But he'll probably skew his Exam." "I can't help that," said Winifred.

"I want him." With an innocent shrewd look at her mother's face, Imogen kept silence.
It was father, of course! Val did come 'like a shot' at six o'clock.
Imagine a cross between a pickle and a Forsyte and you have young Publius Valerius Dartie.

A youth so named could hardly turn out otherwise.

When he was born, Winifred, in the heyday of spirits, and the craving for distinction, had determined that her children should have names such as no others had ever had.

(It was a mercy--she felt now--that she had just not named Imogen Thisbe.) But it was to George Forsyte, always a wag, that Val's christening was due.