In the words of, I think, the Marquis of Montrose:

‘He either fears his fate too much
Or his deserts are small
Who dares not put it to the touch
To win or lose it all.’

“As I say, I have not taken this step lightly, and if, my dear Hatty, it pleases you to crown my aspirations with success, I think you may rely on me to make you happy. I shall be on tenterhooks until I have your reply which I hope will not be delayed beyond the morrow. I express to you my devoted admiration and am, my dear Hatty,
“Your faithful and attached Suitor,
“TIMOTHY FORSYTE.”

With a faint grin Soames dropped the yellowed letter–six years older than himself–on his knee, and sat brooding. Poor old Timothy! And he had never sent it. Why not? Never ‘put it to the touch’ after all. If he remembered Hatty Chessman the old boy had been well out of it. Bit of a dasher Hatty Chessman in her time, from all that he had heard!
Still! There was the letter! Irrefutable evidence that Timothy had been human once upon a time. 1851? – the year of the Great Exhibition! Yes, they had been in the Bayswater Road by then, Timothy and the girls, Ann, Juley, Hester! Fancy a thing like that letter coming out of the blue at this time of day! What had Hatty done that he didn’t send the letter? Or what had Timothy done? Eaten something that disagreed with him–he shouldn’t wonder, had a scare of some sort. The envelope had just Hatty’s name but no address; was she then staying with them at the time or what–she had been a great friend, he knew, of Juley and of Hester! He put the letter back into its yellowed envelope with Timothy’s cypher in an oval medallion on the flap, dropped it into a tray, and went on with his task of conning over his Uncle’s remains.
Hallo! What were these?
Three thin red notebooks held together by a bit of dingy rainbow-coloured ribbon tied in a bow. Whose writing? Aunt Ann’s undoubtedly, more upright, more distinct than any other in the family. A diary, by George, and pretty old! Yes, begun when they went to ‘the Nook,’ “November 1850,” and going on to “1855,” the year that old Aunt Juley married Septimus Small. It would be old-fashioned twaddle! But suddenly Soames’ eye lighted again on the yellowed letter in the tray and taking up the second volume of the diary he turned its pages till he came to April 1851.
“April 3. We are all agog about the Great Exhibition that is to be opened in Hyde Park. James says he doesn’t know, but he thinks it will be a failure. They are making a great to-do and the Park does not look itself at all. It has quite upset dear Timothy. He is afraid that it will attract many rogues and foreigners and that our house will be burgled. He has become very distrait and never talks to us about his business, but we think from what James said on Sunday that he must be in doubt whether or not to publish a new edition of the rhymes of Dr. Watts. They are very improving, but James says that Timothy does not know whether anyone will want to read them at this time of day.” ‘H’m!’ thought Soames: ‘“How doth the little busy bee!”’ If Timothy had really baulked at republishing that dreadful stuff, he must have regretted it all his life!’ His eyes scanned on over the thin precise pages till he came to this:
“May 3. Hatty Beecher (‘Ah! here it was!’) came on April 30th to spend a month with us. She is a fine figure of a girl and has become quite buxom. We all went to the opening of the Exhibition. It was such a crowd, and the dear little Queen was so becomingly dressed. It was an occasion I shall never forget. How the people cheered! Timothy attended us, he seems quite taken with Hatty, he can hardly look at her. I hope she is really nice. Hester and Juley are already full of her praises. They all went to walk in the Park today, and look at the crowd going into the Exhibition, though there was a windy drizzle; but as our dear father used to say it was only ‘pride of the morning,’ for it soon cleared, and the sun shone…
“May 7. We all went to the opera. Dear Jolyon sent us his box–he put it so drolly. ‘Take care Timothy doesn’t lose his heart to Taglioni, she wouldn’t make him a good wife.’ I must say it is really wonderful how she supports herself on one toe, but Timothy seemed quite preoccupied. He was staring at Hatty’s back all through the ballet. Mario was ravishing. I have never heard singing so like an angel’s. We had great difficulty coming away. It rained and our crinolines got wet, the stupid coachman took someone else for Timothy and we missed our turn and had to walk outside the portico. But Hatty was in such spirits that it did not seem to matter. She is such a rattle. I wonder whether it is quite wise for dear Timothy to see so much of her. I am sure she is very well intentioned, but I feel her evening dresses are lower than is quite nice. I have given her my Brussels fichu.
“May 13. To-day we went to the Zoo. Hatty had never seen it. In some ways she is quite provincial, but she picks things up very fast. Dear Timothy came all the way from his office to meet us. I fear it was Hatty’s beaux yeux rather than the animals which brought him. I confess that the Zoo does not give me much pleasure, it is very common; and the monkeys are so human, and not at all nice in their habits. Hatty insisted on mounting the elephant, and of course Timothy was obliged to be her squire of dames, but I am sure he did not really enjoy it, and, indeed, he looked so grave bobbing behind her in the howdah that I could not help smiling, and Hester laughed so that I thought she would burst her bonnet strings. I was obliged to check her, for fear dear Timothy should see. I am glad we arrived too late to see the lions fed. The seal was very droll…
“May 17. James came to tea. He told us that Swithin has bought a new pair of greys, very spirited, and that he doesn’t know what will happen. He advised Hatty not to venture if Swithin asks her to go driving. But Hatty said: ‘I should adore it.’ She certainly has a great deal of courage, indeed she is inclined to be rash. I was not sorry that Timothy should have the opportunity of seeing that she is so venturesome, for I feel more and more that he is attracted by her. I do not remember when he has behaved quite as he has this last fortnight. And though in some ways she is attractive, I do not really think she would make him a good wife. I cannot disguise from myself, too, that it would cause a great disturbance in all our lives; but I tell myself constantly that I ought not to be selfish, and if it were for dear Timothy’s good, I hope I should not ‘care a brass farden’ as Nicholas would put it in his droll way. The girls are very fond of her and they do not see the little things that I see, and which make me uneasy. I must hope for the best. I spoke to my dear Jolyon about it yesterday, he is the head of the family now that our dear father is gone, and he has good judgment. He said I was not to worry, Timothy would never ‘come up to the scratch.’ I thought it such a peculiar expression.
“May 20. A Mr. Chessman has been to call. He came with Swithin. Juley thought he was elegantly dressed, but for my part, I do not care for these large shepherd’s plaid checks which seem to be all the rage now for gentlemen. Hester and Hatty came in while we were still at tea, and Mr. Chessman was very attentive to Hatty. I hope I am not being unjust to her when I say that she made eyes at him in a way that I thought very forward. I was quite glad dear Timothy was not there. At least, to be honest, I am not sure that it would not have been for the best if he could have seen her. Swithin says that Mr. Chessman has to do with stocks and shares and is very clever in his profession. I must say that he seems to me much better suited to Hatty than Timothy could ever be. So perhaps it is providential that he came. Swithin has asked her and Hester to make four at the Royal Toxophilite Society’s Meeting on Saturday. He pooh-poohed James about the new horses and said that he was an old woman. I shall not tell James, it would only put him about. In the evening after dinner I read Cowper aloud to the girls and Timothy. I chose his celebrated poem, ‘The Task,’ which begins with that daring line ‘I sing the sofa.’ I did not read very long because Timothy seemed so sleepy: he works too hard all day in his stuffy office. I must say Hatty did not behave at all nicely. She made faces behind my back, which I could see perfectly well in the mirror; but of course, I took no notice, because she is our guest. For myself I find Cowper very sonorous and improving, though to be quite honest I prefer ‘John Gilpin’ to any of his more serious poems…
“May 23. We have had quite a to-do, and I am not at all sure where my duty lies. This morning after Timothy had gone to the office I went to his study to dust the books which he bought with dear James when we came to live here. They each bought a complete little library, containing Humboldt’s Cosmos, Hudibras and all the best works of the past; and who should I find there but Hatty, sitting in Timothy’s own arm chair, reading a book which I at once recognised as one of the little calf-bound volumes of Lord Byron. She was so absorbed that she did not see me till I was close to her. I received quite a shock when I apprehended that the book was that dreadful ‘Don Juan’ that one has heard so much about. She did not even try to hide it but said in a flippant way:
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