He had a fearful 'head' next morning, which he doctored, as became one
of 'the best,' by soaking it in cold water, brewing strong coffee which
he could not drink, and only sipping a little Hock at lunch. The legend
that 'some fool' had run into him round a corner accounted for a bruise
on his cheek. He would on no account have mentioned the fight, for, on
second thoughts, it fell far short of his standards.
The next day he went 'down,' and travelled through to Robin Hill. Nobody
was there but June and Holly, for his father had gone to Paris. He spent
a restless and unsettled Vacation, quite out of touch with either of his
sisters. June, indeed, was occupied with lame ducks, whom, as a rule,
Jolly could not stand, especially that Eric Cobbley and his family,
'hopeless outsiders,' who were always littering up the house in the
Vacation. And between Holly and himself there was a strange division,
as if she were beginning to have opinions of her own, which was
so--unnecessary. He punched viciously at a ball, rode furiously but
alone in Richmond Park, making a point of jumping the stiff, high
hurdles put up to close certain worn avenues of grass--keeping his nerve
in, he called it. Jolly was more afraid of being afraid than most boys
are. He bought a rifle, too, and put a range up in the home field,
shooting across the pond into the kitchen-garden wall, to the peril of
gardeners, with the thought that some day, perhaps, he would enlist and
save South Africa for his country. In fact, now that they were appealing
for Yeomanry recruits the boy was thoroughly upset. Ought he to go?
None of 'the best,' so far as he knew--and he was in correspondence with
several--were thinking of joining. If they had been making a move he
would have gone at once--very competitive, and with a strong sense of
form, he could not bear to be left behind in anything--but to do it
off his own bat might look like 'swagger'; because of course it wasn't
really necessary. Besides, he did not want to go, for the other side
of this young Forsyte recoiled from leaping before he looked. It was
altogether mixed pickles within him, hot and sickly pickles, and he
became quite unlike his serene and rather lordly self.
And then one day he saw that which moved him to uneasy wrath--two
riders, in a glade of the Park close to the Ham Gate, of whom she on
the left-hand was most assuredly Holly on her silver roan, and he on the
right-hand as assuredly that 'squirt' Val Dartie. His first impulse was
to urge on his own horse and demand the meaning of this portent, tell
the fellow to 'bunk,' and take Holly home. His second--to feel that he
would look a fool if they refused. He reined his horse in behind a tree,
then perceived that it was equally impossible to spy on them. Nothing
for it but to go home and await her coming! Sneaking out with that young
bounder! He could not consult with June, because she had gone up that
morning in the train of Eric Cobbley and his lot. And his father was
still in 'that rotten Paris.' He felt that this was emphatically one of
those moments for which he had trained himself, assiduously, at school,
where he and a boy called Brent had frequently set fire to newspapers
and placed them in the centre of their studies to accustom them to
coolness in moments of danger. He did not feel at all cool waiting in
the stable-yard, idly stroking the dog Balthasar, who queasy as an old
fat monk, and sad in the absence of his master, turned up his face,
panting with gratitude for this attention. It was half an hour before
Holly came, flushed and ever so much prettier than she had any right to
look. He saw her look at him quickly--guiltily of course--then followed
her in, and, taking her arm, conducted her into what had been their
grandfather's study. The room, not much used now, was still vaguely
haunted for them both by a presence with which they associated
tenderness, large drooping white moustaches, the scent of cigar smoke,
and laughter. Here Jolly, in the prime of his youth, before he went to
school at all, had been wont to wrestle with his grandfather, who even
at eighty had an irresistible habit of crooking his leg. Here Holly,
perched on the arm of the great leather chair, had stroked hair curving
silvery over an ear into which she would whisper secrets. Through that
window they had all three sallied times without number to cricket on the
lawn, and a mysterious game called 'Wopsy-doozle,' not to be understood
by outsiders, which made old Jolyon very hot. Here once on a warm night
Holly had appeared in her 'nighty,' having had a bad dream, to have the
clutch of it released. And here Jolly, having begun the day badly by
introducing fizzy magnesia into Mademoiselle Beauce's new-laid egg, and
gone on to worse, had been sent down (in the absence of his father) to
the ensuing dialogue: