family, he disliked the idea of dying. He had never realised how
much till one day, two years ago, he had gone to his doctor about
certain symptoms, and been told:

"At any moment, on any overstrain."

He had taken it with a smile--the natural Forsyte reaction against
an unpleasant truth. But with an increase of symptoms in the train
on the way home, he had realised to the full the sentence hanging
over him. To leave Irene, his boy, his home, his work--though he
did little enough work now! To leave them for unknown darkness,
for the unimaginable state, for such nothingness that he would not
even be conscious of wind stirring leaves above his grave, nor of
the scent of earth and grass. Of such nothingness that, however
hard he might try to conceive it, he never could, and must still
hover on the hope that he might see again those he loved! To
realise this was to endure very poignant spiritual anguish. Before
he reached home that day, he had determined to keep it from Irene.
He would have to be more careful than man had ever been, for the
least thing would give it away and make her as wretched as
himself, almost. His doctor had passed him sound in other
respects, and seventy was nothing of an age--he would last a long
time yet, IF HE COULD!

Such a conclusion, followed out for nearly two years, develops to
the full the subtler side of character. Naturally not abrupt,
except when nervously excited, Jolyon had become control
incarnate. The sad patience of old people who cannot exert
themselves was masked by a smile which his lips preserved even in
private. He devised continually all manner of cover to conceal his