And though Swithin was somewhat upset at being stopped like this on the point of saying something important, he soon recovered his affability. He was rather fond of Frances⁠—Francie, as she was called in the family. She was so smart, and they told him she made a pretty little pot of pin-money by her songs; he called it very clever of her.

He rather prided himself indeed on a liberal attitude towards women, not seeing any reason why they shouldn’t paint pictures, or write tunes, or books even, for the matter of that, especially if they could turn a useful penny by it; not at all⁠—kept them out of mischief. It was not as if they were men!

“Little Francie,” as she was usually called with good-natured contempt, was an important personage, if only as a standing illustration of the attitude of Forsytes towards the Arts. She was not really “little,” but rather tall, with dark hair for a Forsyte, which, together with a grey eye, gave her what was called “a Celtic appearance.” She wrote songs with titles like “Breathing Sighs,” or “Kiss Me, Mother, Ere I Die,” with a refrain like an anthem: