Old Jolyon did not see them pass; he was petting poor Holly who was tired, but those in the carriage had taken in the little group; the ladies’ heads tilted suddenly, there was a spasmodic screening movement of parasols; James’ face protruded naively, like the head of a long bird, his mouth slowly opening. The shield-like rounds of the parasols grew smaller and smaller, and vanished.

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 turnout 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.