In spite of being talked about, perhaps in consequence of being talked about, it betrayed a disappointing vitality.

People had grown tired of saying that the 'Disunion' was on its last legs.

Old Jolyon would say it, too, yet disregarded the fact in a manner truly irritating to well-constituted Clubmen.
"Why do you keep your name on ?" Swithin often asked him with profound vexation.

"Why don't you join the 'Polyglot'?
You can't get a wine like our Heidsieck under twenty shillin' a bottle anywhere in London;" and, dropping his voice, he added: "There's only five hundred dozen left.

I drink it every night of my life." "I'll think of it," old Jolyon would answer; but when he did think of it there was always the question of fifty guineas entrance fee, and it would take him four or five years to get in.