Young Jolyon saw that he had been recognised, even by Winifred, who
could not have been more than fifteen when he had forfeited the right to
be considered a Forsyte.
There was not much change in them! He remembered the exact look of their
turn-out all that time ago: Horses, men, carriage--all different now, no
doubt--but of the precise stamp of fifteen years before; the same neat
display, the same nicely calculated arrogance ease with security! The
swing exact, the pose of the sunshades exact, exact the spirit of the
whole thing.
And in the sunlight, defended by the haughty shields of parasols,
carriage after carriage went by.
"Uncle James has just passed, with his female folk," said young Jolyon.
His father looked black. "Did your uncle see us? Yes? Hmph! What's he
want, coming down into these parts?"
An empty cab drove up at this moment, and old Jolyon stopped it.
"I shall see you again before long, my boy!" he said. "Don't you go
paying any attention to what I've been saying about young Bosinney--I
don't believe a word of it!"
Kissing the children, who tried to detain him, he stepped in and was
borne away.
Young Jolyon, who had taken Holly up in his arms, stood motionless at
the corner, looking after the cab.