Family dinners of the Forsytes observe certain traditions. There are, for instance, no hors d’oeuvre. The reason for this is unknown. Theory among the younger members traces it to the disgraceful price of oysters; it is more probably due to a desire to come to the point, to a good practical sense deciding at once that hors d’oeuvre are but poor things. The Jameses alone, unable to withstand a custom almost universal in Park Lane, are now and then unfaithful.

A silent, almost morose, inattention to each other succeeds to the subsidence into their seats, lasting till well into the first entrée, but interspersed with remarks such as, “Tom’s bad again; I can’t tell what’s the matter with him!”⁠—“I suppose Ann doesn’t come down in the mornings?”⁠—“What’s the name of your doctor, Fanny? Stubbs? He’s a quack!”⁠—“Winifred? She’s got too many children. Four, isn’t it? She’s as thin as a lath!”⁠—“What d’you give for this sherry, Swithin? Too dry for me!”