He had been fond of young Jolyon: the boy had been in a good set at College, had known that old ruffian Sir Charles Fiste’s sons⁠—a pretty rascal one of them had turned out, too; and there was style about him⁠—it was a thousand pities he had run off with that half-foreign governess! If he must go off like that why couldn’t he have chosen someone who would have done them credit! And what was he now?⁠—an underwriter at Lloyd’s; they said he even painted pictures⁠—pictures! Damme! he might have ended as Sir Jolyon Forsyte, Bart., with a seat in Parliament, and a place in the country!

It was Swithin who, following the impulse which sooner or later urges thereto some member of every great family, went to the Heralds’ Office, where they assured him that he was undoubtedly of the same family as the well-known Forsites with an i , whose arms were “three dexter buckles on a sable ground gules,” hoping no doubt to get him to take them up.