"Ninety? Are there many Forsytes besides those in the Red Book?"

"I don't know," said Soames. "They're all dispersed now. The old
ones are dead, except Timothy."

Fleur clasped her hands.

"Timothy? Isn't that delicious?"

"Not at all," said Soames. It offended him that she should think
"Timothy" delicious--a kind of insult to his breed. This new
generation mocked at anything solid and tenacious. "You go and see
the old boy. He might want to prophesy." Ah! If Timothy could see
the disquiet England of his greatnephews and greatnieces, he would
certainly give tongue. And involuntarily he glanced up at the
Iseeum; yes--George was still in the window, with the same pink
paper in his hand.

"Where is Robin Hill, Father?"

Robin Hill! Robin Hill, round which all that tragedy had centred!
What did she want to know for?

"In Surrey," he muttered; "not far from Richmond, Why?"

"Is the house there?"

"What house?"