When the house behind it, which he now owned, was three hundred years of age instead of twelve, that tree might still be standing there, vast and hollow--for who would commit such sacrilege as to cut it down?
A Forsyte might perhaps still be living in that house, to guard it jealously.

And Jolyon would wonder what the house would look like coated with such age.

Wistaria was already about its walls--the new look had gone.

Would it hold its own and keep the dignity Bosinney had bestowed on it, or would the giant London have lapped it round and made it into an asylum in the midst of a jerry-built wilderness?
Often, within and without of it, he was persuaded that Bosinney had been moved by the spirit when he built.

He had put his heart into that house, indeed! It might even become one of the 'homes of England'-- a rare achievement for a house in these degenerate days of building.