special constable--those "Dromios"