Than James Forsyte, notwithstanding all his “Jonah-isms,” there was no saner man (if the leading symptom of sanity, as we are told, is self-preservation, though without doubt Timothy went too far) in all this London, of which he owned so much, and loved with such a dumb love, as the centre of his opportunities. He had the marvellous instinctive sanity of the middle class. In him⁠—more than in Jolyon, with his masterful will and his moments of tenderness and philosophy⁠—more than in Swithin, the martyr to crankiness⁠—Nicholas, the sufferer from ability⁠—and Roger, the victim of enterprise⁠—beat the true pulse of compromise; of all the brothers he was least remarkable in mind and person, and for that reason more likely to live forever.