Would she come out a swan?
With her sallow oval face and her grey wistful eyes and those long dark lashes, she might, or she might not.

Only this last year had he been able to guess.

Yes, she would be a swan--rather a dark one, always a shy one, but an authentic swan.

She was eighteen now, and Mademoiselle Beauce was gone--the excellent lady had removed, after eleven years haunted by her continuous reminiscences of the 'well-brrred little Tayleurs,' to another family whose bosom would now be agitated by her reminiscences of the 'well-brrred little Forsytes.' She had taught Holly to speak French like herself.
Portraiture was not Jolyon's forte, but he had already drawn his younger daughter three times, and was drawing her a fourth, on the afternoon of October 4th, 1899, when a card was brought to him which caused his eyebrows to go up: Mr.SOAMES FORSYTE THE SHELTER, CONNOISSEURS CLUB, MAPLEDURHAM.ST.

JAMES'S.
But here the Forsyte Saga must digress again....
To return from a long travel in Spain to a darkened house, to a little daughter bewildered with tears, to the sight of a loved father lying peaceful in his last sleep, had never been, was never likely to be, forgotten by so impressionable and warm-hearted a man as Jolyon.