At Hyde Park Corner he ran into George Forsyte, very sunburnt from racing, holding a false nose in his hand.

“Hallo, Soames!” he said, “have a nose!”

Soames responded with a pale smile.

“Got this from one of these sportsmen,” went on George, who had evidently been dining; “had to lay him out⁠—for trying to bash my hat. I say, one of these days we shall have to fight these chaps, they’re getting so damned cheeky⁠—all radicals and socialists. They want our goods. You tell Uncle James that, it’ll make him sleep.”

“ In vino veritas ,” thought Soames, but he only nodded, and passed on up Hamilton Place. There was but a trickle of roysterers in Park Lane, not very noisy. And looking up at the houses he thought: “After all, we’re the backbone of the country. They won’t upset us easily. Possession’s nine points of the law.”