"Must be," he once said to young Jolyon, before the latter went to
the bad. "Look at us, we've got on! There must be good blood in us
somewhere."
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.
Swithin, however, did not do this, but having ascertained that the
crest was a 'pheasant proper,' and the motto 'For Forsite,' he had
the pheasant proper placed upon his carriage and the buttons of his
coachman, and both crest and motto on his writing-paper.
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