Old Jolyon pitched them down at last, and they fell with a thump amongst a mass of affidavits in “ re Buncombe, deceased,” one of the many branches of that parent and profitable tree, Fryer v. Forsyte .

“I don’t know what Soames is about,” he said, “to make a fuss over a few hundred pounds. I thought he was a man of property.”

James’ long upper lip twitched angrily; he could not bear his son to be attacked in such a spot.

“It’s not the money,” he began, but meeting his brother’s glance, direct, shrewd, judicial, he stopped.

There was a silence.

“I’ve come in for my will,” said old Jolyon at last, tugging at his moustache.