She, together with anyone else who would lend him anything, and his losses at cards and on the turf (extraordinary how some men make a good thing out of losses!) were his whole means of subsistence; for James was now too old and nervous to approach, and Soames too formidably adamant.

It is not too much to say that Dartie had been living on hope for months.

He had never been fond of money for itself, had always despised the Forsytes with their investing habits, though careful to make such use of them as he could.

What he liked about money was what it bought--personal sensation.
"No real sportsman cares for money," he would say, borrowing a 'pony' if it was no use trying for a 'monkey.' There was something delicious about Montague Dartie.

He was, as George Forsyte said, a 'daisy.' The morning of the Handicap dawned clear and bright, the last day of September, and Dartie who had travelled to Newmarket the night before, arrayed himself in spotless checks and walked to an eminence to see his half of the filly take her final canter: If she won he would be a cool three thou.