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diff --git a/old/tolet11.txt b/old/tolet11.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8ba80d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tolet11.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12420 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of Awakening & To Let, John Galsworthy +#6 in our series by John Galsworthy +#3 in our series The Forsyte Saga + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other +Project Gutenberg file. + +We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your +own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future +readers. Please do not remove this. + +This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to +view the etext. 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His hair was shining, and his eyes, from beneath a +frown, for he was considering how to go downstairs, this last of +innumerable times, before the car brought his father and mother home. +Four at a time, and five at the bottom? Stale! Down the banisters? +But in which fashion? On his face, feet foremost? Very stale. On +his stomach, sideways? Paltry! On his back, with his arms stretched +down on both sides? Forbidden! Or on his face, head foremost, in a +manner unknown as yet to any but himself? Such was the cause of the +frown on the illuminated face of little Jon.... + +In that Summer of 1909 the simple souls who even then desired to +simplify the English tongue, had, of course, no cognizance of little +Jon, or they would have claimed him for a disciple. But one can be +too simple in this life, for his real name was Jolyon, and his living +father and dead half-brother had usurped of old the other +shortenings, Jo and Jolly. As a fact little Jon had done his best to +conform to convention and spell himself first Jhon, then John; not +till his father had explained the sheer necessity, had he spelled his +name Jon. + +Up till now that father had possessed what was left of his heart by +the groom, Bob, who played the concertina, and his nurse "Da," who +wore the violet dress on Sundays, and enjoyed the name of Spraggins +in that private life lived at odd moments even by domestic servants. +His mother had only appeared to him, as it were in dreams, smelling +delicious, smoothing his forehead just before he fell asleep, and +sometimes docking his hair, of a golden brown colour. When he cut +his head open against the nursery fender she was there to be bled +over; and when he had nightmare she would sit on his bed and cuddle +his head against her neck. She was precious but remote, because "Da" +was so near, and there is hardly room for more than one woman at a +time in a man's heart. With his father, too, of course, he had +special bonds of union; for little Jon also meant to be a painter +when he grew up--with the one small difference, that his father +painted pictures, and little Jon intended to paint ceilings and +walls, standing on a board between two step-ladders, in a dirty-white +apron, and a lovely smell of whitewash. His father also took him +riding in Richmond Park, on his pony, Mouse, so-called because it was +so-coloured. + +Little Jon had been born with a silver spoon in a mouth which was +rather curly and large. He had never heard his father or his mother +speak in an angry voice, either to each other, himself, or anybody +else; the groom, Bob, Cook, Jane, Bella and the other servants, even +"Da," who alone restrained him in his courses, had special voices +when they talked to him. He was therefore of opinion that the world +was a place of perfect and perpetual gentility and freedom. + +A child of 1901, he had come to consciousness when his country, just +over that bad attack of scarlet fever, the Boer War, was preparing +for the Liberal revival of 1906. Coercion was unpopular, parents had +exalted notions of giving their offspring a good time. They spoiled +their rods, spared their children, and anticipated the results with +enthusiasm. In choosing, moreover, for his father an amiable man of +fifty-two, who had already lost an only son, and for his mother a +woman of thirty-eight, whose first and only child he was, little Jon +had done well and wisely. What had saved him from becoming a cross +between a lap dog and a little prig, had been his father's adoration +of his mother, for even little Jon could see that she was not merely +just his mother, and that he played second fiddle to her in his +father's heart: What he played in his mother's heart he knew not yet. +As for "Auntie" June, his half-sister (but so old that she had grown +out of the relationship) she loved him, of course, but was too +sudden. His devoted "Da," too, had a Spartan touch. His bath was +cold and his knees were bare; he was not encouraged to be sorry for +himself. As to the vexed question of his education, little Jon +shared the theory of those who considered that children should not be +forced. He rather liked the Mademoiselle who came for two hours +every morning to teach him her language, together with history, +geography and sums; nor were the piano lessons which his mother gave +him disagreeable, for she had a way of luring him from tune to tune, +never making him practise one which did not give him pleasure, so +that he remained eager to convert ten thumbs into eight fingers. +Under his father he learned to draw pleasure-pigs and other animals. +He was not a highly educated little boy. Yet, on the whole, the +silver spoon stayed in his mouth without spoiling it, though "Da" +sometimes said that other children would do him a "world of good." + +It was a disillusionment, then, when at the age of nearly seven she +held him down on his back, because he wanted to do something of which +she did not approve. This first interference with the free +individualism of a Forsyte drove him almost frantic. There was +something appalling in the utter helplessness of that position, and +the uncertainty as to whether it would ever come to an end. Suppose +she never let him get up any more! He suffered torture at the top of +his voice for fifty seconds. Worse than anything was his perception +that "Da" had taken all that time to realise the agony of fear he was +enduring. Thus, dreadfully, was revealed to him the lack of +imagination in the human being. + +When he was let up he remained convinced that "Da" had done a +dreadful thing. Though he did not wish to bear witness against her, +he had been compelled, by fear of repetition, to seek his mother and +say: "Mum, don't let 'Da' hold me down on my back again." + +His mother, her hands held up over her head, and in them two plaits +of hair--"couleur de feuille morte," as little Jon had not yet +learned to call it--had looked at him with eyes like little bits of +his brown velvet tunic, and answered: + +"No, darling, I won't." + +She, being in the nature of a goddess, little Jon was satisfied; +especially when, from under the dining-table at breakfast, where he +happened to be waiting for a mushroom, he had overheard her say to +his father: + +"Then, will you tell 'Da,' dear, or shall I? She's so devoted to +him"; and his father's answer: + +"Well, she mustn't show it that way. I know exactly what it feels +like to be held down on one's back. No Forsyte can stand it for a +minute." + +Conscious that they did not know him to be under the table, little +Jon was visited by the quite new feeling of embarrassment, and stayed +where he was, ravaged by desire for the mushroom. + +Such had been his first dip into the dark abysses of existence. +Nothing much had been revealed to him after that, till one day, +having gone down to the cow-house for his drink of milk fresh from +the cow, after Garratt had finished milking, he had seen Clover's +calf, dead. Inconsolable, and followed by an upset Garratt, he had +sought "Da"; but suddenly aware that she was not the person he +wanted, had rushed away to find his father, and had run into the arms +of his mother. + +"Clover's calf's dead! Oh! Oh! It looked so soft!" + +His mother's clasp, and her: + +"Yes, darling, there, there!" had stayed his sobbing. But if +Clover's calf could die, anything could--not only bees, flies, +beetles and chickens--and look soft like that! This was appalling-- +and soon forgotten! + +The next thing had been to sit on a bumble bee, a poignant +experience, which his mother had understood much better than "Da"; +and nothing of vital importance had happened after that till the year +turned; when, following a day of utter wretchedness, he had enjoyed a +disease composed of little spots, bed, honey in a spoon, and many +Tangerine oranges. It was then that the world had flowered. To +"Auntie" June he owed that flowering, for no sooner was he a little +lame duck than she came rushing down from London, bringing with her +the books which had nurtured her own Berserker spirit, born in the +noted year of 1869. Aged, and of many colours, they were stored with +the most formidable happenings. Of these she read to little Jon, +till he was allowed to read to himself; whereupon she whisked back to +London and left them with him in a heap. Those books cooked his +fancy, till he thought and dreamed of nothing but midshipmen and +dhows, pirates, rafts, sandal-wood traders, iron horses, sharks, +battles, Tartars, Red Indians, balloons, North Poles and other +extravagant delights. The moment he was suffered to get up, he +rigged his bed fore and aft, and set out from it in a narrow bath +across green seas of carpet, to a rock, which he climbed by means of +its mahogany drawer knobs, to sweep the horizon with his drinking +tumbler screwed to his eye, in search of rescuing sails. He made a +daily raft out of the towel stand, the tea tray, and his pillows. He +saved the juice from his French plums, bottled it in an empty +medicine bottle, and provisioned the raft with the rum that it +became; also with pemmican made out of little saved-up bits of +chicken sat on and dried at the fire; and with lime juice against +scurvy, extracted from the peel of his oranges and a little +economised juice. He made a North Pole one morning from the whole of +his bedclothes except the bolster, and reached it in a birch-bark +canoe (in private life the fender), after a terrible encounter with a +polar bear fashioned from the bolster and four skittles dressed up in +"Da's" nightgown. After that, his father, seeking to steady his +imagination, brought him Ivanboe, Bevis, a book about King Arthur, +and Tom Brown's Schooldays. He read the first, and for three days +built, defended and stormed Front de Boeuf's castle, taking every +part in the piece except those of Rebecca and Rowena; with piercing +cries of: "En avant, de Bracy!" and similar utterances. After +reading the book about King Arthur he became almost exclusively Sir +Lamorac de Galis, because, though there was very little about him, he +preferred his name to that of any other knight; and he rode his old +rocking-horse to death, armed with a long bamboo. Bevis he found +tame; besides, it required woods and animals, of which he had none in +his nursery, except his two cats, Fitz and Puck Forsyte, who +permitted no liberties. For Tom Brown he was as yet too young. +There was relief in the house when, after the fourth week, he was +permitted to go down and out. + +The month being March the trees were exceptionally like the masts of +ships, and for little Jon that was a wonderful Spring, extremely hard +on his knees, suits, and the patience of "Da," who had the washing +and reparation of his clothes. Every morning the moment his +breakfast was over, he could be viewed by his mother and father, +whose windows looked out that way, coming from the study, crossing +the terrace, climbing the old oak tree, his face resolute and his +hair bright. He began the day thus because there was not time to go +far afield before his lessons. The old tree's variety never staled; +it had mainmast, foremast, top-gallant mast, and he could always come +down by the halyards--or ropes of the swing. After his lessons, +completed by eleven, he would go to the kitchen for a thin piece of +cheese, a biscuit and two French plums--provision enough for a jolly- +boat at least--and eat it in some imaginative way; then, armed to the +teeth with gun, pistols, and sword, he would begin the serious +climbing of the morning, encountering by the way innumerable slavers, +Indians, pirates, leopards, and bears. He was seldom seen at that +hour of the day without a cutlass in his teeth (like Dick Needham) +amid the rapid explosion of copper caps. And many were the gardeners +he brought down with yellow peas shot out of his little gun. He +lived a life of the most violent action. + +"Jon," said his father to his mother, under the oak tree, "is +terrible. I'm afraid he's going to turn out a sailor, or something +hopeless. Do you see any sign of his appreciating beauty?" + +"Not the faintest." + +"Well, thank heaven he's no turn for wheels or engines! I can bear +anything but that. But I wish he'd take more interest in Nature." + +"He's imaginative, Jolyon." + +"Yes, in a sanguinary way. Does he love anyone just now?" + +"No; only everyone. There never was anyone born more loving or more +lovable than Jon." + +"Being your boy, Irene." + +At this moment little Jon, lying along a branch high above them, +brought them down with two peas; but that fragment of talk lodged, +thick, in his small gizzard. Loving, lovable, imaginative, +sanguinary! + +The leaves also were thick by now, and it was time for his birthday, +which, occurring every year on the twelfth of May, was always +memorable for his chosen dinner of sweetbread, mushrooms, macaroons, +and ginger beer. + +Between that eighth birthday, however, and the afternoon when he +stood in the July radiance at the turning of the stairway, several +important things had happened. + +"Da," worn out by washing his knees, or moved by that mysterious +instinct which forces even nurses to desert their nurslings, left the +very day after his birthday in floods of tears "to be married"--of +all things--"to a man." Little Jon, from whom it had been kept, was +inconsolable for an afternoon. It ought not to have been kept from +him! Two large boxes of soldiers and some artillery, together with +The Young Buglers, which had been among his birthday presents, +cooperated with his grief in a sort of conversion, and instead of +seeking adventures in person and risking his own life, he began to +play imaginative games, in which he risked the lives of countless tin +soldiers, marbles, stones and beans. Of these forms of "chair a +canon" he made collections, and, using them alternately, fought the +Peninsular, the Seven Years, the Thirty Years, and other wars, about +which he had been reading of late in a big History of Europe which +had been his grandfather's. He altered them to suit his genius, and +fought them all over the floor in his day nursery, so that nobody +could come in, for fearing of disturbing Gustavus Adolphus, King of +Sweden, or treading on an army of Austrians. Because of the sound of +the word he was passionately addicted to the Austrians, and finding +there were so few battles in which they were successful he had to +invent them in his games. His favourite generals were Prince Eugene, +the Archduke Charles and Wallenstein. Tilly and Mack ("music-hall +turns" he heard his father call them one day, whatever that might +mean) one really could not love very much, Austrian though they were. +For euphonic reasons, too, he doted on Turenne. + +This phase, which caused his parents anxiety, because it kept him +indoors when he ought to have been out, lasted through May and half +of June, till his father killed it by bringing home to him Tom Sawyer +and Huckleberry Finn. When he read those books something happened in +him, and he went out of doors again in passionate quest of a river. +There being none on the premises at Robin Hill, he had to make one +out of the pond, which fortunately had water lilies, dragonflies, +gnats, bullrushes, and three small willow trees. On this pond, after +his father and Garratt had ascertained by sounding that it had a +reliable bottom and was nowhere more than two feet deep, he was +allowed a little collapsible canoe, in which he spent hours and hours +paddling, and lying down out of sight of Indian Joe and other +enemies. On the shore of the pond, too, he built himself a wigwam +about four feet square, of old biscuit tins, roofed in by boughs. In +this he would make little fires, and cook the birds he had not shot +with his gun, hunting in the coppice and fields, or the fish he did +not catch in the pond because there were none. This occupied the +rest of June and that July, when his father and mother were away in +Ireland. He led a lonely life of "make believe" during those five +weeks of summer weather, with gun, wigwam, water and canoe; and, +however hard his active little brain tried to keep the sense of +beauty away, she did creep in on him for a second now and then, +perching on the wing of a dragon-fly, glistening on the water lilies, +or brushing his eyes with her blue as he Jay on his back in ambush. + +"Auntie" June, who had been left in charge, had a "grown-up" in the +house, with a cough and a large piece of putty which he was making +into a face; so she hardly ever came down to see him in the pond. +Once, however, she brought with her two other "grown-ups." Little +Jon, who happened to have painted his naked self bright blue and +yellow in stripes out of his father's water-colour box, and put some +duck's feathers in his hair, saw them coming, and--ambushed himself +among the willows. As he had foreseen, they came at once to his +wigwam and knelt down to look inside, so that with a blood-curdling +yell he was able to take the scalps of "Auntie" June and the woman +"grown-up" in an almost complete manner before they kissed him. The +names of the two grown-ups were "Auntie" Holly and "Uncle" Val, who +had a brown face and a little limp, and laughed at him terribly. He +took a fancy to "Auntie" Holly, who seemed to be a sister too; but +they both went away the same afternoon and he did not see them again. +Three days before his father and mother were to come home "Auntie" +June also went off in a great hurry, taking the "grown-up" who +coughed and his piece of putty; and Mademoiselle said: "Poor man, he +was veree ill. I forbid you to go into his room, Jon." Little Jon, +who rarely did things merely because he was told not to, refrained +from going, though he was bored and lonely. In truth the day of the +pond was past, and he was filled to the brim of his soul with +restlessness and the want of something--not a tree, not a gun-- +something soft. Those last two days had seemed months in spite of +Cast Up by the Sea, wherein he was reading about Mother Lee and her +terrible wrecking bonfire. He had gone up and down the stairs +perhaps a hundred times in those two days, and often from the day +nursery, where he slept now, had stolen into his mother's room, +looked at everything, without touching, and on into the dressing- +room; and standing on one leg beside the bath, like Slingsby, had +whispered: + +"Ho, ho, ho! Dog my cats!" mysteriously, to bring luck. Then, +stealing back, he had opened his mother's wardrobe, and taken a long +sniff which seemed to bring him nearer to--he didn't know what. + +He had done this just before he stood in the streak of sunlight, +debating in which of the several ways he should slide down the +banisters. They all seemed silly, and in a sudden languor he began +descending the steps one by one. During that descent he could +remember his father quite distinctly--the short grey beard, the deep +eyes twinkling, the furrow between them, the funny smile, the thin +figure which always seemed so tall to little Jon; but his mother he +couldn't see. All that represented her was something swaying with +two dark eyes looking back at him; and the scent of her wardrobe. + +Bella was in the hall, drawing aside the big curtains, and opening +the front door. Little Jon said, wheedling + +"Bella!" + +"Yes, Master Jon." + +"Do let's have tea under the oak tree when they come; I know they'd +like it best." + +"You mean you'd like it best." + +Little Jon considered. + +"No, they would, to please me." + +Bella smiled. "Very well, I'll take it out if you'll stay quiet here +and not get into mischief before they come." + +Little Jon sat down on the bottom step, and nodded. Bella came +close, and looked him over. + +"Get up!" she said. + +Little Jon got up. She scrutinized him behind; he was not green, and +his knees seemed clean. + +"All right!" she said. "My! Aren't you brown? Give me a kiss!" + +And little Jon received a peck on his hair. + +"What jam?" he asked. "I'm so tired of waiting." + +"Gooseberry and strawberry." + +Num! They were his favourites! + +When she was gone he sat still for quite a minute. It was quiet in +the big hall open to its East end so that he could see one of his +trees, a brig sailing very slowly across the upper lawn. In the +outer hall shadows were slanting from the pillars. Little Jon got +up, jumped one of them, and walked round the clump of iris plants +which filled the pool of grey-white marble in the centre. The +flowers were pretty, but only smelled a very little. He stood in the +open doorway and looked out. Suppose!--suppose they didn't come! He +had waited so long that he felt he could not bear that, and his +attention slid at once from such finality to the dust motes in the +bluish sunlight coming in: Thrusting his hand up, he tried to catch +some. Bella ought to have dusted that piece of air! But perhaps +they weren't dust--only what sunlight was made of, and he looked to +see whether the sunlight out of doors was the same. It was not. He +had said he would stay quiet in the hall, but he simply couldn't any +more; and crossing the gravel of the drive he lay down on the grass +beyond. Pulling six daisies he named them carefully, Sir Lamorac, +Sir Tristram, Sir Lancelot, Sir Palimedes, Sir Bors, Sir Gawain, and +fought them in couples till only Sir Lamorac, whom he had selected +for a specially stout stalk, had his head on, and even he, after +three encounters, looked worn and waggly. A beetle was moving slowly +in the grass, which almost wanted cutting. Every blade was a small +tree, round whose trunk the beetle had to glide. Little Jon +stretched out Sir Lamorac, feet foremost, and stirred the creature +up. It scuttled painfully. Little Jon laughed, lost interest, and +sighed. His heart felt empty. He turned over and lay on his back. +There was a scent of honey from the lime trees in flower, and in the +sky the blue was beautiful, with a few white clouds which looked and +perhaps tasted like lemon ice. He could hear Bob playing: "Way down +upon de Suwannee ribber" on his concertina, and it made him nice and +sad. He turned over again and put his ear to the ground--Indians +could hear things coming ever so far--but he could hear nothing--only +the concertina! And almost instantly he did hear a grinding sound, a +faint toot. Yes! it was a car--coming--coming! Up he jumped. +Should he wait in the porch, or rush upstairs, and as they came in, +shout: "Look!" and slide slowly down the banisters, head foremost? +Should he? The car turned in at the drive. It was too late! And he +only waited, jumping up and down in his excitement. The car came +quickly, whirred, and stopped. His father got out, exactly like +life. He bent down and little Jon bobbed up--they bumped. His +father said + +"Bless us! Well, old man, you are brown!" Just as he would; and the +sense of expectation--of something wanted--bubbled unextinguished in +little Jon. Then, with a long, shy look he saw his mother, in a blue +dress, with a blue motor scarf over her cap and hair, smiling. He +jumped as high as ever he could, twined his legs behind her back, and +hugged. He heard her gasp, and felt her hugging back. His eyes, +very dark blue just then, looked into hers, very dark brown, till her +lips closed on his eyebrow, and, squeezing with all his might, he +heard her creak and laugh, and say: + +"You are strong, Jon!" + +He slid down at that, and rushed into the hall, dragging her by the +hand. + +While he was eating his jam beneath the oak tree, he noticed things +about his mother that he had never seemed to see before, her cheeks +for instance were creamy, there were silver threads in her dark goldy +hair, her throat had no knob in it like Bella's, and she went in and +out softly. He noticed, too, some little lines running away from the +corners of her eyes, and a nice darkness under them. She was ever so +beautiful, more beautiful than "Da" or Mademoiselle, or "Auntie" June +or even "Auntie" Holly, to whom he had taken a fancy; even more +beautiful than Bella, who had pink cheeks and came out too suddenly +in places. This new beautifulness of his mother had a kind of +particular importance, and he ate less than he had expected to. + +When tea was over his father wanted him to walk round the gardens. +He had a long conversation with his father about things in general, +avoiding his private life--Sir Lamorac, the Austrians, and the +emptiness he had felt these last three days, now so suddenly filled +up. His father told him of a place called Glensofantrim, where he +and his mother had been; and of the little people who came out of the +ground there when it was very quiet. Little Jon came to a halt, with +his heels apart. + +"Do you really believe they do, Daddy?" "No, Jon, but I thought you +might." + +"Why?" + +"You're younger than I; and they're fairies." Little Jon squared the +dimple in his chin. + +"I don't believe in fairies. I never see any." "Ha!" said his +father. + +"Does Mum?" + +His father smiled his funny smile. + +"No; she only sees Pan." + +"What's Pan?" + +"The Goaty God who skips about in wild and beautiful places." + +"Was he in Glensofantrim?" + +"Mum said so." + +Little Jon took his heels up, and led on. + +"Did you see him?" + +"No; I only saw Venus Anadyomene." + +Little Jon reflected; Venus was in his book about the Greeks and +Trojans. Then Anna was her Christian and Dyomene her surname? + +But it appeared, on inquiry, that it was one word, which meant rising +from the foam. + +"Did she rise from the foam in Glensofantrim?" + +"Yes; every day." + +"What is she like, Daddy?" + +"Like Mum." + +"Oh! Then she must be..." but he stopped at that, rushed at a wall, +scrambled up, and promptly scrambled down again. The discovery that +his mother was beautiful was one which he felt must absolutely be +kept to himself. His father's cigar, however, took so long to smoke, +that at last he was compelled to say: + +"I want to see what Mum's brought home. Do you mind, Daddy?" + +He pitched the motive low, to absolve him from unmanliness, and was a +little disconcerted when his father looked at him right through, +heaved an important sigh, and answered: + +"All right, old man, you go and love her." + +He went, with a pretence of slowness, and then rushed, to make up. +He entered her bedroom from his own, the door being open. She was +still kneeling before a trunk, and he stood close to her, quite +still. + +She knelt up straight, and said: + +"Well, Jon?" + +"I thought I'd just come and see." + +Having given and received another hug, he mounted the window-seat, +and tucking his legs up under him watched her unpack. He derived a +pleasure from the operation such as he had not yet known, partly +because she was taking out things which looked suspicious, and partly +because he liked to look at her. She moved differently from anybody +else, especially from Bella; she was certainly the refinedest-looking +person he had ever seen. She finished the trunk at last, and knelt +down in front of him. + +"Have you missed us, Jon?" + +Little Jon nodded, and having thus admitted his feelings, continued +to nod. + +"But you had 'Auntie' June?" + +"Oh! she had a man with a cough." + +His mother's face changed, and looked almost angry. He added +hastily: + +"He was a poor man, Mum; he coughed awfully; I--I liked him." + +His mother put her hands behind his waist. + +"You like everybody, Jon?" + +Little Jon considered. + +"Up to a point," he said: "Auntie June took me to church one Sunday." + +"To church? Oh!" + +"She wanted to see how it would affect me." "And did it?" + +"Yes. I came over all funny, so she took me home again very quick. +I wasn't sick after all. I went to bed and had hot brandy and water, +and read The Boys of Beechwood. It was scrumptious." + +His mother bit her lip. + +"When was that?" + +"Oh! about--a long time ago--I wanted her to take me again, but she +wouldn't. You and Daddy never go to church, do you?" + +"No, we don't." + +"Why don't you?" + +His mother smiled. + +"Well, dear, we both of us went when we were little. Perhaps we went +when we were too little." + +"I see," said little Jon, "it's dangerous." + +"You shall judge for yourself about all those things as you grow +up." + +Little Jon replied in a calculating manner: + +"I don't want to grow up, much. I don't want to go to school." A +sudden overwhelming desire to say something more, to say what he +really felt, turned him red. "I--I want to stay with you, and be +your lover, Mum." + +Then with an instinct to improve the situation, he added quickly "I +don't want to go to bed to-night, either. I'm simply tired of going +to bed, every night." + +"Have you had any more nightmares?" + +"Only about one. May I leave the door open into your room to-night, +Mum?" + +"Yes, just a little." Little Jon heaved a sigh of satisfaction. + +"What did you see in Glensofantrim?" + +"Nothing but beauty, darling." + +"What exactly is beauty?" + +"What exactly is--Oh! Jon, that's a poser." + +"Can I see it, for instance?" His mother got up, and sat beside +him. "You do, every day. The sky is beautiful, the stars, and +moonlit nights, and then the birds, the flowers, the trees--they're +all beautiful. Look out of the window--there's beauty for you, Jon." + +"Oh! yes, that's the view. Is that all?" + +"All? no. The sea is wonderfully beautiful, and the waves, with +their foam flying back." + +"Did you rise from it every day, Mum?" + +His mother smiled. "Well, we bathed." + +Little Jon suddenly reached out and caught her neck in his hands. + +"I know," he said mysteriously, "you're it, really, and all the rest +is make-believe." + +She sighed, laughed, said: "Oh! Jon!" + +Little Jon said critically: + +"Do you think Bella beautiful, for instance? I hardly do." + +"Bella is young; that's something." + +"But you look younger, Mum. If you bump against Bella she hurts." + +"I don't believe 'Da' was beautiful, when I come to think of it; and +Mademoiselle's almost ugly." + +"Mademoiselle has a very nice face." "Oh! yes; nice. I love your +little rays, Mum." + +"Rays?" + +Little Jon put his finger to the outer corner of her eye. + +"Oh! Those? But they're a sign of age." + +"They come when you smile." + +"But they usen't to." + +"Oh! well, I like them. Do you love me, Mum?" + +"I do--I do love you, darling." + +"Ever so?" + +"Ever so!" + +"More than I thought you did?" + +"Much--much more." + +"Well, so do I; so that makes it even." + +Conscious that he had never in his life so given himself away, he +felt a sudden reaction to the manliness of Sir Lamorac, Dick Needham, +Huck Finn, and other heroes. + +"Shall I show you a thing or two?" he said; and slipping out of her +arms, he stood on his head. Then, fired by her obvious admiration, +he mounted the bed, and threw himself head foremost from his feet on +to his back, without touching anything with his hands. He did this +several times. + +That evening, having inspected what they had brought, he stayed up to +dinner, sitting between them at the little round table they used when +they were alone. He was extremely excited. His mother wore a +French-grey dress, with creamy lace made out of little scriggly +roses, round her neck, which was browner than the lace. He kept +looking at her, till at last his father's funny smile made him +suddenly attentive to his slice of pineapple. It was later than he +had ever stayed up, when he went to bed. His mother went up with +him, and he undressed very slowly so as to keep her there. When at +last he had nothing on but his pyjamas, he said: + +"Promise you won't go while I say my prayers!" + +"I promise." + +Kneeling down and plunging his face into the bed, little Jon hurried +up, under his breath, opening one eye now and then, to see her +standing perfectly still with a smile on her face. "Our Father"--so +went his last prayer, "which art in heaven, hallowed be thy Mum, thy +Kingdom Mum--on Earth as it is in heaven, give us this day our daily +Mum and forgive us our trespasses on earth as it is in heaven and +trespass against us, for thine is the evil the power and the glory +for ever and ever. Amum! Look out!" He sprang, and for a long +minute remained in her arms. Once in bed, he continued to hold her +hand. + +"You won't shut the door any more than that, will you? Are you going +to be long, Mum?" + +"I must go down and play to Daddy." + +"Oh! well, I shall hear you." + +"I hope not; you must go to sleep." + +"I can sleep any night." + +"Well, this is just a night like any other." + +"Oh! no--it's extra special." + +"On extra special nights one always sleeps soundest." + +"But if I go to sleep, Mum, I shan't hear you come up." + +"Well, when I do, I'll come in and give you a kiss, then if you're +awake you'll know, and if you're not you'll still know you've had +one." + +Little Jon sighed, "All right!" he said: "I suppose I must put up +with that. Mum?" + +"Yes?" + +"What was her name that Daddy believes in? Venus Anna Diomedes?" + +"Oh! my angel! Anadyomene." + +"Yes! but I like my name for you much better." + +"What is yours, Jon?" + +Little Jon answered shyly: + +"Guinevere! it's out of the Round Table--I've only just thought +of it, only of course her hair was down." + +His mother's eyes, looking past him, seemed to float. + +"You won't forget to come, Mum?" + +"Not if you'll go to sleep." + +"That's a bargain, then." And little Jon screwed up his eyes. + +He felt her lips on his forehead, heard her footsteps; opened his +eyes to see her gliding through the doorway, and, sighing, screwed +them up again. + +Then Time began. + +For some ten minutes of it he tried loyally to sleep, counting a +great number of thistles in a row, "Da's" old recipe for bringing +slumber. He seemed to have been hours counting. It must, he +thought, be nearly time for her to come up now. He threw the +bedclothes back. "I'm hot!" he said, and his voice sounded funny in +the darkness, like someone else's. Why didn't she come? He sat up. +He must look! He got out of bed, went to the window and pulled the +curtain a slice aside. It wasn't dark, but he couldn't tell whether +because of daylight or the moon, which was very big. It had a funny, +wicked face, as if laughing at him, and he did not want to look at +it. Then, remembering that his mother had said moonlit nights were +beautiful, he continued to stare out in a general way. The trees +threw thick shadows, the lawn looked like spilt milk, and a long, +long way he could see; oh! very far; right over the world, and it all +looked different and swimmy. There was a lovely smell, too, in his +open window. + +'I wish I had a dove like Noah!' he thought. + + +"The moony moon was round and bright, +It shone and shone and made it light." + + +After that rhyme, which came into his head all at once, he became +conscious of music, very soft-lovely! Mum playing! He bethought +himself of a macaroon he had, laid up in his chest of drawers, and, +getting it, came back to the window. He leaned out, now munching, +now holding his jaws to hear the music better. "Da" used to say that +angels played on harps in heaven; but it wasn't half so lovely as Mum +playing in the moony night, with him eating a macaroon. A cockchafer +buzzed by, a moth flew in his face, the music stopped, and little Jon +drew his head in. She must be coming! He didn't want to be found +awake. He got back into bed and pulled the clothes nearly over his +head; but he had left a streak of moonlight coming in. It fell +across the floor, near the foot of the bed, and he watched it moving +ever so slowly towards him, as if it were alive. The music began +again, but he could only just hear it now; sleepy music, pretty-- +sleepy--music--sleepy--slee..... + +And time slipped by, the music rose, fell, ceased; the moonbeam crept +towards his face. Little Jon turned in his sleep till he lay on his +back, with one brown fist still grasping the bedclothes. The corners +of his eyes twitched--he had begun to dream. He dreamed he was +drinking milk out of a pan that was the moon, opposite a great black +cat which watched him with a funny smile like his father's. He heard +it whisper: "Don't drink too much!" It was the cat's milk, of course, +and he put out his hand amicably to stroke the creature; but it was +no longer there; the pan had become a bed, in which he was lying, and +when he tried to get out he couldn't find the edge; he couldn't find +it--he--he--couldn't get out! It was dreadful! + +He whimpered in his sleep. The bed had begun to go round too; it was +outside him and inside him; going round and round, and getting fiery, +and Mother Lee out of Cast up by the Sea was stirring it! Oh! so +horrible she looked! Faster and faster!--till he and the bed and +Mother Lee and the moon and the cat were all one wheel going round +and round and up and up--awful--awful--awful! + +He shrieked. + +A voice saying: "Darling, darling!" got through the wheel, and he +awoke, standing on his bed, with his eyes wide open. + +There was his mother, with her hair like Guinevere's, and, clutching +her, he buried his face in it. + +"Oh! oh!" + +"It's all right, treasure. You're awake now. There! There! It's +nothing!" + +But little Jon continued to say: "Oh! oh!" + +Her voice went on, velvety in his ear: + +"It was the moonlight, sweetheart, coming on your face." + +Little Jon burbled into her nightgown + +"You said it was beautiful. Oh!" + +"Not to sleep in, Jon. Who let it in? Did you draw the curtains?" + +"I wanted to see the time; I--I looked out, I--I heard you playing, +Mum; I--I ate my macaroon." But he was growing slowly comforted; and +the instinct to excuse his fear revived within him. + +"Mother Lee went round in me and got all fiery," he mumbled. + +"Well, Jon, what can you expect if you eat macaroons after you've +gone to bed?" + +"Only one, Mum; it made the music ever so more beautiful. I was +waiting for you--I nearly thought it was to-morrow." + +"My ducky, it's only just eleven now." + +Little Jon was silent, rubbing his nose on her neck. + +"Mum, is Daddy in your room?" + +"Not to-night." + +"Can I come?" + +"If you wish, my precious." + +Half himself again, little Jon drew back. + +"You look different, Mum; ever so younger." + +"It's my hair, darling." + +Little Jon laid hold of it, thick, dark gold, with a few silver +threads. + +"I like it," he said: "I like you best of all like this." + +Taking her hand, he had begun dragging her towards the door. He shut +it as they passed, with a sigh of relief. + +"Which side of the bed do you like, Mum?" + +"The left side." + +"All right." + +Wasting no time, giving her no chance to change her mind, little Jon +got into the bed, which seemed much softer than his own. He heaved +another sigh, screwed his head into the pillow and lay examining the +battle of chariots and swords and spears which always went on outside +blankets, where the little hairs stood up against the light. + +"It wasn't anything, really, was it?" he said. + +>From before her glass his mother answered: + +"Nothing but the moon and your imagination heated up. You mustn't +get so excited, Jon." + +But, still not quite in possession of his nerves, little Jon answered +boastfully: + +"I wasn't afraid, really, of course!" And again he lay watching the +spears and chariots. It all seemed very long. + +"Oh! Mum, do hurry up!" + +"Darling, I have to plait my hair." + +"Oh! not to-night. You'll only have to unplait it again to-morrow. +I'm sleepy now; if you don't come, I shan't be sleepy soon." + +His mother stood up white and flowey before the winged mirror: he +could see three of her, with her neck turned and her hair bright +under the light, and her dark eyes smiling. It was unnecessary, and +he said: + +"Do come, Mum; I'm waiting." + +"Very well, my love, I'll come." + +Little Jon closed his eyes. Everything was turning out most +satisfactory, only she must hurry up! He felt the bed shake, she was +getting in. And, still with his eyes closed, he said sleepily: "It's +nice, isn't it?" + +He heard her voice say something, felt her lips touching his nose, +and, snuggling up beside her who lay awake and loved him with her +thoughts, he fell into the dreamless sleep, which rounded off his +past. + + + + + + +TO LET + + + +"From out the fatal loins of those two foes +A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life." + --Romeo and Juliet. + + + + + +TO CHARLES SCRIBNER + + + + + +PART I + +ENCOUNTER + + +Soames Forsyte emerged from the Knightsbridge Hotel, where he was +staying, in the afternoon of the 12th of May, 1920, with the +intention of visiting a collection of pictures in a Gallery off Cork +Street, and looking into the Future. He walked. Since the War he +never took a cab if he could help it. Their drivers were, in his +view, an uncivil lot, though now that the War was over and supply +beginning to exceed demand again, getting more civil in accordance +with the custom of human nature. Still, he had not forgiven them, +deeply identifying them with gloomy memories, and now, dimly, like +all members, of their class, with revolution. The considerable +anxiety he had passed through during the War, and the more +considerable anxiety he had since undergone in the Peace, had +produced psychological consequences in a tenacious nature. He had, +mentally, so frequently experienced ruin, that he had ceased to +believe in its material probability. Paying away four thousand a +year in income and super tax, one could not very well be worse off! +A fortune of a quarter of a million, encumbered only by a wife and +one daughter, and very diversely invested, afforded substantial +guarantee even against that "wildcat notion" a levy on capital. And +as to confiscation of war profits, he was entirely in favour of it, +for he had none, and "serve the beggars right!" The price of +pictures, moreover, had, if anything, gone up, and he had done better +with his collection since the War began than ever before. Air-raids, +also, had acted beneficially on a spirit congenitally cautious, and +hardened a character already dogged. To be in danger of being +entirely dispersed inclined one to be less apprehensive of the more +partial dispersions involved in levies and taxation, while the habit +of condemning the impudence of the Germans had led naturally to +condemning that of Labour, if not openly at least in the sanctuary of +his soul. + +He walked. There was, moreover, time to spare, for Fleur was to meet +him at the Gallery at four o'clock, and it was as yet but half-past +two. It was good for him to walk--his liver was a little +constricted, and his nerves rather on edge. His wife was always out +when she was in Town, and his daughter would flibberty-gibbet all +over the place like most young women since the War. Still, he must +be thankful that she had been too young to do anything in that War +itself. Not, of course, that he had not supported the War from its +inception, with all his soul, but between that and supporting it with +the bodies of his wife and daughter, there had been a gap fixed by +something old-fashioned within him which abhorred emotional +extravagance. He had, for instance, strongly objected to Annette, so +attractive, and in 1914 only thirty-four, going to her native France, +her "chere patrie" as, under the stimulus of war, she had begun to +call it, to nurse her "braves poilus," forsooth! Ruining her health +and her looks! As if she were really a nurse! He had put a stopper +on it. Let her do needlework for them at home, or knit! She had not +gone, therefore, and had never been quite the same woman since. A +bad tendency of hers to mock at him, not openly, but in continual +little ways, had grown. As for Fleur, the War had resolved the vexed +problem whether or not she should go to school. She was better away +from her mother in her war mood, from the chance of air-raids, and +the impetus to do extravagant things; so he had placed her in a +seminary as far West as had seemed to him compatible with excellence, +and had missed her horribly. Fleur! He had never regretted the +somewhat outlandish name by which at her birth he had decided so +suddenly to call her--marked concession though it had been to the +French. Fleur! A pretty name--a pretty child! But restless--too +restless; and wilful! Knowing her power too over her father! Soames +often reflected on the mistake it was to dote on his daughter. To +get old and dote! Sixty-five! He was getting on; but he didn't feel +it, for, fortunately perhaps, considering Annette's youth and good +looks, his second marriage had turned out a cool affair. He had +known but one real passion in his life--for that first wife of his-- +Irene. Yes, and that fellow, his cousin Jolyon, who had gone off +with her, was looking very shaky, they said. No wonder, at seventy- +two, after twenty years of a third marriage! + +Soames paused a moment in his march to lean over the railings of the +Row. A suitable spot for reminiscence, half-way between that house +in Park Lane which had seen his birth and his parents' deaths, and +the little house in Montpellier Square where thirty-five years ago he +had enjoyed his first edition of matrimony. Now, after twenty years +of his second edition, that old tragedy seemed to him like a previous +existence--which had ended when Fleur was born in place of the son he +had hoped for. For many years he had ceased regretting, even +vaguely, the son who had not been born; Fleur filled the bill in his +heart. After all, she bore his name; and he was not looking forward +at all to the time when she would change it. Indeed, if he ever +thought of such a calamity, it was seasoned by the vague feeling that +he could make her rich enough to purchase perhaps and extinguish the +name of the fellow who married her--why not, since, as it seemed, +women were equal to men nowadays? And Soames, secretly convinced +that they were not, passed his curved hand over his face vigorously, +till it reached the comfort of his chin. Thanks to abstemious +habits, he had not grown fat and gabby; his nose was pale and thin, +his grey moustache close-clipped, his eyesight unimpaired. A slight +stoop closened and corrected the expansion given to his face by the +heightening of his forehead in the recession of his grey hair. +Little change had Time wrought in the "warmest" of the young +Forsytes, as the last of the old Forsytes--Timothy-now in his hundred +and first year, would have phrased it. + +The shade from the plane-trees fell on his neat Homburg hat; he had +given up top hats--it was no use attracting attention to wealth in +days like these. Plane-trees! His thoughts travelled sharply to +Madrid--the Easter before the War, when, having to make up his mind +about that Goya picture, he had taken a voyage of discovery to study +the painter on his spot. The fellow had impressed him--great range, +real genius! Highly as the chap ranked, he would rank even higher +before they had finished with him. The second Goya craze would be +greater even than the first; oh, yes! And he had bought. On that +visit he had--as never before--commissioned a copy of a fresco +painting called "La Vendimia," wherein was the figure of a girl with +an arm akimbo, who had reminded him of his daughter. He had it now +in the Gallery at Mapledurham, and rather poor it was--you couldn't +copy Goya. He would still look at it, however, if his daughter were +not there, for the sake of something irresistibly reminiscent in the +light, erect balance of the figure, the width between the arching +eyebrows, the eager dreaming of the dark eyes. Curious that Fleur +should have dark eyes, when his own were grey--no pure Forsyte had +brown eyes--and her mother's blue! But of course her grandmother +Lamotte's eyes were dark as treacle! + +He began to walk on again toward Hyde Park Corner. No greater change +in all England than in the Row! Born almost within hail of it, he +could remember it from 1860 on. Brought there as a child between the +crinolines to stare at tight-trousered dandies in whiskers, riding +with a cavalry seat; to watch the doffing of curly-brimmed and white +top hats; the leisurely air of it all, and the little bow-legged man +in a long red waistcoat who used to come among the fashion with dogs +on several strings, and try to sell one to his mother: King Charles +spaniels, Italian greyhounds, affectionate to her crinoline--you +never saw them now. You saw no quality of any sort, indeed, just +working people sitting in dull rows with nothing to stare at but a +few young bouncing females in pot hats, riding astride, or desultory +Colonials charging up and down on dismal-looking hacks; with, here +and there, little girls on ponies, or old gentlemen jogging their +livers, or an orderly trying a great galumphing cavalry horse; no +thoroughbreds, no grooms, no bowing, no scraping, no gossip--nothing; +only the trees the same--the trees in--different to the generations +and declensions of mankind. A democratic England--dishevelled, +hurried, noisy, and seemingly without an apex. And that something +fastidious in the soul of Soames turned over within him. Gone +forever, the close borough of rank and polish! Wealth there was--oh, +yes! wealth--he himself was a richer man than his father had ever +been; but manners, flavour, quality, all gone, engulfed in one vast, +ugly, shoulder-rubbing, petrol-smelling Cheerio. Little half-beaten +pockets of gentility and caste lurking here and there, dispersed and +chetif, as Annette would say; but nothing ever again firm and +coherent to look up to. And into this new hurly-burly of bad manners +and loose morals his daughter--flower of his life--was flung! And +when those Labour chaps got power--if they ever did--the worst was +yet to come. + +He passed out under the archway, at last no longer--thank goodness!-- +disfigured by the gungrey of its search-light. 'They'd better put a +search-light on to where they're all going,' he thought, 'and light +up their precious democracy!' And he directed his steps along the +Club fronts of Piccadilly. George Forsyte, of course, would be +sitting in the bay window of the Iseeum. The chap was so big now +that he was there nearly all his time, like some immovable, sardonic, +humorous eye noting the decline of men and things. And Soames +hurried, ever constitutionally uneasy beneath his cousin's glance. +George, who, as he had heard, had written a letter signed "Patriot" +in the middle of the War, complaining of the Government's hysteria in +docking the oats of race-horses. Yes, there he was, tall, ponderous, +neat, clean-shaven, with his smooth hair, hardly thinned, smelling, +no doubt, of the best hair-wash, and a pink paper in his hand. Well, +be didn't change! And for perhaps the first time in his life Soames +felt a kind of sympathy tapping in his waistcoat for that sardonic +kinsman. With his weight, his perfectly parted hair, and bull-like +gaze, he was a guarantee that the old order would take some shifting +yet. He saw George move the pink paper as if inviting him to ascend- +-the chap must want to ask something about his property. It was +still under Soames' control; for in the adoption of a sleeping +partnership at that painful period twenty years back when he had +divorced Irene, Soames had found himself almost insensibly retaining +control of all purely Forsyte affairs. + +Hesitating for just a moment, he nodded and went in. Since the death +of his brother-in-law Montague Dartie, in Paris, which no one had +quite known what to make of, except that it was certainly not +suicide--the Iseeum Club had seemed more respectable to Soames. +George, too, he knew, had sown the last of his wild oats, and was +committed definitely to the joys of the table, eating only of the +very best so as to keep his weight down, and owning, as he said, +"just one or two old screws to give me an interest in life." He +joined his cousin, therefore, in the bay window without the +embarrassing sense of indiscretion he had been used to feel up there. +George put out a well-kept hand. + +"Haven't seen you since the War," he said. "How's your wife?" + +"Thanks," said Soames coldly, "well enough." + +Some hidden jest curved, for a moment, George's fleshy face, and +gloated from his eye. + +"That Belgian chap, Profond," he said, "is a member here now. He's a +rum customer." + +"Quite!" muttered Soames. "What did you want to see me about?" + +"Old Timothy; he might go off the hooks at any moment. I suppose +he's made his Will." + +"Yes." + +"Well, you or somebody ought to give him a look up--last of the old +lot; he's a hundred, you know. They say he's like a rummy. Where +are you goin' to put him? He ought to have a pyramid by rights." + +Soames shook his head. "Highgate, the family vault." + +"Well, I suppose the old girls would miss him, if he was anywhere +else. They say he still takes an interest in food. He might last +on, you know. Don't we get anything for the old Forsytes? Ten of +them--average age eighty-eight--I worked it out. That ought to be +equal to triplets." + +"Is that all?" said Soames, "I must be getting on." + +'You unsociable devil,' George's eyes seemed to answer. "Yes, that's +all: Look him up in his mausoleum--the old chap might want to +prophesy." The grin died on the rich curves of his face, and he +added: "Haven't you attorneys invented a way yet of dodging this +damned income tax? It hits the fixed inherited income like the very +deuce. I used to have two thousand five hundred a year; now I've got +a beggarly fifteen hundred, and the price of living doubled." + +"Ah!" murmured Soames, "the turf's in danger." + +Over George's face moved a gleam of sardonic self-defence. + +"Well," he said, "they brought me up to do nothing, and here I am in +the sear and yellow, getting poorer every day. These Labour chaps +mean to have the lot before they've done. What are you going to do +for a living when it comes? I shall work a six-hour day teaching +politicians how to see a joke. Take my tip, Soames; go into +Parliament, make sure of your four hundred--and employ me." + +And, as Soames retired, he resumed his seat in the bay window. + +Soames moved along Piccadilly deep in reflections excited by his +cousin's words. He himself had always been a worker and a saver, +George always a drone and a spender; and yet, if confiscation once +began, it was he--the worker and the saver--who would be looted! +That was the negation of all virtue, the overturning of all Forsyte +principles. Could civilization be built on any other? He did not +think so. Well, they wouldn't confiscate his pictures, for they +wouldn't know their worth. But what would they be worth, if these +maniacs once began to milk capital? A drug on the market. 'I don't +care about myself,' he thought; 'I could live on five hundred a year, +and never know the difference, at my age.' But Fleur! This fortune, +so widely invested, these treasures so carefully chosen and amassed, +were all for--her. And if it should turn out that he couldn't give +or leave them to her--well, life had no meaning, and what was the use +of going in to look at this crazy, futuristic stuff with the view of +seeing whether it had any future? + +Arriving at the Gallery off Cork Street, however, he paid his +shilling, picked up a catalogue, and entered. Some ten persons were +prowling round. Soames took steps and came on what looked to him +like a lamp-post bent by collision with a motor omnibus. It was +advanced some three paces from the wall, and was described in his +catalogue as "Jupiter." He examined it with curiosity, having +recently turned some of his attention to sculpture. 'If that's +Jupiter,' he thought, 'I wonder what Juno's like.' And suddenly he +saw her, opposite. She appeared to him like nothing so much as a +pump with two handles, lightly clad in snow. He was still gazing at +her, when two of the prowlers halted on his left. "Epatant!" he +heard one say. + +"Jargon!" growled Soames to himself. + +The other's boyish voice replied + +"Missed it, old bean; he's pulling your leg. When Jove and Juno +created he them, he was saying: 'I'll see how much these fools will +swallow.' And they've lapped up the lot." + +"You young duffer! Vospovitch is an innovator. Don't you see that +he's brought satire into sculpture? The future of plastic art, of +music, painting, and even architecture, has set in satiric. It was +bound to. People are tired--the bottom's tumbled out of sentiment." + +"Well, I'm quite equal to taking a little interest in beauty. I was +through the War. You've dropped your handkerchief, sir." + +Soames saw a handkerchief held out in front of him. He took it with +some natural suspicion, and approached it to his nose. It had the +right scent--of distant Eau de Cologne--and his initials in a corner. +Slightly reassured, he raised his eyes to the young man's face. It +had rather fawn-like ears, a laughing mouth, with half a toothbrush +growing out of it on each side, and small lively eyes, above a +normally dressed appearance. + +"Thank you," he said; and moved by a sort of irritation, added: "Glad +to hear you like beauty; that's rare, nowadays." + +"I dote on it," said the young man; "but you and I are the last of +the old guard, sir." + +Soames smiled. + +"If you really care for pictures," he said, "here's my card. I can +show you some quite good ones any Sunday, if you're down the river +and care to look in." + +"Awfully nice of you, sir. I'll drop in like a bird. My name's +Mont-Michael." And he took off his hat. + +Soames, already regretting his impulse, raised his own slightly in +response, with a downward look at the young man's companion, who had +a purple tie, dreadful little sluglike whiskers, and a scornful look- +-as if he were a poet! + +It was the first indiscretion he had committed for so long that he +went and sat down in an alcove. What had possessed him to give his +card to a rackety young fellow, who went about with a thing like +that? And Fleur, always at the back of his thoughts, started out +like a filigree figure from a clock when the hour strikes. On the +screen opposite the alcove was a large canvas with a great many +square tomato-coloured blobs on it, and nothing else, so far as +Soames could see from where he sat. He looked at his catalogue: "No. +32 'The Future Town'--Paul Post." 'I suppose that's satiric too,' he +thought. 'What a thing!' But his second impulse was more cautious. +It did not do to condemn hurriedly. There had been those stripey, +streaky creations of Monet's, which had turned out such trumps; and +then the stippled school; and Gauguin. Why, even since the Post- +Impressionists there had been one or two painters not to be sneezed +at. During the thirty-eight years of his connoisseur's life, indeed, +he had marked so many "movements," seen the tides of taste and +technique so ebb and flow, that there was really no telling anything +except that there was money to be made out of every change of +fashion. This too might quite well be a case where one must subdue +primordial instinct, or lose the market. He got up and stood before +the picture, trying hard to see it with the eyes of other people. +Above the tomato blobs was what he took to be a sunset, till some one +passing said: "He's got the airplanes wonderfully, don't you think!" +Below the tomato blobs was a band of white with vertical black +stripes, to which he could assign no meaning whatever, till some one +else came by, murmuring: "What expression he gets with his +foreground!" Expression? Of what? Soames went back to his seat. +The thing was "rich," as his father would have said, and he wouldn't +give a damn for it. Expression! Ah! they were all Expressionists +now, he had heard, on the Continent. So it was coming here too, was +it? He remembered the first wave of influenza in 1887--or '8-- +hatched in China, so they said. He wondered where this--this +Expressionism had been hatched. The thing was a regular disease! + +He had become conscious of a woman and a youth standing between him +and the "Future Town." Their backs were turned; but very suddenly +Soames put his catalogue before his face, and drawing his hat +forward, gazed through the slit between. No mistaking that back, +elegant as ever though the hair above had gone grey. Irene! His +divorced wife--Irene! And this, no doubt, was--her son--by that +fellow Jolyon Forsyte--their boy, six months older than his own girl! +And mumbling over in his mind the bitter days of his divorce, he rose +to get out of sight, but quickly sat down again. She had turned her +head to speak to her boy; her profile was still so youthful that it +made her grey hair seem powdery, as if fancy-dressed; and her lips +were smiling as Soames, first possessor of them, had never seen them +smile. Grudgingly he admitted her still beautiful and in figure +almost as young as ever. And how that boy smiled back at her! +Emotion squeezed Soames' heart. The sight infringed his sense of +justice. He grudged her that boy's smile--it went beyond what Fleur +gave him, and it was undeserved. Their son might have been his son; +Fleur might have been her daughter, if she had kept straight! He +lowered his catalogue. If she saw him, all the better! A reminder +of her conduct in the presence of her son, who probably knew nothing +of it, would be a salutary touch from the finger of that Nemesis +which surely must soon or late visit her! Then, half-conscious that +such a thought was extravagant for a Forsyte of his age, Soames took +out his watch. Past four! Fleur was late. She had gone to his +niece Imogen Cardigan's, and there they would keep her smoking +cigarettes and gossiping, and that. He heard the boy laugh, and say +eagerly: "I say, Mum, is this by one of Auntie June's lame ducks?" + +"Paul Post--I believe it is, darling." + +The word produced a little shock in Soames; he had never heard her +use it. And then she saw him. His eyes must have had in them +something of George Forsyte's sardonic look; for her gloved hand +crisped the folds of her frock, her eyebrows rose, her face went +stony. She moved on. + +"It is a caution," said the boy, catching her arm again. + +Soames stared after them. That boy was good-looking, with a Forsyte +chin, and eyes deep-grey, deep in; but with something sunny, like a +glass of old sherry spilled over him; his smile perhaps, his hair. +Better than they deserved--those two! They passed from his view into +the next room, and Soames continued to regard the Future Town, but +saw it not. A little smile snarled up his lips. He was despising +the vehemence of his own feelings after all these years. Ghosts! +And yet as one grew old--was there anything but what was ghost-like +left? Yes, there was Fleur! He fixed his eyes on the entrance. She +was due; but she would keep him waiting, of course! And suddenly he +became aware of a sort of human breeze--a short, slight form clad in +a sea-green djibbah with a metal belt and a fillet binding unruly +red-gold hair all streaked with grey. She was talking to the Gallery +attendants, and something familiar riveted his gaze--in her eyes, her +chin, her hair, her spirit--something which suggested a thin Skye +terrier just before its dinner. Surely June Forsyte! His cousin +June--and coming straight to his recess! She sat down beside him, +deep in thought, took out a tablet, and made a pencil note. Soames +sat unmoving. A confounded thing, cousinship! "Disgusting!" he +heard her murmur; then, as if resenting the presence of an +overhearing stranger, she looked at him. The worst had happened. + +"Soames!" + +Soames turned his head a very little. + +"How are you?" he said. "Haven't seen you for twenty years." + +"No. Whatever made you come here?" + +"My sins," said Soames. "What stuff!" + +"Stuff? Oh, yes--of course; it hasn't arrived yet. + +"It never will," said Soames; "it must be making a dead loss." + +"Of course it is." + +"How d'you know?" + +"It's my Gallery." + +Soames sniffed from sheer surprise. + +"Yours? What on earth makes you run a show like this?" + +"I don't treat Art as if it were grocery." + +Soames pointed to the Future Town. "Look at that! Who's going to +live in a town like that, or with it on his walls?" + +June contemplated the picture for a moment. + +"It's a vision," she said. + +"The deuce!" + +There was silence, then June rose. 'Crazylooking creature!' he +thought. + +"Well," he said, "you'll find your young stepbrother here with a +woman I used to know. If you take my advice, you'll close this +exhibition." + +June looked back at him. "Oh! You Forsyte!" she said, and moved on. +About her light, fly-away figure, passing so suddenly away, was a +look of dangerous decisions. Forsyte! Of course, he was a Forsyte! +And so was she! But from the time when, as a mere girl, she brought +Bosinney into his life to wreck it, he had never hit it off with June +and never would! And here she was, unmarried to this day, owning a +Gallery!... And suddenly it came to Soames how little he knew now of +his own family. The old aunts at Timothy's had been dead so many +years; there was no clearing-house for news. What had they all done +in the War? Young Roger's boy had been wounded, St. John Hayman's +second son killed; young Nicholas' eldest had got an O. B. E., or +whatever they gave them. They had all joined up somehow, he +believed. That boy of Jolyon's and Irene's, he supposed, had been +too young; his own generation, of course, too old, though Giles +Hayman had driven a car for the Red Cross--and Jesse Hayman been a +special constable--those "Dromios" had always been of a sporting +type! As for himself, he had given a motor ambulance, read the +papers till he was sick of them, passed through much anxiety, bought +no clothes, lost seven pounds in weight; he didn't know what more he +could have done at his age. Indeed, thinking it over, it struck him +that he and his family had taken this war very differently to that +affair with the Boers, which had been supposed to tax all the +resources of the Empire. In that old war, of course, his nephew Val +Dartie had been wounded, that fellow Jolyon's first son had died of +enteric, "the Dromios" had gone out on horses, and June had been a +nurse; but all that had seemed in the nature of a portent, while in +this war everybody had done "their bit," so far as he could make out, +as a matter of course. It seemed to show the growth of something or +other--or perhaps the decline of something else. Had the Forsytes +become less individual, or more Imperial, or less provincial? Or was +it simply that one hated Germans?... Why didn't Fleur come, so that +he could get away? He saw those three return together from the other +room and pass back along the far side of the screen. The boy was +standing before the Juno now. And, suddenly, on the other side of +her, Soames saw--his daughter, with eyebrows raised, as well they +might be. He could see her eyes glint sideways at the boy, and the +boy look back at her. Then Irene slipped her hand through his arm, +and drew him on. Soames saw him glancing round, and Fleur looking +after them as the three went out. + +A voice said cheerfully: "Bit thick, isn't it, sir?" + +The young man who had handed him his handkerchief was again passing. +Soames nodded. + +"I don't know what we're coming to." + +"Oh! That's all right, sir," answered the young man cheerfully; "they +don't either." + +Fleur's voice said: "Hallo, Father! Here you are!" precisely as if +he had been keeping her waiting. + +The young man, snatching off his hat, passed on. + +"Well," said Soames, looking her up and down, "you're a punctual sort +of young woman!" + +This treasured possession of his life was of medium height and +colour, with short, dark chestnut hair; her wide-apart brown eyes +were set in whites so clear that they glinted when they moved, and +yet in repose were almost dreamy under very white, black-lashed lids, +held over them in a sort of suspense. She had a charming profile, +and nothing of her father in her face save a decided chin. Aware +that his expression was softening as he looked at her, Soames frowned +to preserve the unemotionalism proper to a Forsyte. He knew she was +only too inclined to take advantage of his weakness. + +Slipping her hand under his arm, she said: + +"Who was that?" + +"He picked up my handkerchief. We talked about the pictures." + +"You're not going to buy that, Father?" + +"No," said Soames grimly; "nor that Juno you've been looking at." + +Fleur dragged at his arm. "Oh! Let's go! It's a ghastly show." + +In the doorway they passed the young man called Mont and his partner. +But Soames had hung out a board marked "Trespassers will be +prosecuted," and he barely acknowledged the young fellow's salute. + +"Well," he said in the street, "whom did you meet at Imogen's?" + +"Aunt Winifred, and that Monsieur Profond." + +"Oh!" muttered Soames; "that chap! What does your aunt see in him?" + +"I don't know. He looks pretty deep--mother says she likes him." + +Soames grunted. + +"Cousin Val and his wife were there, too." + +"What!" said Soames. "I thought they were back in South Africa." + +"Oh, no! They've sold their farm. Cousin Val is going to train +race-horses on the Sussex Downs. They've got a jolly old manor- +house; they asked me down there." + +Soames coughed: the news was distasteful to him. "What's his wife +like now?" + +"Very quiet, but nice, I think." + +Soames coughed again. "He's a rackety chap, your Cousin Val." + +"Oh! no, Father; they're awfully devoted. I promised to go--Saturday +to Wednesday next." + +"Training race-horses!" said Soames. It was extravagant, but not the +reason for his distaste. Why the deuce couldn't his nephew have +stayed out in South Africa? His own divorce had been bad enough, +without his nephew's marriage to the daughter of the co-respondent; a +half-sister too of June, and of that boy whom Fleur had just been +looking at from under the pump-handle. If he didn't look out, she +would come to know all about that old disgrace! Unpleasant things! +They were round him this afternoon like a swarm of bees! + +"I don't like it!" he said. + +"I want to see the race-horses," murmured Fleur; "and they've +promised I shall ride. Cousin Val can't walk much, you know; but he +can ride perfectly. He's going to show me their gallops." + +"Racing!" said Soames. "It's a pity the War didn't knock that on the +head. He's taking after his father, I'm afraid." + +"I don't know anything about his father." + +"No," said Soames, grimly. "He took an interest in horses and broke +his neck in Paris, walking down-stairs. Good riddance for your +aunt." He frowned, recollecting the inquiry into those stairs which +he had attended in Paris six years ago, because. Montague Dartie +could not attend it himself--perfectly normal stairs in a house where +they played baccarat. Either his winnings or the way he had +celebrated them had gone to his brother-in-law's head. The French +procedure had been very loose; he had had a lot of trouble +with it. + +A sound from Fleur distracted his attention. "Look! The people who +were in the Gallery with us." + +"What people?" muttered Soames, who knew perfectly well. + +"I think that woman's beautiful." + +"Come into this pastry-cook's," said Soames abruptly, and tightening +his grip on her arm he turned into a confectioner's. It was--for +him--a surprising thing to do, and he said rather anxiously: "What +will you have?" + +"Oh! I don't want anything. I had a cocktail and a tremendous +lunch." + +"We must have something now we're here," muttered Soames, keeping +hold of her arm. + +"Two teas," he said; "and two of those nougat things." + +But no sooner was his body seated than his soul sprang up. Those +three--those three were coming in! He heard Irene say something to +her boy, and his answer: + +"Oh! no, Mum; this place is all right. My stunt." And the three sat +down. + +At that moment, most awkward of his existence, crowded with ghosts +and shadows from his past, in presence of the only two women he had +ever loved--his divorced wife and his daughter by her successor-- +Soames was not so much afraid of them as of his cousin June. She +might make a scene--she might introduce those two children--she was +capable of anything. He bit too hastily at the nougat, and it stuck +to his plate. Working at it with his finger, he glanced at Fleur. +She was masticating dreamily, but her eyes were on the boy. The +Forsyte in him said: "Think, feel, and you're done for!" And he +wiggled his finger desperately. Plate! Did Jolyon wear a plate? +Did that woman wear a plate? Time had been when he had seen her +wearing nothing! That was something, anyway, which had never been +stolen from him. And she knew it, though she might sit there calm +and self-possessed, as if she had never been his wife. An acid +humour stirred in his Forsyte blood; a subtle pain divided by hair's +breadth from pleasure. If only June did not suddenly bring her +hornets about his ears! The boy was talking. + +"Of course, Auntie June"--so he called his half-sister "Auntie," did +he?--well, she must be fifty, if she was a day!--" it's jolly good of +you to encourage them. Only--hang it all!" Soames stole a glance. +Irene's startled eyes were bent watchfully on her boy. She--she had +these devotions--for Bosinney--for that boy's father--for this boy! +He touched Fleur's arm, and said: + +"Well, have you had enough?" + +"One more, Father, please." + +She would be sick! He went to the counter to pay. When he turned +round again he saw Fleur standing near the door, holding a +handkerchief which the boy had evidently just handed to her. + +"F. F.," he heard her say. "Fleur Forsyte--it's mine all right. +Thank you ever so." + +Good God! She had caught the trick from what he'd told her in the +Gallery--monkey! + +"Forsyte? Why--that's my name too. Perhaps we're cousins." + +"Really! We must be. There aren't any others. I live at +Mapledurham; where do you?" + +"Robin Hill." + +Question and answer had been so rapid that all was over before he +could lift a finger. He saw Irene's face alive with startled +feeling, gave the slightest shake of his head, and slipped his arm +through Fleur's. + +"Come along!" he said. + +She did not move. + +"Didn't you hear, Father? Isn't it queer--our name's the same. Are +we cousins?" + +"What's that?" he said. "Forsyte? Distant, perhaps." + +"My name's Jolyon, sir. Jon, for short." + +"Oh! Ah!" said Soames. "Yes. Distant. How are you? Very good of +you. Good-bye!" + +He moved on. + +"Thanks awfully," Fleur was saying. "Au revoir!" + +"Au revoir!" he heard the boy reply. + + + + +II + +FINE FLEUR FORSYTE + + +Emerging from the "pastry-cook's," Soames' first impulse was to vent +his nerves by saying to his daughter: 'Dropping your hand-kerchief!' +to which her reply might well be: 'I picked that up from you!' His +second impulse therefore was to let sleeping dogs lie. But she would +surely question him. He gave her a sidelong look, and found she was +giving him the same. She said softly: + +"Why don't you like those cousins, Father?" Soames lifted the corner +of his lip. + +"What made you think that?" + +"Cela se voit." + +'That sees itself!' What a way of putting it! After twenty years of +a French wife Soames had still little sympathy with her language; a +theatrical affair and connected in his mind with all the refinements +of domestic irony. + +"How?" he asked. + +"You must know them; and you didn't make a sign. I saw them looking +at you." + +"I've never seen the boy in my life," replied Soames with perfect +truth. + +"No; but you've seen the others, dear." + +Soames gave her another look. What had she picked up? Had her Aunt +Winifred, or Imogen, or Val Dartie and his wife, been talking? Every +breath of the old scandal had been carefully kept from her at home, +and Winifred warned many times that he wouldn't have a whisper of it +reach her for the world. So far as she ought to know, he had never +been married before. But her dark eyes, whose southern glint and +clearness often almost frightened him, met his with perfect +innocence. + +"Well," he said, "your grandfather and his brother had a quarrel. +The two families don't know each other." + +"How romantic!" + +'Now, what does she mean by that?' he thought. The word was to him +extravagant and dangerous--it was as if she had said: "How jolly!" + +"And they'll continue not to know each, other," he added, but +instantly regretted the challenge in those words. Fleur was smiling. +In this age, when young people prided themselves on going their own +ways and paying no attention to any sort of decent prejudice, he had +said the very thing to excite her wilfulness. Then, recollecting the +expression on Irene's face, he breathed again. + +"What sort of a quarrel?" he heard Fleur say. + +"About a house. It's ancient history for you. Your grandfather died +the day you were born. He was ninety." + +"Ninety? Are there many Forsytes besides those in the Red Book?" + +"I don't know," said Soames. "They're all dispersed now. The old +ones are dead, except Timothy." + +Fleur clasped her hands. + +"Timothy? Isn't that delicious?" + +"Not at all," said Soames. It offended him that she should think +"Timothy" delicious--a kind of insult to his breed. This new +generation mocked at anything solid and tenacious. "You go and see +the old boy. He might want to prophesy." Ah! If Timothy could see +the disquiet England of his great-nephews and great-nieces, he would +certainly give tongue. And involuntarily he glanced up at the +Iseeum; yes--George was still in the window, with the same pink paper +in his hand. + +"Where is Robin Hill, Father?" + +Robin Hill! Robin Hill, round which all that tragedy had centred! +What did she want to know for? + +"In Surrey," he muttered; "not far from Richmond. Why?" + +"Is the house there?" + +"What house?" + +"That they quarrelled about." + +"Yes. But what's all that to do with you? We're going home to- +morrow--you'd better be thinking about your frocks." + +"Bless you! They're all thought about. A family feud? It's like +the Bible, or Mark Twain--awfully exciting. What did you do in the +feud, Father?" + +"Never you mind." + +"Oh! But if I'm to keep it up?" + +"Who said you were to keep it up?" + +"You, darling." + +"I? I said it had nothing to do with you." + +"Just what I think, you know; so that's all right." + +She was too sharp for him; fine, as Annette sometimes called her. +Nothing for it but to distract her attention. + +"There's a bit of rosaline point in here," he said, stopping before a +shop, "that I thought you might like." + +When he had paid for it and they had resumed their progress, Fleur +said: + +"Don't you think that boy's mother is the most beautiful woman of her +age you've ever seen?" + +Soames shivered. Uncanny, the way she stuck to it! + +"I don't know that I noticed her." + +"Dear, I saw the corner of your eye." + +"You see everything--and a great deal more, it seems to me!" + +"What's her husband like? He must be your first cousin, if your +fathers were brothers." + +"Dead, for all I know," said Soames, with sudden vehemence. "I +haven't seen him for twenty years." + +"What was he?" + +"A painter." + +"That's quite jolly." + +The words: "If you want to please me you'll put those people out of +your head," sprang to Soames' lips, but he choked them back--he must +not let her see his feelings. + +"He once insulted me," he said. + +Her quick eyes rested on his face. + +"I see! You didn't avenge it, and it rankles. Poor Father! You let +me have a go!" + +It was really like lying in the dark with a mosquito hovering above +his face. Such pertinacity in Fleur was new to him, and, as they +reached the hotel, he said grimly: + +"I did my best. And that's enough about these people. I'm going up +till dinner." + +"I shall sit here." + +With a parting look at her extended in a chair--a look half- +resentful, half-adoring--Soames moved into the lift and was +transported to their suite on the fourth floor. He stood by the +window of the sitting-room which gave view over Hyde Park, and +drummed a finger on its pane. His feelings were confused, tetchy, +troubled. The throb of that old wound, scarred over by Time and new +interests, was mingled with displeasure and anxiety, and a slight +pain in his chest where that nougat stuff had disagreed. Had Annette +come in? Not that she was any good to him in such a difficulty. +Whenever she had questioned him about his first marriage, he had +always shut her up; she knew nothing of it, save that it had been the +great passion of his life, and his marriage with herself but domestic +makeshift. She had always kept the grudge of that up her sleeve, as +it were, and used it commercially. He listened. A sound--the vague +murmur of a woman's movements--was coming through the door. She was +in. He tapped. + +"Who?" + +"I," said Soames. + +She had been changing her frock, and was still imperfectly clothed; a +striking figure before her glass. There was a certain magnificence +about her arms, shoulders, hair, which had darkened since he first +knew her, about the turn of her neck, the silkiness of her garments, +her dark-lashed, greyblue eyes--she was certainly as handsome at +forty as she had ever been. A fine possession, an excellent +housekeeper, a sensible and affectionate enough mother. If only she +weren't always so frankly cynical about the relations between them! +Soames, who had no more real affection for her than she had for him, +suffered from a kind of English grievance in that she had never +dropped even the thinnest veil of sentiment over their partnership. +Like most of his countrymen and women, he held the view that marriage +should be based on mutual love, but that when from a marriage love +had disappeared, or, been found never to have really existed--so that +it was manifestly not based on love--you must not admit it. There it +was, and the love was not--but there you were, and must continue to +be! Thus you had it both ways, and were not tarred with cynicism, +realism, and immorality like the French. Moreover, it was necessary +in the interests of property. He knew that she knew that they both +knew there was no love between them, but he still expected her not to +admit in words or conduct such a thing, and he could never understand +what she meant when she talked of the hypocrisy of the English. He +said: + +"Whom have you got at 'The Shelter' next week?" + +Annette went on touching her lips delicately with salve--he always +wished she wouldn't do that. + +"Your sister Winifred, and the Car-r-digans"--she took up a tiny +stick of black--"and Prosper Profond." + +"That Belgian chap? Why him?" + +Annette turned her neck lazily, touched one eyelash, and said: + +"He amuses Winifred." + +"I want some one to amuse Fleur; she's restive." + +"R-restive?" repeated Annette. "Is it the first time you see that, +my friend? She was born r-restive, as you call it." + +Would she never get that affected roll out of her r's? + +He touched the dress she had taken off, and asked: + +"What have you been doing?" + +Annette looked at him, reflected in her glass. Her just-brightened +lips smiled, rather full, rather ironical. + +"Enjoying myself," she said. + +"Oh!" answered Soames glumly. "Ribbandry, I suppose." + +It was his word for all that incomprehensible running in and out of +shops that women went in for. "Has Fleur got her summer dresses?" + +"You don't ask if I have mine." + +"You don't care whether I do or not." + +"Quite right. Well, she has; and I have mine--terribly expensive." + +"H'm!" said Soames. "What does that chap Profond do in England?" + +Annette raised the eyebrows she had just finished. + +"He yachts." + +"Ah!" said Soames; "he's a sleepy chap." + +"Sometimes," answered Annette, and her face had a sort of quiet +enjoyment. "But sometimes very amusing." + +"He's got a touch of the tar-brush about him." + +Annette stretched herself. + +"Tar-brush?" she said. "What is that? His mother was Armenienne." + +"That's it, then," muttered Soames. "Does he know anything about +pictures?" + +"He knows about everything--a man of the world." + +"Well, get some one for Fleur. I want to distract her. She's going +off on Saturday to Val Dartie and his wife; I don't like it." + +"Why not?" + +Since the reason could not be explained without going into family +history, Soames merely answered: + +"Racketing about. There's too much of it." + +"I like that little Mrs. Val; she is very quiet and clever." + +"I know nothing of her except--This thing's new." And Soames took +up a creation from the bed. + +Annette received it from him. + +"Would you hook me?" she said. + +Soames hooked. Glancing once over her shoulder into the glass, he +saw the expression on her face, faintly amused, faintly contemptuous, +as much as to say: "Thanks! You will never learn!" No, thank God, +he wasn't a Frenchman! He finished with a jerk, and the words: "It's +too low here." And he went to the door, with the wish to get away +from her and go down to Fleur again. + +Annette stayed a powder-puff, and said with startling suddenness + +"Que to es grossier!" + +He knew the expression--he had reason to. The first time she had +used it he had thought it meant "What a grocer you are!" and had not +known whether to be relieved or not when better informed. He +resented the word--he was not coarse! If he was coarse, what was +that chap in the room beyond his, who made those horrible noises in +the morning when he cleared his throat, or those people in the Lounge +who thought it well-bred to say nothing but what the whole world +could hear at the top of their voices--quacking inanity! Coarse, +because he had said her dress was low! Well, so it was! He went out +without reply. + +Coming into the Lounge from the far end, he at once saw Fleur where +he had left her. She sat with crossed knees, slowly balancing a foot +in silk stocking and grey shoe, sure sign that she was dreaming. Her +eyes showed it too--they went off like that sometimes. And then, in +a moment, she would come to life, and be as quick and restless as a +monkey. And she knew so much, so self-assured, and not yet nineteen. +What was that odious word? Flapper! Dreadful young creatures-- +squealing and squawking and showing their legs! The worst of them +bad dreams, the best of them powdered angels! Fleur was not a +flapper, not one of those slangy, ill-bred young females. And yet +she was frighteningly self-willed, and full of life, and determined +to enjoy it. Enjoy! The word brought no puritan terror to Soames; +but it brought the terror suited to his temperament. He had always +been afraid to enjoy to-day for fear he might not enjoy tomorrow so +much. And it was terrifying to feel that his daughter was divested +of that safeguard. The very way she sat in that chair showed it-- +lost in her dream. He had never been lost in a dream himself--there +was nothing to be had out of it; and where she got it from he did not +know! Certainly not from Annette! And yet Annette, as a young girl, +when he was hanging about her, had once had a flowery look. Well, +she had lost it now! + +Fleur rose from her chair-swiftly, restlessly; and flung herself down +at a writing-table. Seizing ink and writing paper, she began to +write as if she had not time to breathe before she got her letter +written. And suddenly she saw him. The air of desperate absorption +vanished, she smiled, waved a kiss, made a pretty face as if she were +a little puzzled and a little bored. + +Ah! She was "fine"--"fine!" + + + + +III + +AT ROBIN HILL + + +Jolyon Forsyte had spent his boy's nineteenth birthday at Robin Hill, +quietly going into his affairs. He did everything quietly now, +because his heart was in a poor way, and, like all his family, he +disliked the idea of dying. He had never realised how much till one +day, two years ago, he had gone to his doctor about certain symptoms, +and been told: + +"At any moment, on any overstrain." + +He had taken it with a smile--the natural Forsyte reaction against an +unpleasant truth. But with an increase of symptoms in the train on +the way home, he had realised to the full the sentence hanging over +him. To leave Irene, his boy, his home, his work--though he did +little enough work now! To leave them for unknown darkness, for the +unimaginable state, for such nothingness that he would not even be +conscious of wind stirring leaves above his grave, nor of the scent +of earth and grass. Of such nothingness that, however hard he might +try to conceive it, he never could, and must still hover on the hope +that he might see again those he loved! To realise this was to +endure very poignant spiritual anguish. Before he reached home that +day he had determined to keep it from Irene. He would have to be +more careful than man had ever been, for the least thing would give +it away and make her as wretched as himself, almost. His doctor had +passed him sound in other respects, and seventy was nothing of an +age--he would last a long time yet, if he could. + +Such a conclusion, followed out for nearly two years, develops to the +full the subtler side of character. Naturally not abrupt, except +when nervously excited, Jolyon had become control incarnate. The sad +patience of old people who cannot exert themselves was masked by a +smile which his lips preserved even in private. He devised +continually all manner of cover to conceal his enforced lack of +exertion. + +Mocking himself for so doing, he counterfeited conversion to the +Simple Life; gave up wine and cigars, drank a special kind of coffee +with no coffee in it. In short, he made himself as safe as a Forsyte +in his condition could, under the rose of his mild irony. Secure +from discovery, since his wife and son had gone up to Town, he had +spent the fine May day quietly arranging his papers, that he might +die to-morrow without inconveniencing any one, giving in fact a final +polish to his terrestrial state. Having docketed and enclosed it in +his father's old Chinese cabinet, he put the key into an envelope, +wrote the words outside: "Key of the Chinese cabinet, wherein will be +found the exact state of me, J. F.," and put it in his breast- +pocket, where it would be always about him, in case of accident. +Then, ringing for tea, he went out to have it under the old oak-tree. + +All are under sentence of death; Jolyon, whose sentence was but a +little more precise and pressing, had become so used to it that he +thought habitually, like other people, of other things. He thought +of his son now. + +Jon was nineteen that day, and Jon had come of late to a decision. +Educated neither at Eton like his father, nor at Harrow, like his +dead half-brother, but at one of those establishments which, designed +to avoid the evil and contain the good of the Public School system, +may or may not contain the evil and avoid the good, Jon had left in +April perfectly ignorant of whit he wanted to become. The War, which +had promised to go on for ever, had ended just as he was about to +join the Army, six months before his time. It had taken him ever +since to get used to the idea that he could now choose for himself. +He had held with his father several discussions, from which, under a +cheery show of being ready for anything--except, of course, the +Church, Army, Law, Stage, Stock Exchange, Medicine, Business, and +Engineering--Jolyon had gathered rather clearly that Jon wanted to go +in for nothing. He himself had felt exactly like that at the same +age. With him that pleasant vacuity had soon been ended by an early +marriage, and its unhappy consequences. Forced to become an +underwriter at Lloyd's, he had regained prosperity before his +artistic talent had outcropped. But having--as the simple say-- +"learned" his boy to draw pigs and other animals, he knew that Jon +would never be a painter, and inclined to the conclusion that his +aversion from everything else meant that he was going to be a writer. +Holding, however, the view that experience was necessary even for +that profession, there seemed to Jolyon nothing in the meantime, for +Jon, but University, travel, and perhaps the eating of dinners for +the Bar. After that one would see, or more probably one would not. +In face of these proffered allurements, however, Jon had remained +undecided. + +Such discussions with his son had confirmed in Jolyon a doubt whether +the world had really changed. People said that it was a new age. +With the profundity of one not too long for any age, Jolyon perceived +that under slightly different surfaces the era was precisely what it +had been. Mankind was still divided into two species: The few who +had "speculation" in their souls, and the many who had none, with a +belt of hybrids like himself in the middle. Jon appeared to have +speculation; it seemed to his father a bad lookout. + +With something deeper, therefore, than his usual smile, he had heard +the boy say, a fortnight ago: "I should like to try farming, Dad; if +it won't cost you too much. It seems to be about the only sort of +life that doesn't hurt anybody; except art, and of course that's out +of the question for me." + +Jolyon subdued his smile, and answered: + +"All right; you shall skip back to where we were under the first +Jolyon in 1760. It'll prove the cycle theory, and incidentally, no +doubt, you may grow a better turnip than he did." + +A little dashed, Jon had answered: + +"But don't you think it's a good scheme, Dad?" + +"'Twill serve, my dear; and if you should really take to it, you'll +do more good than most men, which is little enough." + +To himself, however, he had said: 'But he won't take to it. I give +him four years. Still, it's healthy, and harmless.' + +After turning the matter over and consulting with Irene, he wrote to +his daughter, Mrs. Val Dartie, asking if they knew of a farmer near +them on the Downs who would take Jon as an apprentice. Holly's +answer had been enthusiastic. There was an excellent man quite +close; she and Val would love Jon to live with them. + +The boy was due to go to-morrow. + +Sipping weak tea with lemon in it, Jolyon gazed through the leaves of +the old oak-tree at that view which had appeared to him desirable for +thirty-two years. The tree beneath which he sat seemed not a day +older! So young, the little leaves of brownish gold; so old, the +whitey-grey-green of its thick rough trunk. A tree of memories, +which would live on hundreds of years yet, unless some barbarian cut +it down--would see old England out at the pace things were going! He +remembered a night three years before, when, looking from his window, +with his arm close round Irene, he had watched a German aeroplane +hovering, it seemed, right over the old tree. Next day they had +found a bomb hole in a field on Gage's farm. That was before he knew +that he was under sentence of death. He could almost have wished the +bomb had finished him. It would have saved a lot of hanging about, +many hours of cold fear in the pit of his stomach. He had counted on +living to the normal Forsyte age of eighty-five or more, when Irene +would be seventy. As it was, she would miss him. Still there was +Jon, more important in her life than himself; Jon, who adored his +mother. + +Under that tree, where old Jolyon--waiting for Irene to come to him +across the lawn--had breathed his last, Jolyon wondered, whimsically, +whether, having put everything in such perfect order, he had not +better close his own eyes and drift away. There was something +undignified in o parasitically clinging on to the effortless close of +a life wherein he regretted two things only--the long division +between his father and himself when he was young, and the lateness of +his union o with Irene. + +>From where he sat he could see a cluster of apple-trees in blossom. +Nothing in Nature moved him so much as fruit-trees in blossom; and +his heart ached suddenly because he might never see them flower +again. Spring! Decidedly no man ought to have to die while his +heart was still young enough to love beauty! Blackbirds sang +recklessly in the shrubbery, swallows were flying high, the leaves +above him glistened; and over the fields was every imaginable tint of +early foliage, burnished by the level sunlight, away to where the +distant "smoke-bush" blue was trailed along the horizon. Irene's +flowers in their narrow beds had startling individuality that +evening, little deep assertions of gay life. Only Chinese and +Japanese painters, and perhaps Leonardo, had known how to get that +startling little ego into each painted flower, and bird, and beast-- +the ego, yet the sense of species, the universality of life as well. +They were the fellows! 'I've made nothing that will live!' thought +Jolyon; 'I've been an amateur--a mere lover, not a creator. Still, I +shall leave Jon behind me when I go.' What luck that the boy had +not been caught by that ghastly war! He might so easily have been +killed, like poor Jolly twenty years ago out in the Transvaal. Jon +would do something some day--if the Age didn't spoil him--an +imaginative chap! His whim to take up farming was but a bit of +sentiment, and about as likely to last. And just then he saw them +coming up the field: Irene and the boy; walking from the station, +with their arms linked. And getting up, he strolled down through the +new rose garden to meet them.... + +Irene came into his room that night and sat down by the window. She +sat there without speaking till he said: + +"What is it, my love?" + +"We had an encounter to-day." + +"With whom?" + +"Soames." + +Soames! He had kept that name out of his thoughts these last two +years; conscious that it was bad for him. And, now, his heart moved +in a disconcerting manner, as if it had side-slipped within his +chest. + +Irene went on quietly: + +"He and his daughter were in the Gallery, and afterward at the +confectioner's where we had tea." + +Jolyon went over and put his hand on her shoulder. + +"How did he look?" + +"Grey; but otherwise much the same." + +"And the daughter?" + +"Pretty. At least, Jon thought so." + +Jolyon's heart side-slipped again. His wife's face had a strained +and puzzled look. + + +"You didn't-?" he began. + +"No; but Jon knows their name. The girl dropped her handkerchief and +he picked it up." + +Jolyon sat down on his bed. An evil chance! + +"June was with you. Did she put her foot into it?" + +"No; but it was all very queer and strained, and Jon could see it +was." + +Jolyon drew a long breath, and said: + +"I've often wondered whether we've been right to keep it from him. +He'll find out some day." + +"The later the better, Jolyon; the young have such cheap, hard +judgment. When you were nineteen what would you have thought of your +mother if she had done what I have?" + +Yes! There it was! Jon worshipped his mother; and knew nothing of +the tragedies, the inexorable necessities of life, nothing of the +prisoned grief in an unhappy marriage, nothing of jealousy or +passion--knew nothing at all, as yet! + +"What have you told him?" he said at last. + +"That they were relations, but we didn't know them; that you had +never cared much for your family, or they for you. I expect he will +be asking you." + +Jolyon smiled. "This promises to take the place of air-raids," he +said. "After all, one misses them." + +Irene looked up at him. + +"We've known it would come some day." + +He answered her with sudden energy: + +"I could never stand seeing Jon blame you. He shan't do that, even +in thought. He has imagination; and he'll understand if it's put to +him properly. I think I had better tell him before he gets to know +otherwise." + +"Not yet, Jolyon." + +That was like her--she had no foresight, and never went to meet +trouble. Still--who knew?--she might be right. It was ill going +against a mother's instinct. It might be well to let the boy go on, +if possible, till experience had given him some touchstone by which +he could judge the values of that old tragedy; till love, jealousy, +longing, had deepened his charity. All the same, one must take +precautions--every precaution possible! And, long after Irene had +left him, he lay awake turning over those precautions. He must write +to Holly, telling her that Jon knew nothing as yet of family history. +Holly was discreet, she would make sure of her husband, she would see +to it! Jon could take the letter with him when he went to-morrow. + +And so the day on which he had put the polish on his material estate +died out with the chiming of the stable clock; and another began for +Jolyon in the shadow of a spiritual disorder which could not be so +rounded off and polished.... + +But Jon, whose room had once been his day nursery, lay awake too, the +prey of a sensation disputed by those who have never known it, "love +at first sight!" He had felt it beginning in him with the glint of +those dark eyes gazing into his athwart the Juno--a conviction that +this was his 'dream'; so that what followed had seemed to him at once +natural and miraculous. Fleur! Her name alone was almost enough for +one who was terribly susceptible to the charm of words. In a +homoeopathic Age, when boys and girls were co-educated, and mixed up +in early life till sex was almost abolished, Jon was singularly old- +fashioned. His modern school took boys only, and his holidays had +been spent at Robin Hill with boy friends, or his parents alone. He +had never, therefore, been inoculated against the germs of love by +small doses of the poison. And now in the dark his temperature was +mounting fast. He lay awake, featuring Fleur--as they called it-- +recalling her words, especially that "Au revoir!" so soft and +sprightly. + +He was still so wide awake at dawn that he got up, slipped on tennis +shoes, trousers, and a sweater, and in silence crept downstairs and +out through the study window. It was just light; there was a smell +of grass. 'Fleur!' he thought; 'Fleur!' It was mysteriously white +out of doors, with nothing awake except the birds just beginning to +chirp. 'I'll go down into the coppice,' he thought. He ran down +through the fields, reached the pond just as the sun rose, and passed +into the coppice. Bluebells carpeted the ground there; among the +larch-trees there was mystery--the air, as it were, composed of that +romantic quality. Jon sniffed its freshness, and stared at the +bluebells in the sharpening light. Fleur! It rhymed with her! And +she lived at Mapleduram--a jolly name, too, on the river somewhere. +He could find it in the atlas presently. He would write to her. But +would she answer? Oh! She must. She had said "Au revoir!" Not +good-bye! What luck that she had dropped her handkerchief! He would +never have known her but for that. And the more he thought of that +handkerchief, the more amazing his luck seemed. Fleur! It certainly +rhymed with her! Rhythm thronged his head; words jostled to be +joined together; he was on the verge of a poem. + +Jon remained in this condition for more than half an hour, then +returned to the house, and getting a ladder, climbed in at his +bedroom window out of sheer exhilaration. Then, remembering that the +study window was open, he went down and shut it, first removing the +ladder, so as to obliterate all traces of his feeling. The thing was +too deep to be revealed to mortal soul-even-to his mother. + + + + +IV + +THE MAUSOLEUM + + +There are houses whose souls have passed into the limbo of Time, +leaving their bodies in the limbo of London. Such was not quite the +condition of "Timothy's" on the Bayswater Road, for Timothy's soul +still had one foot in Timothy Forsyte's body, and Smither kept the +atmosphere unchanging, of camphor and port wine and house whose +windows are only opened to air it twice a day. + +To Forsyte imagination that house was now a sort of Chinese pill-box, +a series of layers in the last of which was Timothy. One did not +reach him, or so it was reported by members of the family who, out of +old-time habit or absentmindedness, would drive up once in a blue +moon and ask after their surviving uncle. Such were Francie, now +quite emancipated from God (she frankly avowed atheism), Euphemia, +emancipated from old Nicholas, and Winifred Dartie from her "man of +the world." But, after all, everybody was emancipated now, or said +they were--perhaps not quite the same thing! + +When Soames, therefore, took it on his way to Paddington station on +the morning after that encounter, it was hardly with the expectation +of seeing Timothy in the flesh. His heart made a faint demonstration +within him while he stood in full south sunlight on the newly +whitened doorstep of that little house where four Forsytes had once +lived, and now but one dwelt on like a winter fly; the house into +which Soames had come and out of which he had gone times without +number, divested of, or burdened with, fardels of family gossip; the +house of the "old people" of another century, another age. + +The sight of Smither--still corseted up to the armpits because the +new fashion which came in as they were going out about 1903 had never +been considered "nice" by Aunts Juley and Hester--brought a pale +friendliness to Soames' lips; Smither, still faithfully arranged to +old pattern in every detail, an invaluable servant--none such left-- +smiling back at him, with the words: "Why! it's Mr. Soames, after all +this time! And how are you, sir? Mr. Timothy will be so pleased to +know you've been." + +"How is he?" + +"Oh! he keeps fairly bobbish for his age, sir; but of course he's a +wonderful man. As I said to Mrs. Dartie when she was here last: It +would please Miss Forsyte and Mrs. Juley and Miss Hester to see how +he relishes a baked apple still. But he's quite deaf. And a mercy, +I always think. For what we should have done with him in the air- +raids, I don't know." + +"Ah!" said Soames. "What did you do with him?" + +"We just left him in his bed, and had the bell run down into the +cellar, so that Cook and I could hear him if he rang. It would never +have done to let him know there was a war on. As I said to Cook, 'If +Mr. Timothy rings, they may do what they like--I'm going up. My dear +mistresses would have a fit if they could see him ringing and nobody +going to him.' But he slept through them all beautiful. And the one +in the daytime he was having his bath. It was a mercy, because he +might have noticed the people in the street all looking up--he often +looks out of the window." + +"Quite!" murmured Soames. Smither was getting garrulous! "I just +want to look round and see if there's anything to be done." + +"Yes, sir. I don't think there's anything except a smell of mice in +the dining-room that we don't know how to get rid of. It's funny +they should be there, and not a crumb, since Mr. Timothy took to not +coming down, just before the War. But they're nasty little things; +you never know where they'll take you next." + +"Does he leave his bed?"-- + +"Oh! yes, sir; he takes nice exercise between his bed and the window +in the morning, not to risk a change of air. And he's quite +comfortable in himself; has his Will out every day regular. It's a +great consolation to him--that." + +"Well, Smither, I want to see him, if I can; in case he has anything +to say to me." + +Smither coloured up above her corsets. + +"It will be an occasion!" she said. "Shall I take you round the +house, sir, while I send Cook to break it to him?" + +"No, you go to him," said Soames. "I can go round the house by +myself." + +One could not confess to sentiment before another, and Soames felt +that he was going to be sentimental nosing round those rooms so +saturated with the past. When Smither, creaking with excitement, had +left him, Soames entered the dining-room and sniffed. In his opinion +it wasn't mice, but incipient wood-rot, and he examined the +panelling. Whether it was worth a coat of paint, at Timothy's age, +he was not sure. The room had always been the most modern in the +house; and only a faint smile curled Soames' lips and nostrils. +Walls of a rich green surmounted the oak dado; a heavy metal +chandelier hung by a chain from a ceiling divided by imitation beams. +The pictures had been bought by Timothy, a bargain, one day at +Jobson's sixty years ago--three Snyder "still lifes," two faintly +coloured drawings of a boy and a girl, rather charming, which bore +the initials "J. R."--Timothy had always believed they might turn out +to be Joshua Reynolds, but Soames, who admired them, had discovered +that they were only John Robinson; and a doubtful Morland of a white +pony being shod. Deep-red plush curtains, ten high-backed dark +mahogany chairs with deep-red plush seats, a Turkey carpet, and a +mahogany dining-table as large as the room was small, such was an +apartment which Soames could remember unchanged in soul or body since +he was four years old. He looked especially at the two drawings, and +thought: 'I shall buy those at the sale.' + +>From the dining-room he passed into Timothy's study. He did not +remember ever having been in that room. It was lined from floor to +ceiling with volumes, and he looked at them with curiosity. One wall +seemed devoted to educational books, which Timothy's firm had +published two generations back-sometimes as many as twenty copies of +one book. Soames read their titles and shuddered. The middle wall +had precisely the same books as used to be in the library at his own +father's in Park Lane, from which he deduced the fancy that James and +his youngest brother had gone out together one day and bought a brace +of small libraries. The third wall he approached with more +excitement. Here, surely, Timothy's own taste would be found. It +was. The books were dummies. The fourth wall was all heavily +curtained window. And turned toward it was a large chair with a +mahogany reading-stand attached, on which a yellowish and folded copy +of The Times, dated July 6, 1914, the day Timothy first failed to +come down, as if in preparation for the War, seemed waiting for him +still. In a corner stood a large globe of that world never visited +by Timothy, deeply convinced of the unreality of everything but +England, and permanently upset by the sea, on which he had been very +sick one Sunday afternoon in 1836, out of a pleasure boat off the +pier at Brighton, with Juley and Hester, Swithin and Hatty Chessman; +all due to Swithin, who was always taking things into his head, and +who, thank goodness, had been sick too. Soames knew all about it, +having heard the tale fifty times at least from one or other of them. +He went up to the globe, and gave it a spin; it emitted a faint creak +and moved about an inch, bringing into his purview a daddy-long-legs +which had died on it in latitude 44. + +'Mausoleum!' he thought. 'George was right!' And he went out and up +the stairs. On the half-landing he stopped before the case of +stuffed humming-birds which had delighted his childhood. They looked +not a day older, suspended on wires above pampas-grass. If the case +were opened the birds would not begin to hum, but the whole thing +would crumble, he suspected. It wouldn't be worth putting that into +the sale! And suddenly he was caught by a memory of Aunt Ann--dear +old Aunt Ann--holding him by the hand in front of that case and +saying: "Look, Soamey! Aren't they bright and pretty, dear little +humming-birds!" Soames remembered his own answer: "They don't hum, +Auntie." He must have been six, in a black velveteen suit with a +light-blue collar-he remembered that suit well! Aunt Ann with her +ringlets, and her spidery kind hands, and her grave old aquiline +smile--a fine old lady, Aunt Ann! He moved on up to the drawing-room +door. There on each side of it were the groups of miniatures. Those +he would certainly buy in! The miniatures of his four aunts, one of +his Uncle Swithin adolescent, and one of his Uncle Nicholas as a boy. +They had all been painted by a young lady friend of the family at a +time, 1830, about, when miniatures were considered very genteel, and +lasting too, painted as they were on ivory. Many a time had he heard +the tale of that young lady: "Very talented, my dear; she had quite a +weakness for Swithin, and very soon after she went into a consumption +and died: so like Keats--we often spoke of it." + +Well, there they were! Ann, Juley, Hester, Susan--quite a small +child; Swithin, with sky-blue eyes, pink cheeks, yellow curls, white +waistcoat-large as life; and Nicholas, like Cupid with an eye on +heaven. Now he came to think of it, Uncle Nick had always been +rather like that--a wonderful man to the last. Yes, she must have +had talent, and miniatures always had a certain back-watered cachet +of their own, little subject to the currents of competition on +aesthetic Change. Soames opened the drawing-room door. The room was +dusted, the furniture uncovered, the curtains drawn back, precisely +as if his aunts still dwelt there patiently waiting. And a thought +came to him: When Timothy died--why not? Would it not be almost a +duty to preserve this house--like Carlyle's--and put up a tablet, and +show it? "Specimen of mid-Victorian abode--entrance, one shilling, +with catalogue." After all, it was the completest thing, and perhaps +the deadest in the London of to-day. Perfect in its special taste +and culture, if, that is, he took down and carried over to his own +collection the four Barbizon pictures he had given them. The still +sky-blue walls, tile green curtains patterned with red flowers and +ferns; the crewel-worked fire-screen before the cast-iron grate; the +mahogany cupboard with glass windows, full of little knickknacks; the +beaded footstools; Keats, Shelley, Southey, Cowper, Coleridge, +Byron's Corsair (but nothing else), and the Victorian poets in a +bookshelf row; the marqueterie cabinet lined with dim red plush, full +of family relics: Hester's first fan; the buckles of their mother's +father's shoes; three bottled scorpions; and one very yellow +elephant's tusk, sent home from India by Great-uncle Edgar Forsyte, +who had been in jute; a yellow bit of paper propped up, with spidery +writing on it, recording God knew what! And the pictures crowding on +the walls--all water-colours save those four Barbizons looking like +tile foreigners they were, and doubtful customers at that--pictures +bright and illustrative, "Telling the Bees," "Hey for the Ferry!" and +two in the style of Frith, all thimblerig and crinolines, given them +by Swithin. Oh! many, many pictures at which Soames had gazed a +thousand times in supercilious fascination; a marvellous collection +of bright, smooth gilt frames. + +And the boudoir-grand piano, beautifully dusted, hermetically sealed +as ever; and Aunt Juley's album of pressed seaweed on it. And the +gilt-legged chairs, stronger than they looked. And on one side of +the fireplace the sofa of crimson silk, where Aunt Ann, and after her +Aunt Juley, had been wont to sit, facing the light and bolt upright. +And on the other side of the fire the one really easy chair, back to +the light, for Aunt Hester. Soames screwed up his eyes; he seemed to +see them sitting there. Ah! and the atmosphere--even now, of too +many stuffs and washed lace curtains, lavender in bags, and dried +bees' wings. 'No,' he thought, 'there's nothing like it left; it +ought to be preserved.' And, by George, they might laugh at it, but +for a standard of gentle life never departed from, for fastidiousness +of skin and eye and nose and feeling, it beat to-day hollow--to-day +with its Tubes and cars, its perpetual smoking, its cross-legged, +bare-necked girls visible up to the knees and down to the waist if +you took the trouble (agreeable to the satyr within each Forsyte but +hardly his idea of a lady), with their feet, too, screwed round the +legs of their chairs while they ate, and their "So longs," and their +"Old Beans," and their laughter--girls who gave him the shudders +whenever he thought of Fleur in contact with them; and the hard-eyed, +capable, older women who managed life and gave him the shudders too. +No! his old aunts, if they never opened their minds, their eyes, or +very much their windows, at least had manners, and a standard, and +reverence for past and future. + +With rather a choky feeling he closed the door and went tiptoeing up- +stairs. He looked in at a place on the way: H'm! in perfect order of +the eighties, with a sort of yellow oilskin paper on the walls. At +the top of the stairs he hesitated between four doors. Which of them +was Timothy's? And he listened. A sound, as of a child slowly +dragging a hobby-horse about, came to his ears. That must be +Timothy! He tapped, and a door was opened by Smither, very red in +the face. + +Mr. Timothy was taking his walk, and she had not been able to get him +to attend. If Mr. Soames would come into the back-room, he could see +him through the door. + +Soames went into the back-room and stood watching. + +The last of the old Forsytes was on his feet, moving with the most +impressive slowness, and an air of perfect concentration on his own +affairs, backward and forward between the foot of his bed and the +window, a distance of some twelve feet. The lower part of his square +face, no longer clean-shaven, was covered with snowy beard clipped as +short as it could be, and his chin looked as broad as his brow where +the hair was also quite white, while nose and cheeks and brow were a +good yellow. One hand held a stout stick, and the other grasped the +skirt of his Jaeger dressing-gown, from under which could be seen his +bed-socked ankles and feet thrust into Jaeger slippers. The +expression on his face was that of a crossed child, intent on +something that he has not got. Each time he turned he stumped the +stick, and then dragged it, as if to show that he could do without +it: + +"He still looks strong," said Soames under his breath. + +"Oh! yes, sir. You should see him take his bath--it's wonderful; he +does enjoy it so." + +Those quite loud words gave Soames an insight. Timothy had resumed +his babyhood. + +"Does he take any interest in things generally?" he said, also loud. + +"Oh I yes, sir; his food and his Will. It's quite a sight to see him +turn it over and over, not to read it, of course; and every now and +then he asks the price of Consols, and I write it on a slate for him- +very large. Of course, I always write the same, what they were when +he last took notice, in 1914. We got the doctor to forbid him to +read the paper when the War broke out. Oh! he did take on about that +at first. But he soon came round, because he knew it tired him; and +he's a wonder to conserve energy as he used to call it when my dear +mistresses were alive, bless their hearts! How he did go on at them +about that; they were always so active, if you remember, Mr. Soames." + +"What would happen if I were to go in?" asked Soames: "Would he +remember me? I made his Will, you know, after Miss Hester died in +1907." + +"Oh! that, sir," replied Smither doubtfully, "I couldn't take on me +to say. I think he might; he really is a wonderful man for his age." + +Soames moved into the doorway, and waiting for Timothy to turn, said +in a loud voice: "Uncle Timothy!" + +Timothy trailed back half-way, and halted. + +"Eh?" he said. + +"Soames," cried Soames at the top of his voice, holding out his hand, +"Soames Forsyte!" + +"No!" said Timothy, and stumping his stick loudly on the floor, he +continued his walk. + +"It doesn't seem to work," said Soames. + +"No, sir," replied Smither, rather crestfallen; "you see, he hasn't +finished his walk. It always was one thing at a time with him. I +expect he'll ask me this afternoon if you came about the gas, and a +pretty job I shall have to make him understand." + +"Do you think he ought to have a man about him?" + +Smither held up her hands. "A man! Oh! no. Cook and me can manage +perfectly. A strange man about would send him crazy in no time. And +my mistresses wouldn't like the idea of a man in the house. Besides, +we're so--proud of him." + +"I suppose the doctor comes?" + +"Every morning. He makes special terms for such a quantity, and Mr. +Timothy's so used, he doesn't take a bit of notice, except to put out +his tongue." + +"Well," said Soames, turning away, "it's rather sad and painful to +me." + +"Oh! sir," returned Smither anxiously, "you mustn't think that. Now +that he can't worry about things, he quite enjoys his life, really he +does. As I say to Cook, Mr. Timothy is more of a man than he ever +was. You see, when he's not walkin', or takin' his bath, he's +eatin', and when he's not eatin', he's sleepin'; and there it is. +There isn't an ache or a care about him anywhere." + +"Well," said Soames, "there's something in that. I'll go down. By +the way, let me see his Will." + +"I should have to take my time about that, sir; he keeps it under his +pillow, and he'd see me, while he's active." + +"I only want to know if it's the one I made," said Soames; "you take +a look at its date some time, and let me know." + +"Yes, sir; but I'm sure it's the same, because me and Cook witnessed, +you remember, and there's our names on it still, and we've only done +it once." + +"Quite," said Soames. He did remember. Smither and Jane had been +proper witnesses, having been left nothing in the Will that they +might have no interest in Timothy's death. It had been--he fully +admitted--an almost improper precaution, but Timothy had wished it, +and, after all, Aunt Hester had provided for them amply. + +"Very well," he said; "good-bye, Smither. Look after him, and if he +should say anything at any time, put it down, and let me know." + +"Oh I yes, Mr. Soames; I'll be sure to do that. It's been such a +pleasant change to see you. Cook will be quite excited when I tell +her." + +Soames shook her hand and went down-stairs. He stood for fully two +minutes by the hat-stand whereon he had hung his hat so many times. +'So it all passes,' he was thinking; 'passes and begins again. Poor +old chap!' And he listened, if perchance the sound of Timothy +trailing his hobby-horse might come down the well of the stairs; or +some ghost of an old face show over the bannisters, and an old voice +say: 'Why, it's dear Soames, and we were only saying that we hadn't +seen him for a week!' + +Nothing--nothing! Just the scent of camphor, and dust-motes in a +sunbeam through the fanlight over the door. The little old house! A +mausoleum! And, turning on his heel, he went out, and caught his +train. + + + + +V + +THE NATIVE HEATH + + + "His foot's upon his native heath, + His name's--Val Dartie." + +With some such feeling did Val Dartie, in the fortieth year of his +age, set out that same Thursday morning very early from the old +manor-house he had taken on the north side of the Sussex Downs. His +destination was Newmarket, and he had not been there since the autumn +of 1899, when he stole over from Oxford for the Cambridgeshire. He +paused at the door to give his wife a kiss, and put a flask of port +into his pocket. + +"Don't overtire your leg, Val, and don't bet too much." + +With the pressure of her chest against his own, and her eyes looking +into his, Val felt both leg and pocket safe. He should be moderate; +Holly was always right--she had a natural aptitude. It did not seem +so remarkable to him, perhaps, as it might to others, that--half +Dartie as he was--he should have been perfectly faithful to his young +first cousin during the twenty years since he married her +romantically out in the Boer War; and faithful without any feeling of +sacrifice or boredom--she was so quick, so slyly always a little in +front of his mood. Being first cousins they had decided, rather +needlessly, to have no children; and, though a little sallower, she +had kept her looks, her slimness, and the colour of her dark hair. +Val particularly admired the life of her own she carried on, besides +carrying on his, and riding better every year. She kept up her +music, she read an awful lot--novels, poetry, all sorts of stuff. +Out on their farm in Cape colony she had looked after all the +"nigger" babies and women in a miraculous manner. She was, in fact, +clever; yet made no fuss about it, and had no "side." Though not +remarkable for humility, Val had come to have the feeling that she +was his superior, and he did not grudge it--a great tribute. It +might be noted that he never looked at Holly without her knowing of +it, but that she looked at him sometimes unawares. + +He had kissed her in the porch because he should not be doing so on +the platform, though she was going to the station with him, to drive +the car back. Tanned and wrinkled by Colonial weather and the wiles +inseparable from horses, and handicapped by the leg which, weakened +in the Boer War, had probably saved his life in the War just past, +Val was still much as he had been in the days of his courtship; his +smile as wide and charming, his eyelashes, if anything, thicker and +darker, his eyes screwed up under them, as bright a grey, his +freckles rather deeper, his hair a little grizzled at the sides. He +gave the impression of one who has lived actively with horses in a +sunny climate. + +Twisting the car sharp round at the gate, he said: + +"When is young Jon coming?" + +"To-day." + +"Is there anything you want for him? I could bring it down on +Saturday." + +"No; but you might come by the same train as Fleur--one-forty." + +Val gave the Ford full rein; he still drove like a man in a new +country on bad roads, who refuses to compromise, and expects heaven +at every hole. + +"That's a young woman who knows her way about," he said. "I say, has +it struck you?" + +"Yes," said Holly. + +"Uncle Soames and your Dad--bit awkward, isn't it?" + +"She won't know, and he won't know, and nothing must be said, of +course. It's only for five days, Val." + +"Stable secret! Righto!" If Holly thought it safe, it was. +Glancing slyly round at him, she said: "Did you notice how +beautifully she asked herself?" + +"No!" + +"Well, she did. What do you think of her, Val?" + +"Pretty and clever; but she might run out at any corner if she got +her monkey up, I should say." + +"I'm wondering," Holly murmured, "whether she is the modern young +woman. One feels at sea coming home into all this." + +"You? You get the hang of things so quick." + +Holly slid her hand into his coat-pocket. + +"You keep one in the know," said Val encouraged. "What do you think +of that Belgian fellow, Profond?" + +"I think he's rather 'a good devil.'" + +Val grinned. + +"He seems to me a queer fish for a friend of our family. In fact, +our family is in pretty queer waters, with Uncle Soames marrying a +Frenchwoman, and your Dad marrying Soames's first. Our grandfathers +would have had fits!" + +"So would anybody's, my dear." + +"This car," Val said suddenly, "wants rousing; she doesn't get her +hind legs under her uphill. I shall have to give her her head on the +slope if I'm to catch that train." + +There was that about horses which had prevented him from ever really +sympathising with a car, and the running of the Ford under his +guidance compared with its running under that of Holly was always +noticeable. He caught the train. + +"Take care going home; she'll throw you down if she can. Good-bye, +darling." + +"Good-bye," called Holly, and kissed her hand. + +In the train, after quarter of an hour's indecision between thoughts +of Holly, his morning paper, the look of the bright day, and his dim +memory of Newmarket, Val plunged into the recesses of a small square +book, all names, pedigrees, tap-roots, and notes about the make and +shape of horses. The Forsyte in him was bent on the acquisition of a +certain strain of blood, and he was subduing resolutely as yet the +Dartie hankering for a Nutter. On getting back to England, after the +profitable sale of his South African farm and stud, and observing +that the sun seldom shone, Val had said to himself: "I've absolutely +got to have an interest in life, or this country will give me the +blues. Hunting's not enough, I'll breed and I'll train." With just +that extra pinch of shrewdness and decision imparted by long +residence in a new country, Val had seen the weak point of modern +breeding. They were all hypnotised by fashion and high price. He +should buy for looks, and let names go hang! And here he was +already, hypnotised by the prestige of a certain strain of blood! +Half-consciously, he thought: 'There's something in this damned +climate which makes one go round in a ring. All the same, I must +have a strain of Mayfly blood.' + +In this mood he reached the Mecca of his hopes. It was one of those +quiet meetings favourable to such as wish to look into horses, rather +than into the mouths of bookmakers; and Val clung to the paddock. +His twenty years of Colonial life, divesting him of the dandyism in +which he had been bred, had left him the essential neatness of the +horseman, and given him a queer and rather blighting eye over what he +called "the silly haw-haw" of some Englishmen, the "flapping +cockatoory" of some English-women--Holly had none of that and Holly +was his model. Observant, quick, resourceful, Val went straight to +the heart of a transaction, a horse, a drink; and he was on his way +to the heart of a Mayfly filly, when a slow voice said at his elbow: + +"Mr. Val Dartie? How's Mrs. Val Dartie? She's well, I hope." And +he saw beside him the Belgian he had met at his sister Imogen's. + +"Prosper Profond--I met you at lunch," said the voice. + +"How are you?" murmured Val. + +"I'm very well," replied Monsieur Profond, smiling with a certain +inimitable slowness. "A good devil," Holly had called him. Well! +He looked a little like a devil, with his dark, clipped, pointed +beard; a sleepy one though, and good-humoured, with fine eyes, +unexpectedly intelligent. + +"Here's a gentleman wants to know you--cousin of yours--Mr. George +Forsyde." + +Val saw a large form, and a face clean-shaven, bull-like, a little +lowering, with sardonic humour bubbling behind a full grey eye; he +remembered it dimly from old days when he would dine with his father +at the Iseeum Club. + +"I used to go racing with your father," George was saying: "How's the +stud? Like to buy one of my screws?" + +Val grinned, to hide the sudden feeling that the bottom had fallen +out of breeding. They believed in nothing over here, not even in +horses. George Forsyte, Prosper Profond! The devil himself was not +more disillusioned than those two. + +"Didn't know you were a racing man," he said to Monsieur Profond. + +"I'm not. I don't care for it. I'm a yachtin' man. I don't care +for yachtin' either, but I like to see my friends. I've got some +lunch, Mr. Val Dartie, just a small lunch, if you'd like to 'ave +some; not much--just a small one--in my car." + +"Thanks," said Val; "very good of you. I'll come along in about +quarter of an hour." + +"Over there. Mr. Forsyde's comin'," and Monsieur Profond "poinded" +with a yellow-gloved finger; "small car, with a small lunch"; he +moved on, groomed, sleepy, and remote, George Forsyte following, +neat, huge, and with his jesting air. + +Val remained gazing at the Mayfly filly. George Forsyte, of course, +was an old chap, but this Profond might be about his own age; Val +felt extremely young, as if the Mayfly filly were a toy at which +those two had laughed. The animal had lost reality. + +"That 'small' mare"--he seemed to hear the voice of Monsieur Profond- +-"what do you see in her?--we must all die!" + +And George Forsyte, crony of his father, racing still! The Mayfly +strain--was it any better than any other? He might just as well have +a flutter with his money instead. + +"No, by gum!" he muttered suddenly, "if it's no good breeding horses, +it's no good doing anything. What did I come for? I'll buy her." + +He stood back and watched the ebb of the paddock visitors toward the +stand. Natty old chips, shrewd portly fellows, Jews, trainers +looking as if they had never been guilty of seeing a horse in their +lives; tall, flapping, languid women, or brisk, loud-voiced women; +young men with an air as if trying to take it seriously--two or three +of them with only one arm. + +'Life over here's a game!' thought Val. 'Muffin bell rings, horses +run, money changes hands; ring again, run again, money changes back.' + +But, alarmed at his own philosophy, he went to the paddock gate to +watch the Mayfly filly canter down. She moved well; and he made his +way over to the "small" car. The "small" lunch was the sort a man +dreams of but seldom gets; and when it was concluded Monsieur Profond +walked back with him to the paddock. + +"Your wife's a nice woman," was his surprising remark. + +"Nicest woman I know," returned Val dryly. + +"Yes," said Monsieur Profond; "she has a nice face. I admire nice +women." + +Val looked at him suspiciously, but something kindly and direct in +the heavy diabolism of his companion disarmed him for the moment. + +"Any time you like to come on my yacht, I'll give her a small +cruise." + +"Thanks," said Val, in arms again, "she hates the sea." + +"So do I," said Monsieur Profond. + +"Then why do you yacht?" + +The Belgian's eyes smiled. "Oh! I don't know. I've done everything; +it's the last thing I'm doin'." + +"It must be d-d expensive. I should want more reason than that." + +Monsieur Prosper Profond raised his eyebrows, and puffed out a heavy +lower lip. + +"I'm an easy-goin' man," he said. + +"Were you in the War?" asked Val. + +"Ye-es. I've done that too. I was gassed; it was a small bit +unpleasant." He smiled with a deep and sleepy air of prosperity, as +if he had caught it from his name. + +Whether his saying "small" when he ought to have said "little" was +genuine mistake or affectation Val could not decide; the fellow was +evidently capable of anything. + +Among the ring of buyers round the Mayfly filly who had won her race, +Monsieur Profond said: + +"You goin' to bid?" + +Val nodded. With this sleepy Satan at his elbow, he felt in need of +faith. Though placed above the ultimate blows of Providence by the +forethought of a grand-father who had tied him up a thousand a year +to which was added the thousand a year tied up for Holly by her +grand-father, Val was not flush of capital that he could touch, +having spent most of what he had realised from his South African farm +on his establishment in Sussex. And very soon he was thinking: 'Dash +it! she's going beyond me!' His limit-six hundred-was exceeded; he +dropped out of the bidding. The Mayfly filly passed under the hammer +at seven hundred and fifty guineas. He was turning away vexed when +the slow voice of Monsieur Profond said in his ear: + +"Well, I've bought that small filly, but I don't want her; you take +her and give her to your wife." + +Val looked at the fellow with renewed suspicion, but the good humour +in his eyes was such that he really could not take offence. + +"I made a small lot of money in the War," began Monsieur Profond in +answer to that look. "I 'ad armament shares. I like to give it +away. I'm always makin' money. I want very small lot myself. I +like my friends to 'ave it." + +"I'll buy her of you at the price you gave," said Val with sudden +resolution. + +"No," said Monsieur Profond. "You take her. I don' want her." + +"Hang it! one doesn't--" + +"Why not?" smiled Monsieur Profond. "I'm a friend of your family." + +"Seven hundred and fifty guineas is not a box of cigars," said Val +impatiently. + +"All right; you keep her for me till I want her, and do what you like +with her." + +"So long as she's yours," said Val. "I don't mind that." + +"That's all right," murmured Monsieur Profond, and moved away. + +Val watched; he might be "a good devil," but then again he might not. +He saw him rejoin George Forsyte, and thereafter saw him no more. + +He spent those nights after racing at his mother's house in Green +Street. + +Winifred Dartie at sixty-two was marvellously preserved, considering +the three-and-thirty years during which she had put up with Montague +Dartie, till almost happily released by a French staircase. It was +to her a vehement satisfaction to have her favourite son back from +South Africa after all this time, to feel him so little changed, and +to have taken a fancy to his wife. Winifred, who in the late +seventies, before her marriage, had been in the vanguard of freedom, +pleasure, and fashion, confessed her youth outclassed by the +donzellas of the day. They seemed, for instance, to regard marriage +as an incident, and Winifred sometimes regretted that she had not +done the same; a second, third, fourth incident might have secured +her a partner of less dazzling inebriety; though, after all, he had +left her Val, Imogen, Maud, Benedict (almost a colonel and unharmed +by the War)--none of whom had been divorced as yet. The steadiness of +her children often amazed one who remembered their father; but, as +she was fond of believing, they were really all Forsytes, favouring +herself, with the exception, perhaps, of Imogen. Her brother's +"little girl" Fleur frankly puzzled Winifred. The child was as +restless as any of these modern young women--"She's a small flame in +a draught," Prosper Profond had said one day after dinner--but she +did not flop, or talk at the top of her voice. The steady Forsyteism +in Winifred's own character instinctively resented the feeling in the +air, the modern girl's habits and her motto: "All's much of a +muchness! Spend, to-morrow we shall be poor!" She found it a saving +grace in Fleur that, having set her heart on a thing, she had no +change of heart until she got it--though--what happened after, Fleur +was, of course, too young to have made evident. The child was a +"very pretty little thing," too, and quite a credit to take about, +with her mother's French taste and gift for wearing clothes; +everybody turned to look at Fleur--great consideration to Winifred, a +lover of the style and distinction which had so cruelly deceived her +in the case of Montague Dartie. + +In discussing her with Val, at breakfast on Saturday morning, +Winifred dwelt on the family skeleton. + +"That little affair of your father-in-law and your Aunt Irene, Val-- +it's old as the hills, of course, Fleur need know nothing about it-- +making a fuss. Your Uncle Soames is very particular about that. So +you'll be careful." + +"Yes! But it's dashed awkward--Holly's young half-brother is coming +to live with us while he learns farming. He's there already." + +"Oh!" said Winifred. "That is a gaff! What is he like?" + +"Only saw him once--at Robin Hill, when we were home in 1909; he was +naked and painted blue and yellow in stripes--a jolly little chap." + +Winifred thought that "rather nice," and added comfortably: "Well, +Holly's sensible; she'll know how to deal with it. I shan't tell +your uncle. It'll only bother him. It's a great comfort to have you +back, my dear boy, now that I'm getting on." + +"Getting on! Why! you're as young as ever. That chap Profond, +Mother, is he all right?" + +"Prosper Profond! Oh! the most amusing man I know." + +Val grunted, and recounted the story of the Mayfly filly. + +"That's so like him," murmured Winifred. "He does all sorts of +things." + +"Well," said Val shrewdly, "our family haven't been too lucky with +that kind of cattle; they're too light-hearted for us." + +It was true, and Winifred's blue study lasted a full minute before +she answered: + +"Oh! well! He's a foreigner, Val; one must make allowances." + +"All right, I'll use his filly and make it up to him, somehow." + +And soon after he gave her his blessing, received a kiss, and left +her for his bookmaker's, the Iseeum Club, and Victoria station. + + + + +VI + +JON + + +Mrs. Val Dartie, after twenty years of South Africa, had fallen +deeply in love, fortunately with something of her own, for the object +of her passion was the prospect in front of her windows, the cool +clear light on the green Downs. It was England again, at last! +England more beautiful than she had dreamed. Chance had, in fact, +guided the Val Darties to a spot where the South Downs had real charm +when the sun shone. Holly had enough of her father's eye to +apprehend the rare quality of their outlines and chalky radiance; to +go up there by the ravine-like lane and wander along toward +Chanctonbury or Amberley, was still a delight which she hardly +attempted to share with Val, whose admiration of Nature was confused +by a Forsyte's instinct for getting something out of it, such as the +condition of the turf for his horses' exercise. + +Driving the Ford home with a certain humouring, smoothness, she +promised herself that the first use she would make of Jon would be to +take him up there, and show him "the view" under this May-day sky. + +She was looking forward to her young half-brother with a motherliness +not exhausted by Val. A three-day visit to Robin Hill, soon after +their arrival home, had yielded no sight of him--he was still at +school; so that her recollection, like Val's, was of a little sunny- +haired boy, striped blue and yellow, down by the pond. + +Those three days at Robin Hill had been exciting, sad, embarrassing. +Memories of her dead brother, memories of Val's courtship; the ageing +of her father, not seen for twenty years, something funereal in his +ironic gentleness which did not escape one who had much subtle +instinct; above all, the presence of her stepmother, whom she could +still vaguely remember as the "lady in grey" of days when she was +little and grandfather alive and Mademoiselle Beauce so cross because +that intruder gave her music lessons--all these confused and +tantalised a spirit which had longed to find Robin Hill untroubled. +But Holly was adept at keeping things to herself, and all had seemed +to go quite well. + +Her father had kissed her when she left him, with lips which she was +sure had trembled. + +"Well, my dear," he said, "the War hasn't changed Robin Hill, has it? +If only you could have brought Jolly back with you! I say, can you +stand this spiritualistic racket? When the oak-tree dies, it dies, +I'm afraid." + +>From the warmth of her embrace he probably divined that he had let +the cat out of the bag, for he rode off at once on irony. + +"Spiritualism--queer word, when the more they manifest the more they +prove that they've got hold of matter." + +"How?" said Holly. + +"Why! Look at their photographs of auric presences. You must have +something material for light and shade to fall on before you can take +a photograph. No, it'll end in our calling all matter spirit, or all +spirit matter--I don't know which." + +"But don't you believe in survival, Dad?" + +Jolyon had looked at her, and the sad whimsicality of his face +impressed her deeply. + +"Well, my dear, I should like to get something out of death. I've +been looking into it a bit. But for the life of me I can't find +anything that telepathy, sub-consciousness, and emanation from the +storehouse of this world can't account for just as well. Wish I +could! Wishes father thought but they don't breed evidence." +Holly had pressed her lips again to his forehead with the feeling +that it confirmed his theory that all matter was becoming spirit--his +brow felt, somehow, so insubstantial. + +But the most poignant memory of that little visit had been watching, +unobserved, her stepmother reading to herself a letter from Jon. It +was--she decided--the prettiest sight she had ever seen. Irene, lost +as it were in the letter of her boy, stood at a window where the +light fell on her face and her fine grey hair; her lips were moving, +smiling, her dark eyes laughing, dancing, and the hand which did not +hold the letter was pressed against her breast. Holly withdrew as +from a vision of perfect love, convinced that Jon must be nice. + +When she saw him coming out of the station with a kit-bag in either +hand, she was confirmed in her predisposition. He was a little like +Jolly, that long-lost idol of her childhood, but eager-looking and +less formal, with deeper eyes and brighter-coloured hair, for he wore +no hat; altogether a very interesting "little" brother! + +His tentative politeness charmed one who was accustomed to assurance +in the youthful manner; he was disturbed because she was to drive him +home, instead of his driving her. Shouldn't he have a shot? They +hadn't a car at Robin Hill since the War, of course, and he had only +driven once, and landed up a bank, so she oughtn't to mind his +trying. His laugh, soft and infectious, was very attractive, though +that word, she had heard, was now quite old-fashioned. When they +reached the house he pulled out a crumpled letter which she read +while he was washing--a quite short letter, which must have cost her +father many a pang to write. + + +"MY DEAR, + +"You and Val will not forget, I trust, that Jon knows nothing of +family history. His mother and I think he is too young at present. +The boy is very dear, and the apple of her eye. Verbum sapientibus. +your loving father, + +"J. F." + + +That was all; but it renewed in Holly an uneasy regret that Fleur was +coming. + +After tea she fulfilled that promise to herself and took Jon up the +hill. They had a long talk, sitting above an old chalk-pit grown +over with brambles and goosepenny. Milkwort and liverwort starred +the green slope, the larks sang, and thrushes in the brake, and now +and then a gull flighting inland would wheel very white against the +paling sky, where the vague moon was coming up. Delicious fragrance +came to them, as if little invisible creatures were running and +treading scent out of the blades of grass. + +Jon, who had fallen silent, said rather suddenly: + +"I say, this is wonderful! There's no fat on it at all. Gull's +flight and sheep-bells" + +"'Gull's flight and sheep-bells'! You're a poet, my dear!" + +Jon sighed. + +"Oh, Golly! No go!" + +"Try! I used to at your age." + +"Did you? Mother says 'try' too; but I'm so rotten. Have you any of +yours for me to see?" + +"My dear," Holly murmured, "I've been married nineteen years. I only +wrote verses when I wanted to be." + +"Oh!" said Jon, and turned over on his face: the one cheek she could +see was a charming colour. Was Jon "touched in the wind," then, as +Val would have called it? Already? But, if so, all the better, he +would take no notice of young Fleur. Besides, on Monday he would +begin his farming. And she smiled. Was it Burns who followed the +plough, or only Piers Plowman? Nearly every young man and most young +women seemed to be poets now, judging from the number of their books +she had read out in South Africa, importing them from Hatchus and +Bumphards; and quite good--oh! quite; much better than she had been +herself! But then poetry had only really come in since her day--with +motor-cars. Another long talk after dinner over a wood fire in the +low hall, and there seemed little left to know about Jon except +anything of real importance. Holly parted from him at his bedroom +door, having seen twice over that he had everything, with the +conviction that she would love him, and Val would like him. He was +eager, but did not gush; he was a splendid listener, sympathetic, +reticent about himself. He evidently loved their father, and adored +his mother. He liked riding, rowing, and fencing better than games. +He saved moths from candles, and couldn't bear spiders, but put them +out of doors in screws of paper sooner than kill them. In a word, he +was amiable. She went to sleep, thinking that he would suffer +horribly if anybody hurt him; but who would hurt him? + +Jon, on the other hand, sat awake at his window with a bit of paper +and a pencil, writing his first "real poem" by the light of a candle +because there was not enough moon to see by, only enough to make the +night seem fluttery and as if engraved on silver. Just the night for +Fleur to walk, and turn her eyes, and lead on-over the hills and far +away. And Jon, deeply furrowed in his ingenuous brow, made marks on +the paper and rubbed them out and wrote them in again, and did all +that was necessary for the completion of a work of art; and he had a +feeling such as the winds of Spring must have, trying their first +songs among the coming blossom. Jon was one of those boys (not many) +in whom a home-trained love of beauty had survived school life. He +had had to keep it to himself, of course, so that not even the +drawing-master knew of it; but it was there, fastidious and clear +within him. And his poem seemed to him as lame and stilted as the +night was winged. But he kept it, all the same. It was a "beast," +but better than nothing as an expression of the inexpressible. And +he thought with a sort of discomfiture: 'I shan't be able to show it +to Mother.' He slept terribly well, when he did sleep, overwhelmed +by novelty. + + + + +VII + +FLEUR + + +To avoid the awkwardness of questions which could not be answered, +all that had been told Jon was: + +"There's a girl coming down with Val for the week-end." + +For the same reason, all that had been told Fleur was: "We've got a +youngster staying with us." + +The two yearlings, as Val called them in his thoughts, met therefore +in a manner which for unpreparedness left nothing to be desired. +They were thus introduced by Holly: + +"This is Jon, my little brother; Fleur's a cousin of ours, Jon." + +Jon, who was coming in through a French window out of strong +sunlight, was so confounded by the providential nature of this +miracle, that he had time to hear Fleur say calmly: "Oh, how do you +do?" as if he had never seen her, and to understand dimly from the +quickest imaginable little movement of her head that he never had +seen her. He bowed therefore over her hand in an intoxicated manner, +and became more silent than the grave. He knew better than to speak. +Once in his early life, surprised reading by a nightlight, he had +said fatuously "I was just turning over the leaves, Mum," and his +mother had replied: "Jon, never tell stories, because of your face +nobody will ever believe them." + +The saying had permanently undermined the confidence necessary to the +success of spoken untruth. He listened therefore to Fleur's swift +and rapt allusions to the jolliness of everything, plied her with +scones and jam, and got away as soon as might be. They say that in +delirium tremens you see a fixed object, preferably dark, which +suddenly changes shape and position. Jon saw the fixed object; it +had dark eyes and passably dark hair, and changed its position, but +never its shape. The knowledge that between him and that object +there was already a secret understanding (however impossible to +understand) thrilled him so that he waited feverishly, and began to +copy out his poem--which of course he would never dare to--show her-- +till the sound of horses' hoofs roused him, and, leaning from his +window, he saw her riding forth with Val. It was clear that she +wasted no time, but the sight filled him with grief. He wasted his. +If he had not bolted, in his fearful ecstasy, he might have been +asked to go too. And from his window he sat and watched them +disappear, appear again in the chine of the road, vanish, and emerge +once more for a minute clear on the outline of the Down. 'Silly +brute!' he thought; 'I always miss my chances.' + +Why couldn't he be self-confident and ready? And, leaning his chin +on his hands, he imagined the ride he might have had with her. A +week-end was but a week-end, and he had missed three hours of it. +Did he know any one except himself who would have been such a flat? +He did not. + +He dressed for dinner early, and was first down. He would miss no +more. But he missed Fleur, who came down last. He sat opposite her +at dinner, and it was terrible--impossible to say anything for fear +of saying the wrong thing, impossible to keep his eyes fixed on her +in the only natural way; in sum, impossible to treat normally one +with whom in fancy he had already been over the hills and far away; +conscious, too, all the time, that he must seem to her, to all of +them, a dumb gawk. Yes, it was terrible! And she was talking so +well--swooping with swift wing this way and that. Wonderful how she +had learned an art which he found so disgustingly difficult. She +must think him hopeless indeed! + +His sister's eyes, fixed on him with a certain astonishment, obliged +him at last to look at Fleur; but instantly her eyes, very wide and +eager, seeming to say, "Oh! for goodness' sake!" obliged him to look +at Val, where a grin obliged him to look at his cutlet--that, at +least, had no eyes, and no grin, and he ate it hastily. + +"Jon is going to be a farmer," he heard Holly say; "a farmer and a +poet." + +He glanced up reproachfully, caught the comic lift of her eyebrow +just like their father's, laughed, and felt better. + +Val recounted the incident of Monsieur Prosper Profond; nothing could +have been more favourable, for, in relating it, he regarded Holly, +who in turn regarded him, while Fleur seemed to be regarding with a +slight frown some thought of her own, and Jon was really free to look +at her at last. She had on a white frock, very simple and well made; +her arms were bare, and her hair had a white rose in it. In just +that swift moment of free vision, after such intense discomfort, Jon +saw her sublimated, as one sees in the dark a slender white fruit- +tree; caught her like a verse of poetry flashed before the eyes of +the mind, or a tune which floats out in the distance and dies. +He wondered giddily how old she was--she seemed so much more self- +possessed and experienced than himself. Why mustn't he say they had +met? He remembered suddenly his mother's face; puzzled, hurt- +looking, when she answered: "Yes, they're relations, but we don't +know them." Impossible that his mother, who loved beauty, should not +admire Fleur if she did know her. + +Alone with Val after dinner, he sipped port deferentially and +answered the advances of this new-found brother-in-law. As to riding +(always the first consideration with Val) he could have the young +chestnut, saddle and unsaddle it himself, and generally look after it +when he brought it in. Jon said he was accustomed to all that at +home, and saw that he had gone up one in his host's estimation. + +"Fleur," said Val, "can't ride much yet, but she's keen. Of course, +her father doesn't know a horse from a cart-wheel. Does your Dad +ride?" + +"He used to; but now he's--you know, he's--"He stopped, so hating the +word "old." His father was old, and yet not old; no--never! + +"Quite," muttered Val. "I used to know your brother up at Oxford, +ages ago, the one who died in the Boer War. We had a fight in New +College Gardens. That was a queer business," he added, musing; "a +good deal came out of it." + +Jon's eyes opened wide; all was pushing him toward historical +research, when his sister's voice said gently from the doorway: + +"Come along, you two," and he rose, his heart pushing him toward +something far more modern. + +Fleur having declared that it was "simply too wonderful to stay +indoors," they all went out. Moonlight was frosting the dew, and an +old sundial threw a long shadow. Two box hedges at right angles, +dark and square, barred off the orchard. Fleur turned through that +angled opening. + +"Come on!" she called. Jon glanced at the others, and followed. She +was running among the trees like a ghost. All was lovely and +foamlike above her, and there was a scent of old trunks, and of +nettles. She vanished. He thought he had lost her, then almost ran +into her standing quite still. + +"Isn't it jolly?" she cried, and Jon answered: + +"Rather!" + +She reached up, twisted off a blossom and, twirling it in her +fingers, said: + +"I suppose I can call you Jon?" + +"I should think so just." + +"All right! But you know there's a feud between our families?" + +Jon stammered: "Feud? Why?" + +"It's ever so romantic and silly. That's why I pretended we hadn't +met. Shall we get up early to-morrow morning and go for a walk +before breakfast and have it out? I hate being slow about things, +don't you?" + +Jon murmured a rapturous assent. + +"Six o'clock, then. I think your mother's beautiful" + +Jon said fervently: "Yes, she is." + +"I love all kinds of beauty," went on Fleur, "when it's exciting. I +don't like Greek things a bit." + +"What! Not Euripides?" + +"Euripides? Oh! no, I can't bear Greek plays; they're so long. I +think beauty's always swift. I like to look at one picture, for +instance, and then run off. I can't bear a lot of things together. +Look!" She held up her blossom in the moonlight. "That's better +than all the orchard, I think." + +And, suddenly, with her other hand she caught Jon's. + +"Of all things in the world, don't you think caution's the most +awful? Smell the moonlight!" + +She thrust the blossom against his face; Jon agreed giddily that of +all things in the world caution was the worst, and bending over, +kissed the hand which held his. + +"That's nice and old-fashioned," said Fleur calmly. "You're +frightfully silent, Jon. Still I like silence when it's swift." She +let go his hand. "Did you think I dropped my handkerchief on +purpose?" + +"No!" cried Jon, intensely shocked. + +"Well, I did, of course. Let's get back, or they'll think we're +doing this on purpose too." And again she ran like a ghost among the +trees. Jon followed, with love in his heart, Spring in his heart, +and over all the moonlit white unearthly blossom. They came out +where they had gone in, Fleur walking demurely. + +"It's quite wonderful in there," she said dreamily to Holly. + +Jon preserved silence, hoping against hope that she might be thinking +it swift. + +She bade him a casual and demure good-night, which made him think he +had been dreaming.... + +In her bedroom Fleur had flung off her gown, and, wrapped in a +shapeless garment, with the white flower still in her hair, she +looked like a mousme, sitting cross-legged on her bed, writing by +candlelight. + + +"DEAREST CHERRY, + +"I believe I'm in love. I've got it in the neck, only the feeling is +really lower down. He's a second cousin-such a child, about six +months older and ten years younger than I am. Boys always fall in +love with their seniors, and girls with their juniors or with old men +of forty. Don't laugh, but his eyes are the truest things I ever +saw; and he's quite divinely silent! We had a most romantic first +meeting in London under the Vospovitch Juno. And now he's sleeping +in the next room and the moonlight's on the blossom; and to-morrow +morning, before anybody's awake, we're going to walk off into Down +fairyland. There's a feud between our families, which makes it +really exciting. Yes! and I may have to use subterfuge and come on +you for invitations--if so, you'll know why! My father doesn't want +us to know each other, but I can't help that. Life's too short. +He's got the most beautiful mother, with lovely silvery hair and a +young face with dark eyes. I'm staying with his sister--who married +my cousin; it's all mixed up, but I mean to pump her to-morrow. +We've often talked about love being a spoil-sport; well, that's all +tosh, it's the beginning of sport, and the sooner you feel it, my +dear, the better for you. + +"Jon (not simplified spelling, but short for Jolyon, which is a name +in my family, they say) is the sort that lights up and goes out; +about five feet ten, still growing, and I believe he's going to be a +poet. If you laugh at me I've done with you forever. I perceive all +sorts of difficulties, but you know when I really want a thing I get +it. One of the chief effects of love is that you see the air sort of +inhabited, like seeing a face in the moon; and you feel--you feel +dancey and soft at the same time, with a funny sensation--like a +continual first sniff of orange--blossom--Just above your stays. +This is my first, and I feel as if it were going to be my last, which +is absurd, of course, by all the laws of Nature and morality. If you +mock me I will smite you, and if you tell anybody I will never +forgive you. So much so, that I almost don't think I'll send this +letter. Anyway, I'll sleep over it. So good-night, my Cherry--oh! +"Your, + +"FLEUR." + + + +VIII + +IDYLL ON GRASS + +When those two young Forsytes emerged from the chine lane, and set +their faces east toward the sun, there was not a cloud in heaven, and +the Downs were dewy. They had come at a good bat up the slope and +were a little out of breath; if they had anything to say they did not +say it, but marched in the early awkwardness of unbreakfasted morning +under the songs of the larks. The stealing out had been fun, but +with the freedom of the tops the sense of conspiracy ceased, and gave +place to dumbness. + +"We've made one blooming error," said Fleur, when they had gone half +a mile. "I'm hungry." + +Jon produced a stick of chocolate. They shared it and their tongues +were loosened. They discussed the nature of their homes and previous +existences, which had a kind of fascinating unreality up on that +lonely height. There remained but one thing solid in Jon's past--his +mother; but one thing solid in Fleur's--her father; and of these +figures, as though seen in the distance with disapproving faces, they +spoke little. + +The Down dipped and rose again toward Chanctonbury Ring; a sparkle of +far sea came into view, a sparrow-hawk hovered in the sun's eye so +that the blood-nourished brown of his wings gleamed nearly red. Jon +had a passion for birds, and an aptitude for sitting very still to +watch them; keen-sighted, and with a memory for what interested him, +on birds he was almost worth listening to. But in Chanctonbury Ring +there were none--its great beech temple was empty of life, and almost +chilly at this early hour; they came out willingly again into the sun +on the far side. It was Fleur's turn now. She spoke of dogs, and +the way people treated them. It was wicked to keep them on chains! +She would like to flog people who did that. Jon was astonished to +find her so humanitarian. She knew a dog, it seemed, which some +farmer near her home kept chained up at the end of his chicken run, +in all weathers, till it had almost lost its voice from barking! + +"And the misery is," she said vehemently, "that if the poor thing +didn't bark at every one who passes it wouldn't be kept there. I do +think men are cunning brutes. I've let it go twice, on the sly; it's +nearly bitten me both times, and then it goes simply mad with joy; +but it always runs back home at last, and they chain it up again. If +I had my way, I'd chain that man up." Jon saw her teeth and her eyes +gleam. "I'd brand him on his forehead with the word 'Brute'; that +would teach him!" + +Jon agreed that it would be a good remedy. + +"It's their sense of property," he said, "which makes people chain +things. The last generation thought of nothing but property; and +that's why there was the War." + +"Oh!" said Fleur, "I never thought of that. Your people and mine +quarrelled about property. And anyway we've all got it--at least, I +suppose your people have." + +"Oh! yes, luckily; I don't suppose I shall be any good at making +money." + +"If you were, I don't believe I should like you." + +Jon slipped his hand tremulously under her arm. Fleur looked +straight before her and chanted: + +"Jon, Jon, the farmer's son, +Stole a pig, and away he run!" + +Jon's arm crept round her waist. + +"This is rather sudden," said Fleur calmly; "do you often do it?" + +Jon dropped his arm. But when she laughed his arm stole back again; +and Fleur began to sing: + +"O who will oer the downs so free, +O who will with me ride? +O who will up and follow me---" + +"Sing, Jon!" + +Jon sang. The larks joined in, sheep-bells, and an early morning +church far away over in Steyning. They went on from tune to tune, +till Fleur said: + +"My God! I am hungry now!" + +"Oh! I am sorry!" + +She looked round into his face. + +"Jon, you're rather a darling." + +And she pressed his hand against her waist. Jon almost reeled from +happiness. A yellow-and-white dog coursing a hare startled them +apart. They watched the two vanish down the slope, till Fleur said +with a sigh: "He'll never catch it, thank goodness! What's the time? +Mine's stopped. I never wound it." + +Jon looked at his watch. "By Jove!" he said, "mine's stopped; too." + +They walked on again, but only hand in hand. + +"If the grass is dry," said Fleur, "let's sit down for half a +minute." + +Jon took off his coat, and they shared it. + +"Smell! Actually wild thyme!" + +With his arm round her waist again, they sat some minutes in silence. + +"We are goats!" cried Fleur, jumping up; "we shall be most fearfully +late, and look so silly, and put them on their guard. Look here, Jon +We only came out to get an appetite for breakfast, and lost our way. +See?" + +"Yes," said Jon. + +"It's serious; there'll be a stopper put on us. Are you a good +liar?" + +"I believe not very; but I can try." + +Fleur frowned. + +"You know," she said, "I realize that they don't mean us to be +friends." + +"Why not?" + +"I told you why." + +"But that's silly." + +"Yes; but you don't know my father!" + +"I suppose he's fearfully fond of you." + +"You see, I'm an only child. And so are you--of your mother. Isn't +it a bore? There's so much expected of one. By the time they've +done expecting, one's as good as dead." + +"Yes," muttered Jon, "life's beastly short. One wants to live +forever, and know everything." + +"And love everybody?" + +"No," cried Jon; "I only want to love once--you." + +"Indeed! You're coming on! Oh! Look! There's the chalk-pit; we +can't be very far now. Let's run." + +Jon followed, wondering fearfully if he had offended her. + +The chalk-pit was full of sunshine and the murmuration of bees. +Fleur flung back her hair. + +"Well," she said, "in case of accidents, you may give me one kiss, +Jon," and she pushed her cheek forward. With ecstasy he kissed that +hot soft cheek. + +"Now, remember! We lost our way; and leave it to me as much as you +can. I'm going to be rather beastly to you; it's safer; try and be +beastly to me!" + +Jon shook his head. "That's impossible." + +"Just to please me; till five o'clock, at all events." + +"Anybody will be able to see through it," said Jon gloomily. + +"Well, do your best. Look! There they are! Wave your hat! Oh! you +haven't got one. Well, I'll cooee! Get a little away from me, and +look sulky." + +Five minutes later, entering the house and doing his utmost to look +sulky, Jon heard her clear voice in the dining-room: + +"Oh! I'm simply ravenous! He's going to be a farmer--and he loses +his way! The boy's an idiot!" + + + + +IX + +GOYA + + +Lunch was over and Soames mounted to the picture-gallery in his house +near Mapleduram. He had what Annette called "a grief." Fleur was +not yet home. She had been expected on Wednesday; had wired that it +would be Friday; and again on Friday that it would be Sunday +afternoon; and here were her aunt, and her cousins the Cardigans, and +this fellow Profond, and everything flat as a pancake for the want of +her. He stood before his Gauguin--sorest point of his collection. +He had bought the ugly great thing with two early Matisses before the +War, because there was such a fuss about those Post-Impressionist +chaps. He was wondering whether Profond would take them off his +hands--the fellow seemed not to know what to do with his money--when +he heard his sister's voice say: "I think that's a horrid thing, +Soames," and saw that Winifred had followed him up. + +"Oh! you do?" he said dryly; "I gave five hundred for it." + +"Fancy! Women aren't made like that even if they are black." + +Soames uttered a glum laugh. "You didn't come up to tell me that." + +"No. Do you know that Jolyon's boy is staying with Val and his +wife?" + +Soames spun round. + +"What?" + +"Yes," drawled Winifred; "he's gone to live with them there while he +learns farming." + +Soames had turned away, but her voice pursued him as he walked up and +down. "I warned Val that neither of them was to be spoken to about +old matters." + +"Why didn't you tell me before?" + +Winifred shrugged her substantial shoulders. + +"Fleur does what she likes. You've always spoiled her. Besides, my +dear boy, what's the harm?" + +"The harm!" muttered Soames. "Why, she--" he checked himself. The +Juno, the handkerchief, Fleur's eyes, her questions, and now this +delay in her return--the symptoms seemed to him so sinister that, +faithful to his nature, he could not part with them. + +"I think you take too much care," said Winifred. "If I were you, I +should tell her of that old matter. It's no good thinking that girls +in these days are as they used to be. Where they pick up their +knowledge I can't tell, but they seem to know everything." + +Over Soames' face, closely composed, passed a sort of spasm, and +Winifred added hastily: + +"If you don't like to speak of it, I could for you." + +Soames shook his head. Unless there was absolute necessity the +thought that his adored daughter should learn of that old scandal +hurt his pride too much. + +"No," he said, "not yet. Never if I can help it. + +"Nonsense, my dear. Think what people are!" + +"Twenty years is a long time," muttered Soames. "Outside our family, +who's likely to remember?" + +Winifred was silenced. She inclined more and more to that peace and +quietness of which Montague Dartie had deprived her in her youth. +And, since pictures always depressed her, she soon went down again. + +Soames passed into the corner where, side by side, hung his real Goya +and the copy of the fresco "La Vendimia." His acquisition of the +real Goya rather beautifully illustrated the cobweb of vested +interests and passions which mesh the bright-winged fly of human +life. The real Goya's noble owner's ancestor had come into +possession of it during some Spanish war--it was in a word loot. The +noble owner had remained in ignorance of its value until in the +nineties an enterprising critic discovered that a Spanish painter +named Goya was a genius. It was only a fair Goya, but almost unique +in England, and the noble owner became a marked man. Having many +possessions and that aristocratic culture which, independent of mere +sensuous enjoyment, is founded on the sounder principle that one must +know everything and be fearfully interested in life, he had fully +intended to keep an article which contributed to his reputation while +he was alive, and to leave it to the nation after he was dead. +Fortunately for Soames, the House of Lords was violently attacked in +1909, and the noble owner became alarmed and angry. 'If,' he said to +himself, 'they think they can have it both ways they are very much +mistaken. So long as they leave me in quiet enjoyment the nation can +have some of my pictures at my death. But if the nation is going to +bait me, and rob me like this, I'm damned if I won't sell the lot. +They can't have my private property and my public spirit-both.' He +brooded in this fashion for several months till one morning, after +reading the speech of a certain statesman, he telegraphed to his +agent to come down and bring Bodkin. On going over the collection +Bodkin, than whose opinion on market values none was more sought, +pronounced that with a free hand to sell to America, Germany, and +other places where there was an interest in art, a lot more money +could be made than by selling in England. The noble owner's public +spirit--he said--was well known but the pictures were unique. The +noble owner put this opinion in his pipe and smoked it for a year. +At the end of that time he read another speech by the same statesman, +and telegraphed to his agents: "Give Bodkin a free hand." It was at +this juncture that Bodkin conceived the idea which salved the Goya +and two other unique pictures for the native country of the noble +owner. With one hand Bodkin proffered the pictures to the foreign +market, with the other he formed a list of private British +collectors. Having obtained what he considered the highest possible +bids from across the seas, he submitted pictures and bids to the +private British collectors, and invited them, of their public spirit, +to outbid. In three instances (including the Goya) out of twenty-one +he was successful. And why? One of the private collectors made +buttons--he had made so many that he desired that his wife should be +called Lady "Buttons." He therefore bought a unique picture at great +cost, and gave it to the nation. It was "part," his friends said, +"of his general game." The second of the private collectors was an +Americophobe, and bought an unique picture to "spite the damned +Yanks." The third of the private collectors was Soames, who--more +sober than either of the, others--bought after a visit to Madrid, +because he was certain that Goya was still on the up grade. Goya was +not booming at the moment, but he would come again; and, looking at +that portrait, Hogarthian, Manetesque in its directness, but with its +own queer sharp beauty of paint, he was perfectly satisfied still +that he had made no error, heavy though the price had been--heaviest +he had ever paid. And next to it was hanging the copy of "La +Vendimia." There she was--the little wretch-looking back at him in +her dreamy mood, the mood he loved best because he felt so much safer +when she looked like that. + +He was still gazing when the scent of a cigar impinged on his +nostrils, and a voice said: + +"Well, Mr. Forsyde, what you goin' to do with this small lot?" + +That Belgian chap, whose mother-as if Flemish blood were not enough-- +had been Armenian! Subduing a natural irritation, he said: + +"Are you a judge of pictures?" + +"Well, I've got a few myself." + +"Any Post-Impressionists?" + +"Ye-es, I rather like them." + +"What do you think of this?" said Soames, pointing to the Gauguin. + +Monsieur Profond protruded his lower lip and short pointed beard. + +"Rather fine, I think," he said; "do you want to sell it?" + +Soames checked his instinctive "Not particularly"--he would not +chaffer with this alien. + +"Yes," he said. + +"What do you want for it?" + +"What I gave." + +"All right," said Monsieur Profond. "I'll be glad to take that small +picture. Post-Impressionists--they're awful dead, but they're +amusin'. I don' care for pictures much, but I've got some, just a +small lot." + +"What do you care for?" + +Monsieur Profond shrugged his shoulders. + +"Life's awful like a lot of monkeys scramblin' for empty nuts." + +"You're young," said Soames. If the fellow must make a +generalization, he needn't suggest that the forms of property lacked +solidity! + +"I don' worry," replied Monsieur Profond smiling; "we're born, and we +die. Half the world's starvin'. I feed a small lot of babies out in +my mother's country; but what's the use? Might as well throw my +money in the river." + +Soames looked at him, and turned back toward his Goya. He didn't +know what the fellow wanted. + +"What shall I make my cheque for?" pursued Monsieur Profond. + +"Five hundred," said Soames shortly; "but I don't want you to take it +if you don't care for it more than that." + +"That's all right," said Monsieur Profond; "I'll be 'appy to 'ave +that picture." + +He wrote a cheque with a fountain-pen heavily chased with gold. +Soames watched the process uneasily. How on earth had the fellow +known that he wanted to sell that picture? Monsieur Profond held out +the cheque. + +"The English are awful funny about pictures," he said. "So are the +French, so are my people. They're all awful funny." + +"I don't understand you," said Soames stiffly. + +"It's like hats," said Monsieur Profond enigmatically, "small or +large, turnin' up or down--just the fashion. Awful funny." And, +smiling, he drifted out of the gallery again, blue and solid like the +smoke of his excellent cigar. + +Soames had taken the cheque, feeling as if the intrinsic value of +ownership had been called in question. 'He's a cosmopolitan,' he +thought, watching Profond emerge from under the verandah with +Annette, and saunter down the lawn toward the river. What his wife +saw in the fellow he didn't know, unless it was that he could speak +her language; and there passed in Soames what Monsieur Profond would +have called a "small doubt" whether Annette was not too handsome to +be walking with any one so "cosmopolitan." Even at that distance he +could see the blue fumes from Profond's cigar wreath out in the quiet +sunlight; and his grey buckskin shoes, and his grey hat--the fellow +was a dandy! And he could see the quick turn of his wife's head, so +very straight on her desirable neck and shoulders. That turn of her +neck always seemed to him a little too showy, and in the "Queen of +all I survey" manner--not quite distinguished. He watched them walk +along the path at the bottom of the garden. A young man in flannels +joined them down there--a Sunday caller no doubt, from up the river. +He went back to his Goya. He was still staring at that replica of +Fleur, and worrying over Winifred's news, when his wife's voice said: + +"Mr. Michael Mont, Soames. You invited him to see your pictures." + +There was the cheerful young man of the Gallery off Cork Street! + +"Turned up, you see, sir; I live only four miles from Pangbourne. +Jolly day, isn't it?" + +Confronted with the results of his expansiveness, Soames scrutinized +his visitor. The young man's mouth was excessively large and curly-- +he seemed always grinning. Why didn't he grow the rest of those +idiotic little moustaches, which made him look like a music-hall +buffoon? What on earth were young men about, deliberately lowering +their class with these tooth-brushes, or little slug whiskers? Ugh! +Affected young idiots! In other respects he was presentable, and his +flannels very clean. + +"Happy to see you!" he said. + +The young man, who had been turning his head from side to side, +became transfixed. "I say!" he said, "'some' picture!" + +Soames saw, with mixed sensations, that he had addressed the remark +to the Goya copy. + +"Yes," he said dryly, "that's not a Goya. It's a copy. I had it +painted because it reminded me of my daughter." + +"By Jove! I thought I knew the face, sir. Is she here?" + +The frankness of his interest almost disarmed Soames. + +"She'll be in after tea," he said. "Shall we go round the pictures?" + +And Soames began that round which never tired him. He had not +anticipated much intelligence from one who had mistaken a copy for an +original, but as they passed from section to section, period to +period, he was startled by the young man's frank and relevant +remarks. Natively shrewd himself, and even sensuous beneath his +mask, Soames had not spent thirty-eight years over his one hobby +without knowing something more about pictures than their market +values. He was, as it were, the missing link between the artist and +the commercial public. Art for art's sake and all that, of course, +was cant. But aesthetics and good taste were necessary. The +appreciation of enough persons of good taste was what gave a work of +art its permanent market value, or in other words made it "a work of +art." There was no real cleavage. And he was sufficiently +accustomed to sheep-like and unseeing visitors, to be intrigued by +one who did not hesitate to say of Mauve: "Good old haystacks!" or of +James Maris: "Didn't he just paint and paper 'em! Mathew was the +real swell, sir; you could dig into his surfaces!" It was after the +young man had whistled before a Whistler, with the words, "D'you +think he ever really saw a naked woman, sir?" that Soames remarked: + +"What are you, Mr. Mont, if I may ask?" + +"I, sir? I was going to be a painter, but the War knocked that. +Then in the trenches, you know, I used to dream of the Stock +Exchange, snug and warm and just noisy enough. But the Peace knocked +that, shares seem off, don't they? I've only been demobbed about a +year. What do you recommend, sir?" + +"Have you got money?" + +"Well," answered the young man, "I've got a father; I kept him alive +during the War, so he's bound to keep me alive now. Though, of +course, there's the question whether he ought to be allowed to hang +on to his property. What do you think about that, sir?" + +Soames, pale and defensive, smiled. + +"The old man has fits when I tell him he may have to work yet. He's +got land, you know; it's a fatal disease." + +"This is my real Goya," said Soames dryly. + +"By George! He was a swell. I saw a Goya in Munich once that bowled +me middle stump. A most evil-looking old woman in the most gorgeous +lace. He made no compromise with the public taste. That old boy was +'some' explosive; he must have smashed up a lot of convention in his +day. Couldn't he just paint! He makes Velasquez stiff, don't you +think?" + +"I have no Velasquez," said Soames. + +The young man stared. "No," he said; "only nations or profiteers can +afford him, I suppose. I say, why shouldn't all the bankrupt nations +sell their Velasquez and Titians and other swells to the profiteers +by force, and then pass a law that any one who holds a picture by an +Old Master--see schedule--must hang it in a public gallery? There +seems something in that." + +"Shall we go down to tea?" said Soames. + +The young man's ears seemed to droop on his skull. 'He's not dense,' +thought Soames, following him off the premises. + +Goya, with his satiric and surpassing precision, his original "line," +and the daring of his light and shade, could have reproduced to +admiration the group assembled round Annette's tea-tray in the ingle- +nook below. He alone, perhaps, of painters would have done justice +to the sunlight filtering through a screen of creeper, to the lovely +pallor of brass, the old cut glasses, the thin slices of lemon in +pale amber tea; justice to Annette in her black lacey dress; there +was something of the fair Spaniard in her beauty, though it lacked +the spirituality of that rare type; to Winifred's grey-haired, +corseted solidity; to Soames, of a certain grey and flat-cheeked +distinction; to the vivacious Michael Mont, pointed in ear and eye; +to Imogen, dark, luscious of glance, growing a little stout; to +Prosper Profond, with his expression as who should say, "Well, Mr. +Goya, what's the use of paintin' this small party?" finally, to Jack +Cardigan, with his shining stare and tanned sanguinity betraying the +moving principle: "I'm English, and I live to be fit." + +Curious, by the way, that Imogen, who as a girl had declared solemnly +one day at Timothy's that she would never marry a good man--they were +so dull--should have married Jack Cardigan, in whom health had so +destroyed all traces of original sin, that she might have retired to +rest with ten thousand other Englishmen without knowing the +difference from the one she had chosen to repose beside. "Oh!" she +would say of him, in her "amusing" way, "Jack keeps himself so +fearfully fit; he's never had a day's illness in his life. He went +right through the War without a finger-ache. You really can't +imagine how fit he is!" Indeed, he was so "fit" that he couldn't see +when she was flirting, which was such a comfort in a way. All the +same she was quite fond of him, so far as one could be of a sports- +machine, and of the two little Cardigans made after his pattern. Her +eyes just then were comparing him maliciously with Prosper Profond. +There was no "small" sport or game which Monsieur Profond had not +played at too, it seemed, from skittles to tarpon-fishing, and worn +out every one. Imogen would sometimes wish that they had worn out +Jack, who continued to play at them and talk of them with the simple +zeal of a school-girl learning hockey; at the age of Great-uncle +Timothy she well knew that Jack would be playing carpet golf in her +bedroom, and "wiping somebody's eye." + +He was telling them now how he had "pipped the pro--a charmin' +fellow, playin' a very good game," at the last hole this morning; and +how he had pulled down to Caversham since lunch, and trying to incite +Prosper Profond to play him a set of tennis after tea--do him good- +"keep him fit. + +"But what's the use of keepin' fit?" said Monsieur Profond. + +"Yes, sir," murmured Michael Mont, "what do you keep fit for?" + +"Jack," cried Imogen, enchanted, "what do you keep fit for?" + +Jack Cardigan stared with all his health. The questions were like +the buzz of a mosquito, and he put up his hand to wipe them away. +During the War, of course, he had kept fit to kill Germans; now that +it was over he either did not know, or shrank in delicacy from +explanation of his moving principle. + +"But he's right," said Monsieur Profond unexpectedly, "there's +nothin' left but keepin' fit." + +The saying, too deep for Sunday afternoon, would have passed +unanswered, but for the mercurial nature of young Mont. + +"Good!" he cried. "That's the great discovery of the War. We all +thought we were progressing--now we know we're only changing." + +"For the worse," said Monsieur Profond genially. + +"How you are cheerful, Prosper!" murmured Annette. + +"You come and play tennis!" said Jack Cardigan; "you've got the hump. +We'll soon take that down. D'you play, Mr. Mont?" + +"I hit the ball about, sir." + +At this juncture Soames rose, ruffled in that deep instinct of +preparation for the future which guided his existence. + +"When Fleur comes--" he heard Jack Cardigan say. + +Ah! and why didn't she come? He passed through drawing-room, hall, +and porch out on to the drive, and stood there listening for the car. +All was still and Sundayfied; the lilacs in full flower scented the +air. There were white clouds, like the feathers of ducks gilded by +the sunlight. Memory of the day when Fleur was born, and he had +waited in such agony with her life and her mother's balanced in his +hands, came to him sharply. He had saved her then, to be the flower +of his life. And now! was she going to give him trouble--pain--give +him trouble? He did not like the look of things! A blackbird broke +in on his reverie with an evening song--a great big fellow up in that +acacia-tree. Soames had taken quite an interest in his birds of late +years; he and Fleur would walk round and watch them; her eyes were +sharp as needles, and she knew every nest. He saw her dog, a +retriever, lying on the drive in a patch of sunlight, and called to +him. "Hallo, old fellow-waiting for her too!" The dog came slowly +with a grudging tail, and Soames mechanically laid a pat on his head. +The dog, the bird, the lilac, all were part of Fleur for him; no +more, no less. 'Too fond of her!' he thought, 'too fond!' He was +like a man uninsured, with his ships at sea. Uninsured again--as in +that other time, so long ago, when he would wander dumb and jealous +in the wilderness of London, longing for that woman--his first wife-- +the mother of this infernal boy. Ah! There was the car at last! It +drew up, it had luggage, but no Fleur. + +"Miss Fleur is walking up, sir, by the towing-path." + +Walking all those miles? Soames stared. The man's face had the +beginning of a smile on it. What was he grinning at? And very +quickly he turned, saying, "All right, Sims!" and went into the +house. He mounted to the picture-gallery once more. He had from +there a view of the river bank, and stood with his eyes fixed on it, +oblivious of the fact that it would be an hour at least before her +figure showed there. Walking up! And that fellow's grin! The boy--! +He turned abruptly from the window. He couldn't spy on her. If she +wanted to keep things from him--she must; he could not spy on her. +His heart felt empty, and bitterness mounted from it into his very +mouth. The staccato shouts of Jack Cardigan pursuing the ball, the +laugh of young Mont rose in the stillness and came in. He hoped they +were making that chap Profond run. And the girl in "La Vendimia" +stood with her arm akimbo arid her dreamy eyes looking past him. +'I've done all I could for you,' he thought, 'since you were no +higher than my knee. You aren't going to--to--hurt me, are you?' + +But the Goya copy answered not, brilliant in colour just beginning to +tone down. 'There's no real life in it,' thought Soames. 'Why +doesn't she come?' + + + + +X + +TRIO + + +Among those four Forsytes of the third, and, as one might say, fourth +generation, at Wansdon under the Downs, a week-end prolonged unto the +ninth day had stretched the crossing threads of tenacity almost to +snapping-point. Never had Fleur been so "fine," Holly so watchful, +Val so stable-secretive, Jon so silent and disturbed. What he +learned of farming in that week might have been balanced on the point +of a penknife and puffed off. He, whose nature was essentially +averse from intrigue, and whose adoration of Fleur disposed him to +think that any need for concealing it was "skittles," chafed and +fretted, yet obeyed, taking what relief he could in the few moments +when they were alone. On Thursday, while they were standing in the +bay window of the drawing-room, dressed for dinner, she said to him: + +"Jon, I'm going home on Sunday by the 3.40 from Paddington; if you +were to go home on Saturday you could come up on Sunday and take me +down, and just get back here by the last train, after. You were +going home anyway, weren't you?" + +Jon nodded. + +"Anything to be with you," he said; "only why need I pretend--" + +Fleur slipped her little finger into his palm: + +"You have no instinct, Jon; you must leave things to me. It's +serious about our people. We've simply got to be secret at present, +if we want to be together." The door was opened, and she added +loudly: "You are a duffer, Jon." + +Something turned over within Jon; he could not bear this subterfuge +about a feeling so natural, so overwhelming, and so sweet. + +On Friday night about eleven he had packed his bag, and was leaning +out of his window, half miserable, and half lost in a dream of +Paddington station, when he heard a tiny sound, as of a finger-nail +tapping on his door. He rushed to it and listened. Again the sound. +It was a nail. He opened. Oh! What a lovely thing came in! + +"I wanted to show you my fancy dress," it said, and struck an +attitude at the foot of his bed. + +Jon drew a long breath and leaned against the door. The apparition +wore white muslin on its head, a fichu round its bare neck over a +wine-coloured dress, fulled out below its slender waist. + +It held one arm akimbo, and the other raised, right-angled, holding a +fan which touched its head. + +"This ought to be a basket of grapes," it whispered, "but I haven't +got it here. It's my Goya dress. And this is the attitude in the +picture. Do you like it?" + +"It's a dream." + +The apparition pirouetted. "Touch it, and see." + +Jon knelt down and took the skirt reverently. + +"Grape colour," came the whisper, "all grapes--La Vendimia--the +vintage." + +Jon's fingers scarcely touched each side of the waist; he looked up, +with adoring eyes. + +"Oh! Jon," it whispered; bent, kissed his forehead, pirouetted again, +and, gliding out, was gone. + +Jon stayed on his knees, and his head fell forward against the bed. +How long he stayed like that he did not know. The little noises--of +the tapping nail, the feet, the skirts rustling--as in a dream--went +on about him; and before his closed eyes the figure stood and smiled +and whispered, a faint perfume of narcissus lingering in the air. +And his forehead where it had been kissed had a little cool place +between the brows, like the imprint of a flower. Love filled his +soul, that love of boy for girl which knows so little, hopes so much, +would not brush the down off for the world, and must become in time a +fragrant memory--a searing passion--a humdrum mateship--or, once in +many times, vintage full and sweet with sunset colour on the grapes. + +Enough has been said about Jon Forsyte here and in another place to +show what long marches lay between him and his great-great- +grandfather, the first Jolyon, in Dorset down by the sea. Jon was +sensitive as a girl, more sensitive than nine out of ten girls of the +day; imaginative as one of his half-sister June's "lame duck" +painters; affectionate as a son of his father and his mother +naturally would be. And yet, in his inner tissue, there was +something of the old founder of his family, a secret tenacity of +soul, a dread of showing his feelings, a determination not to know +when he was beaten. Sensitive, imaginative, affectionate boys get a +bad time at school, but Jon had instinctively kept his nature dark, +and been but normally unhappy there. Only with his mother had he, up +till then, been absolutely frank and natural; and when he went home +to Robin Hill that Saturday his heart was heavy because Fleur had +said that he must not be frank and natural with her from whom he had +never yet kept anything, must not even tell her that they had met +again, unless he found that she knew already. So intolerable did +this seem to him that he was very near to telegraphing an excuse and +staying up in London. And the first thing his mother said to him +was: + +"So you've had our little friend of the confectioner's there, Jon. +What is she like on second thoughts?" + +With relief, and a high colour, Jon answered: + +"Oh! awfully jolly, Mum." + +Her arm pressed his. + +Jon had never loved her so much as in that minute which seemed to +falsify Fleur's fears and to release his soul. He turned to look at +her, but something in her smiling face--something which only he +perhaps would have caught--stopped the words bubbling up in him. +Could fear go with a smile? If so, there was fear in her face. And +out of Jon tumbled quite other words, about farming, Holly, and the +Downs. Talking fast, he waited for her to come back to Fleur. But +she did not. Nor did his father mention her, though of course he, +too, must know. What deprivation, and killing of reality was in his +silence about Fleur--when he was so full of her; when his mother was +so full of Jon, and his father so full of his mother! And so the +trio spent the evening of that Saturday. + +After dinner his mother played; she seemed to play all the things he +liked best, and he sat with one knee clasped, and his hair standing +up where his fingers had run through it. He gazed at his mother +while she played, but he saw Fleur--Fleur in the moonlit orchard, +Fleur in the sunlit gravel-pit, Fleur in that fancy dress, swaying, +whispering, stooping, kissing his forehead. Once, while he listened, +he forgot himself and glanced at his father in that other easy chair. +What was Dad looking like that for? The expression on his face was +so sad and puzzling. It filled him with a sort of remorse, so that +he got up and went and sat on the arm of his father's chair. From +there he could not see his face; and again he saw Fleur--in his +mother's hands, slim and white on the keys, in the profile of her +face and her powdery hair; and down the long room in the open window +where the May night walked outside. + +When he went up to bed his mother came into his room. She stood at +the window, and said: + +"Those cypresses your grandfather planted down there have done +wonderfully. I always think they look beautiful under a dropping +moon. I wish you had known your grandfather, Jon." + +"Were you married to father when he was alive?" asked Jon suddenly. + +"No, dear; he died in '92--very old--eighty-five, I think." + +"Is Father like him?" + +"A little, but more subtle, and not quite so solid." + +"I know, from grandfather's portrait; who painted that?" + +"One of June's 'lame ducks.' But it's quite good." + +Jon slipped his hand through his mother's arm. "Tell me about the +family quarrel, Mum." + +He felt her arm quivering. "No, dear; that's for your Father some +day, if he thinks fit." + +"Then it was serious," said Jon, with a catch in his breath. + +"Yes." And there was a silence, during which neither knew whether +the arm or the hand within it were quivering most. + +"Some people," said Irene softly, "think the moon on her back is +evil; to me she's always lovely. Look at those cypress shadows! +Jon, Father says we may go to Italy, you and I, for two months. +Would you like?" + +Jon took his hand from under her arm; his sensation was so sharp and +so confused. Italy with his mother! A fortnight ago it would have +been perfection; now it filled him with dismay; he felt that the +sudden suggestion had to do with Fleur. He stammered out: + +"Oh! yes; only--I don't know. Ought I--now I've just begun? I'd +like to think it over." + +Her voice answered, cool and gentle: + +"Yes, dear; think it over. But better now than when you've begun +farming seriously. Italy with you! It would be nice!" + +Jon put his arm round her waist, still slim and firm as a girl's. + +"Do you think you ought to leave Father?" he said feebly, feeling +very mean. + +"Father suggested it; he thinks you ought to see Italy at least +before you settle down to anything." + +The sense of meanness died in Jon; he knew, yes--he knew--that his +father and his mother were not speaking frankly, no more than he +himself. They wanted to keep him from Fleur. His heart hardened. +And, as if she felt that process going on, his mother said: + +"Good-night, darling. Have a good sleep and think it over. But it +would be lovely!" + +She pressed him to her so quickly that he did not see her face. Jon +stood feeling exactly as he used to when he was a naughty little boy; +sore because he was not loving, and because he was justified in his +own eyes. + +But Irene, after she had stood a moment in her own room, passed +through the dressing-room between it and her husband's. + +"Well?" + +"He will think it over, Jolyon." + +Watching her lips that wore a little drawn smile, Jolyon said +quietly: + +"You had better let me tell him, and have done with it. After all, +Jon has the instincts of a gentleman. He has only to understand--" + +"Only! He can't understand; that's impossible." + +"I believe I could have at his age." + +Irene caught his hand. "You were always more of a realist than Jon; +and never so innocent." + +"That's true," said Jolyon. "It's queer, isn't it? You and I would +tell our stories to the world without a particle of shame; but our +own boy stumps us." + +"We've never cared whether the world approves or not." + +"Jon would not disapprove of us!" + +"Oh! Jolyon, yes. He's in love, I feel he's in love. And he'd say: +'My mother once married without love! How could she have!' It'll +seem to him a crime! And so it was!" + +Jolyon took her hand, and said with a wry smile: + +"Ah! why on earth are we born young? Now, if only we were born old +and grew younger year by year, we should understand how things +happen, and drop all our cursed intolerance. But you know if the boy +is really in love, he won't forget, even if he goes to Italy. We're +a tenacious breed; and he'll know by instinct why he's being sent. +Nothing will really cure him but the shock of being told." + +"Let me try, anyway." + +Jolyon stood a moment without speaking. Between this devil and this +deep sea--the pain of a dreaded disclosure and the grief of losing +his wife for two months--he secretly hoped for the devil; yet if she +wished for the deep sea he must put up with it. After all, it would +be training for that departure from which there would be no return. +And, taking her in his arms, he kissed her eyes, and said: + +"As you will, my love." + + + + +XI + +DUET + + +That "small" emotion, love, grows amazingly when threatened with +extinction. Jon reached Paddington station half an hour before his +time and a full week after, as it seemed to him. He stood at the +appointed bookstall, amid a crowd of Sunday travellers, in a Harris +tweed suit exhaling, as it were, the emotion of his thumping heart. +He read the names of the novels on the book-stall, and bought one at +last, to avoid being regarded with suspicion by the book-stall clerk. +It was called "The Heart of the Trail!" which must mean something, +though it did not seem to. He also bought "The Lady's Mirror" and +"The Landsman." Every minute was an hour long, and full of horrid +imaginings. After nineteen had passed, he saw her with a bag and a +porter wheeling her luggage. She came swiftly; she came cool. She +greeted him as if he were a brother. + +"First class," she said to the porter, "corner seats; opposite." + +Jon admired her frightful self-possession. + +"Can't we get a carriage to ourselves," he whispered. + +"No good; it's a stopping train. After Maidenhead perhaps. Look +natural, Jon." + +Jon screwed his features into a scowl. They got in--with two other +beasts!--oh! heaven! He tipped the porter unnaturally, in his +confusion. The brute deserved nothing for putting them in there, and +looking as if he knew all about it into the bargain. + +Fleur hid herself behind "The Lady's Mirror." Jon imitated her +behind "The Landsman." The train started. Fleur let "The Lady's +Mirror" fall and leaned forward. + +"Well?" she said. + +"It's seemed about fifteen days." + +She nodded, and Jon's face lighted up at once. + +"Look natural," murmured Fleur, and went off into a bubble of +laughter. It hurt him. How could he look natural with Italy hanging +over him? He had meant to break it to her gently, but now he blurted +it out. + +"They want me to go to Italy with Mother for two months." + +Fleur drooped her eyelids; turned a little pale, and bit her lips. +"Oh!" she said. It was all, but it was much. + +That "Oh!" was like the quick drawback of the wrist in fencing ready +for riposte. It came. + +"You must go!" + +"Go?" said Jon in a strangled voice. + +"Of course." + +"But--two months--it's ghastly." + +"No," said Fleur, "six weeks. You'll have forgotten me by then. +We'll meet in the National Gallery the day after you get back." + +Jon laughed. + +"But suppose you've forgotten me," he muttered into the noise of the +train. + +Fleur shook her head. + +"Some other beast--" murmured Jon. + +Her foot touched his. + +"No other beast," she said, lifting "The Lady's Mirror." + +The train stopped; two passengers got out, and one got in. + +'I shall die,' thought Jon, 'if we're not alone at all.' + +The train went on; and again Fleur leaned forward. + +"I never let go," she said; "do you?" + +Jon shook his head vehemently. + +"Never!" he said. "Will you write to me?" + +"No; but you can--to my Club." + +She had a Club; she was wonderful! + +"Did you pump Holly?" he muttered. + +"Yes, but I got nothing. I didn't dare pump hard." + +"What can it be?" cried Jon. + +"I shall find out all right." + +A long silence followed till Fleur said: "This is Maidenhead; stand +by, Jon!" + +The train stopped. The remaining passenger got out. Fleur drew down +her blind. + +"Quick!" she cried. "Hang out! Look as much of a beast as you can." + +Jon blew his nose, and scowled; never in all his life had he scowled +like that! An old lady recoiled, a young one tried the handle. It +turned, but the door would not open. The train moved, the young lady +darted to another carriage. + +"What luck!" cried Jon. "It Jammed." + +"Yes," said Fleur; "I was holding it." + +The train moved out, and Jon fell on his knees. + +"Look out for the corridor," she whispered; "and--quick!" + +Her lips met his. And though their kiss only lasted perhaps ten +seconds, Jon's soul left his body and went so far beyond, that, when +he was again sitting opposite that demure figure, he was pale as +death. He heard her sigh, and the sound seemed to him the most +precious he had ever heard--an exquisite declaration that he meant +something to her. + +"Six weeks isn't really long," she said; "and you can easily make it +six if you keep your head out there, and never seem to think of me." + +Jon gasped. + +"This is just what's really wanted, Jon, to convince them, don't you +see? If we're just as bad when you come back they'll stop being +ridiculous about it. Only, I'm sorry it's not Spain; there's a girl +in a Goya picture at Madrid who's like me, Father says. Only she +isn't--we've got a copy of her." + +It was to Jon like a ray of sunshine piercing through a fog. "I'll +make it Spain," he said, "Mother won't mind; she's never been there. +And my Father thinks a lot of Goya." + +"Oh! yes, he's a painter--isn't he?" + +"Only water-colour," said Jon, with honesty. + +"When we come to Reading, Jon, get out first and go down to Caversham +lock and wait for me. I'll send the car home and we'll walk by the +towing-path." + +Jon seized her hand in gratitude, and they sat silent, with the world +well lost, and one eye on the corridor. But the train seemed to run +twice as fast now, and its sound was almost lost in that of Jon's +sighing. + +"We're getting near," said Fleur; "the towing-path's awfully exposed. +One more! Oh! Jon, don't forget me." + +Jon answered with his kiss. And very soon, a flushed, distracted- +looking youth could have been seen--as they say--leaping from the +train and hurrying along the platform, searching his pockets for his +ticket. + +When at last she rejoined him on the towing-path a little beyond +Caversham lock he had made an effort, and regained some measure of +equanimity. If they had to part, he would not make a scene! A +breeze by the bright river threw the white side of the willow leaves +up into the sunlight, and followed those two with its faint rustle. + +"I told our chauffeur that I was train-giddy," said Fleur. "Did you +look pretty natural as you went out?" + +"I don't know. What is natural?" + +"It's natural to you to look seriously happy. When I first saw you I +thought you weren't a bit like other people." + +"Exactly what I thought when I saw you. I knew at once I should +never love anybody else." + +Fleur laughed. + +"We're absurdly young. And love's young dream is out of date, Jon. +Besides, it's awfully wasteful. Think of all the fun you might have. +You haven't begun, even; it's a shame, really. And there's me. I +wonder!" + +Confusion came on Jon's spirit. How could she say such things just +as they were going to part? + +"If you feel like that," he said, "I can't go. I shall tell Mother +that I ought to try and work. There's always the condition of the +world!" + +"The condition of the world!" + +Jon thrust his hands deep into his pockets. + +"But there is," he said; "think of the people starving!" + +Fleur shook her head. "No, no, I never, never will make myself +miserable for nothing." + +"Nothing! But there's an awful state of things, and of course one +ought to help." + +"Oh! yes, I know all that. But you can't help people, Jon; they're +hopeless. When you pull them out they only get into another hole. +Look at them, still fighting and plotting and struggling, though +they're dying in heaps all the time. Idiots!" + +"Aren't you sorry for them?" + +"Oh! sorry--yes, but I'm not going to make myself unhappy about it; +that's no good." + +And they were silent, disturbed by this first glimpse of each other's +natures. + +"I think people are brutes and idiots," said Fleur stubbornly. + +"I think they're poor wretches," said Jon. It was as if they had +quarrelled--and at this supreme and awful moment, with parting +visible out there in that last gap of the willows! + +"Well, go and help your poor wretches, and don't think of me." + +Jon stood still. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and his limbs +trembled. Fleur too had stopped, and was frowning at the river. + +"I must believe in things," said Jon with a sort of agony; "we're all +meant to enjoy life." + +Fleur laughed. "Yes; and that's what you won't do, if you don't take +care. But perhaps your idea of enjoyment is to make yourself +wretched. There are lots of people like that, of course." + +She was pale, her eyes had darkened, her lips had thinned. Was it +Fleur thus staring at the water? Jon had an unreal feeling as if he +were passing through the scene in a book where the lover has to +choose between love and duty. But just then she looked round at him. +Never was anything so intoxicating as that vivacious look. It acted +on him exactly as the tug of a chain acts on a dog--brought him up to +her with his tail wagging and his tongue out. + +"Don't let's be silly," she said, "time's too short. Look, Jon, you +can just see where I've got to cross the river. There, round the +bend, where the woods begin." + +Jon saw a gable, a chimney or two, a patch of wall through the trees- +-and felt his heart sink. + +"I mustn't dawdle any more. It's no good going beyond the next +hedge, it gets all open. Let's get on to it and say good-bye." + +They went side by side, hand in hand, silently toward the hedge, +where the may-flower, both pink and white, was in full bloom. + +"My Club's the 'Talisman,' Stratton Street, Piccadilly. Letters +there will be quite safe, and I'm almost always up once a week." + +Jon nodded. His face had become extremely set, his eyes stared +straight before him. + +"To-day's the twenty-third of May," said Fleur; "on the ninth of July +I shall be in front of the 'Bacchus and Ariadne' at three o'clock; +will you?" + +"I will." + +"If you feel as bad as I it's all right. Let those people pass!" + +A man and woman airing their children went by strung out in Sunday +fashion. + +The last of them passed the wicket gate. + +"Domesticity!" said Fleur, and blotted herself against the hawthorn +hedge. The blossom sprayed out above her head, and one pink cluster +brushed her cheek. Jon put up his hand jealously to keep it off. + +"Good-bye, Jon." For a second they stood with hands hard clasped. +Then their lips met for the third time, and when they parted Fleur +broke away and fled through the wicket gate. Jon stood where she had +left him, with his forehead against that pink cluster. Gone! For an +eternity--for seven weeks all but two days! And here he was, wasting +the last sight of her! He rushed to the gate. She was walking +swiftly on the heels of the straggling children. She turned her +head, he saw her hand make a little flitting gesture; then she sped +on, and the trailing family blotted her out from his view. + +The words of a comic song-- + + "Paddington groan-worst ever known-- + He gave a sepulchral Paddington groan--" + +came into his head, and he sped incontinently back to Reading +station. All the way up to London and down to Wansdon he sat with +"The Heart of the Trail" open on his knee, knitting in his head a +poem so full of feeling that it would not rhyme. + + + + +XII + +CAPRICE + + +Fleur sped on. She had need of rapid motion; she was late, and +wanted all her wits about her when she got in. She passed the +islands, the station, and hotel, and was about to take the ferry, +when she saw a skiff with a young man standing up in it, and holding +to the bushes. + +"Miss Forsyte," he said; "let me put you across. I've come on +purpose." + +She looked at him in blank amazement. + +"It's all right, I've been having tea with your people. I thought +I'd save you the last bit. It's on my way, I'm just off back to +Pangbourne. My name's Mont. I saw you at the picture-gallery--you +remember--when your father invited me to see his pictures." + +"Oh!" said Fleur; "yes--the handkerchief." + +To this young man she owed Jon; and, taking his hand, she stepped +down into the skiff. Still emotional, and a little out of breath, +she sat silent; not so the young man. She had never heard any one +say so much in so short a time. He told her his age, twenty-four; +his weight, ten stone eleven; his place of residence, not far away; +described his sensations under fire, and what it felt like to be +gassed; criticized the Juno, mentioned his own conception of that +goddess; commented on the Goya copy, said Fleur was not too awfully +like it; sketched in rapidly the condition of England; spoke of +Monsieur Profond--or whatever his name was--as "an awful sport"; +thought her father had some "ripping" pictures and some rather "dug- +up"; hoped he might row down again and take her on the river because +he was quite trustworthy; inquired her opinion of Tchekov, gave her +his own; wished they could go to the Russian ballet together some +time--considered the name Fleur Forsyte simply topping; cursed his +people for giving him the name of Michael on the top of Mont; +outlined his father, and said that if she wanted a good book she +should read "Job"; his father was rather like Job while Job still had +land. + +"But Job didn't have land," Fleur murmured; "he only had flocks and +herds and moved on." + +"Ah!" answered Michael Mont, "I wish my gov'nor would move on. Not +that I want his land. Land's an awful bore in these days, don't you +think?" + +"We never have it in my family," said Fleur. "We have everything +else. I believe one of my great-uncles once had a sentimental farm +in Dorset, because we came from there originally, but it cost him +more than it made him happy." + +"Did he sell it?" + +"No; he kept it." + +"Why?" + +"Because nobody would buy it." + +"Good for the old boy!" + +"No, it wasn't good for him. Father says it soured him. His name +was Swithin." + +"What a corking name!" + +"Do you know that we're getting farther off, not nearer? This river +flows." + +"Splendid!" cried Mont, dipping his sculls vaguely; "it's good to +meet a girl who's got wit." + +"But better to meet a young man who's got it in the plural." + +Young Mont raised a hand to tear his hair. + +"Look out!" cried Fleur. "Your scull!" + +"All right! It's thick enough to bear a scratch." + +"Do you mind sculling?" said Fleur severely. "I want to get in." + +"Ah!" said Mont; "but when you get in, you see, I shan't see you any +more to-day. Fini, as the French girl said when she jumped on her +bed after saying her prayers. Don't you bless the day that gave you +a French mother, and a name like yours?" + +"I like my name, but Father gave it me. Mother wanted me called +Marguerite." + +"Which is absurd. Do you mind calling me M. M. and letting me call +you F. F.? It's in the spirit of the age." + +"I don't mind anything, so long as I get in." + +Mont caught a little crab, and answered: "That was a nasty one!" + +"Please row." + +"I am." And he did for several strokes, looking at her with rueful +eagerness. "Of course, you know," he ejaculated, pausing, "that I +came to see you, not your father's pictures." + +Fleur rose. + +"If you don't row, I shall get out and swim." + +"Really and truly? Then I could come in after you." + +"Mr. Mont, I'm late and tired; please put me on shore at once." + +When she stepped out on to the garden landing-stage he rose, and +grasping his hair with both hands, looked at her. + +Fleur smiled. + +"Don't!" cried the irrepressible Mont. "I know you're going to say: +'Out, damned hair!'" + +Fleur whisked round, threw him a wave of her hand. "Good-bye, Mr. +M.M.!" she called, and was gone among the rose-trees. She looked at +her wrist-watch and the windows of the house. It struck her as +curiously uninhabited. Past six! The pigeons were just gathering to +roost, and sunlight slanted on the dovecot, on their snowy feathers, +and beyond in a shower on the top boughs of the woods. The click of +billiard-balls came from the ingle-nook--Jack Cardigan, no doubt; a +faint rustling, too, from an eucalyptus-tree, startling Southerner in +this old English garden. She reached the verandah and was passing +in, but stopped at the sound of voices from the drawing-room to her +left. Mother! Monsieur Profond! From behind the verandah screen +which fenced the ingle-nook she heard these words: + +"I don't, Annette." + +Did Father know that he called her mother "Annette"? Always on the +side of her Father--as children are ever on one side or the other in +houses where relations are a little strained--she stood, uncertain. +Her mother was speaking in her low, pleasing, slightly metallic +voice--one word she caught: "Demain." And Profond's answer: "All +right." Fleur frowned. A little sound came out into the stillness. +Then Profond's voice: "I'm takin' a small stroll." + +Fleur darted through the window into the morning-room. There he came +from the drawing-room, crossing the verandah, down the lawn; and the +click of billiard-balls which, in listening for other sounds, she had +ceased to hear, began again. She shook herself, passed into the +hall, and opened the drawing-room door. Her mother was sitting on +the sofa between the windows, her knees crossed, her head resting on +a cushion, her lips half parted, her eyes half closed. She looked +extraordinarily handsome. + +"Ah! Here you are, Fleur! Your father is beginning to fuss." + +"Where is he?" + +"In the picture-gallery. Go up!" + +"What are you going to do to-morrow, Mother?" + +"To-morrow? I go up to London with your aunt." + +"I thought you might be. Will you get me a quite plain parasol?" +What colour?" + +"Green. They're all going back, I suppose." + +"Yes, all; you will console your father. Kiss me, then." + +Fleur crossed the room, stooped, received a kiss on her forehead, and +went out past the impress of a form on the sofa-cushions in the other +corner. She ran up-stairs. + +Fleur was by no means the old-fashioned daughter who demands the +regulation of her parents' lives in accordance with the standard +imposed upon herself. She claimed to regulate her own life, not +those of others; besides, an unerring instinct for what was likely to +advantage her own case was already at work. In a disturbed domestic +atmosphere the heart she had set on Jon would have a better chance. +None the less was she offended, as a flower by a crisping wind. If +that man had really been kissing her mother it was--serious, and her +father ought to know. "Demain!" "All right!" And her mother going +up to Town! She turned into her bedroom and hung out of the window +to cool her face, which had suddenly grown very hot. Jon must be at +the station by now! What did her father know about Jon? Probably +everything--pretty nearly! + +She changed her dress, so as to look as if she had been in some time, +and ran up to the gallery. + +Soames was standing stubbornly still before his Alfred Stevens--the +picture he loved best. He did not turn at the sound of the door, but +she knew he had heard, and she knew he was hurt. She came up softly +behind him, put her arms round his neck, and poked her face over his +shoulder till her cheek lay against his. It was an advance which had +never yet failed, but it failed her now, and she augured the worst. +"Well," he said stonily, "so you've come!" + +"Is that all," murmured Fleur, "from a bad parent?" And she rubbed +her cheek against his. + +Soames shook his head so far as that was possible. + +"Why do you keep me on tenterhooks like this, putting me off and +off?" + +"Darling, it was very harmless." + +"Harmless! Much you know what's harmless and what isn't." + +Fleur dropped her arms. + +"Well, then, dear, suppose you tell me; and be quite frank about it." + +And she went over to the window-seat. + +Her father had turned from his picture, and was staring at his feet. +He looked very grey. 'He has nice small feet,' she thought, catching +his eye, at once averted from her. + +"You're my only comfort," said Soames suddenly, "and you go on like +this." + +Fleur's heart began to beat. + +"Like what, dear?" + +Again Soames gave her a look which, but for the affection in it, +might have been called furtive. + +"You know what I told you," he said. "I don't choose to have +anything to do with that branch of our family." + +"Yes, ducky, but I don't know why I shouldn't." + +Soames turned on his heel. + +"I'm not going into the reasons," he said; "you ought to trust me, +Fleur!" + +The way he spoke those words affected Fleur, but she thought of Jon, +and was silent, tapping her foot against the wainscot. Unconsciously +she had assumed a modern attitude, with one leg twisted in and out of +the other, with her chin on one bent wrist, her other arm across her +chest, and its hand hugging her elbow; there was not a line of her +that was not involuted, and yet--in spite of all--she retained a +certain grace. + +"You knew my wishes," Soames went on, "and yet you stayed on there +four days. And I suppose that boy came with you to-day." + +Fleur kept her eyes on him. + +"I don't ask you anything," said Soames; "I make no inquisition where +you're concerned." + +Fleur suddenly stood up, leaning out at the window with her chin on +her hands. The sun had sunk behind trees, the pigeons were perched, +quite still, on the edge of the dove-cot; the click of the billiard- +balls mounted, and a faint radiance shone out below where Jack +Cardigan had turned the light up. + +"Will it make you any happier," she said suddenly, "if I promise you +not to see him for say--the next six weeks?" She was not prepared for +a sort of tremble in the blankness of his voice. + +"Six weeks? Six years--sixty years more like. Don't delude +yourself, Fleur; don't delude yourself!" + +Fleur turned in alarm. + +"Father, what is it?" + +Soames came close enough to see her face. + +"Don't tell me," he said, "that you're foolish enough to have any +feeling beyond caprice. That would be too much!" And he laughed. + +Fleur, who had never heard him laugh like that, thought: 'Then it is +deep! Oh! what is it?' And putting her hand through his arm she +said lightly: + +"No, of course; caprice. Only, I like my caprices and I don't like +yours, dear." + +"Mine!" said Soames bitterly, and turned away. + +The light outside had chilled, and threw a chalky whiteness on the +river. The trees had lost all gaiety of colour. She felt a sudden +hunger for Jon's face, for his hands, and the feel of his lips again +on hers. And pressing her arms tight across her breast she forced +out a little light laugh. + +"O la! la! What a small fuss! as Profond would say. Father, I don't +like that man." + +She saw him stop, and take something out of his breast pocket. + +"You don't?" he said. "Why?" + +"Nothing," murmured Fleur; "just caprice!" + +"No," said Soames; "not caprice!" And he tore what was in his hands +across. "You're right. I don't like him either!" + +"Look!" said Fleur softly. "There he goes! I hate his shoes; they +don't make any noise." + +Down in the failing light Prosper Profond moved, his hands in his +side pockets, whistling softly in his beard; he stopped, and glanced +up at the sky, as if saying: "I don't think much of that small moon." + +Fleur drew back. "Isn't he a great cat?" she whispered; and the +sharp click of the billiard-balls rose, as if Jack Cardigan had +capped the cat, the moon, caprice, and tragedy with: "In off the +red!" + +Monsieur Profond had resumed his stroll, to a teasing little tune in +his beard. What was it? Oh! yes, from "Rigoletto": "Donna a +mobile." Just what he would think! She squeezed her father's arm. + +"Prowling!" she muttered, as he turned the corner of the house. It +was past that disillusioned moment which divides the day and night- +still and lingering and warm, with hawthorn scent and lilac scent +clinging on the riverside air. A blackbird suddenly burst out. Jon +would be in London by now; in the Park perhaps, crossing the +Serpentine, thinking of her! A little sound beside her made her turn +her eyes; her father was again tearing the paper in his hands. Fleur +saw it was a cheque. + +"I shan't sell him my Gauguin," he said. "I don't know what your +aunt and Imogen see in him." + +"Or Mother." + +"Your mother!" said Soames. + +'Poor Father!' she thought. 'He never looks happy--not really happy. +I don't want to make him worse, but of course I shall have to, when +Jon comes back. Oh! well, sufficient unto the night!' + +"I'm going to dress," she said. + +In her room she had a fancy to put on her "freak" dress. It was of +gold tissue with little trousers of the same, tightly drawn in at the +ankles, a page's cape slung from the shoulders, little gold shoes, +and a gold-winged Mercury helmet; and all over her were tiny gold +bells, especially on the helmet; so that if she shook her head she +pealed. When she was dressed she felt quite sick because Jon could +not see her; it even seemed a pity that the sprightly young man +Michael Mont would not have a view. But the gong had sounded, and +she went down. + +She made a sensation in the drawing-room. Winifred thought it "Most +amusing." Imogen was enraptured. Jack Cardigan called it +"stunning," "ripping," "topping," and "corking." + +Monsieur Profond, smiling with his eyes, said: "That's a nice small +dress!" Her mother, very handsome in black, sat looking at her, and +said nothing. It remained for her father to apply the test of common +sense. "What did you put on that thing for? You're not going to +dance." + +Fleur spun round, and the bells pealed. + +"Caprice!" + +Soames stared at her, and, turning away, gave his arm to Winifred. +Jack Cardigan took her mother. Prosper Profond took Imogen. Fleur +went in by herself, with her bells jingling.... + +The "small" moon had soon dropped down, and May night had fallen soft +and warm, enwrapping with its grape-bloom colour and its scents the +billion caprices, intrigues, passions, longings, and regrets of men +and women. Happy was Jack Cardigan who snored into Imogen's white +shoulder, fit as a flea; or Timothy in his "mausoleum," too old for +anything but baby's slumber. For so many lay awake, or dreamed, +teased by the criss-cross of the world. + +The dew fell and the flowers closed; cattle grazed on in the river +meadows, feeling with their tongues for the grass they could not see; +and the sheep on the Downs lay quiet as stones. Pheasants in the +tall trees of the Pangbourne woods, larks on their grassy nests above +the gravel-pit at Wansdon, swallows in the eaves at Robin Hill, and +the sparrows of Mayfair, all made a dreamless night of it, soothed by +the lack of wind. The Mayfly filly, hardly accustomed to her new +quarters, scraped at her straw a little; and the few night-flitting +things--bats, moths, owls--were vigorous in the warm darkness; but +the peace of night lay in the brain of all day-time Nature, +colourless and still. Men and women, alone, riding the hobby-horses +of anxiety or love, burned their wavering tapers of dream and thought +into the lonely hours. + +Fleur, leaning out of her window, heard the hall clock's muffled +chime of twelve, the tiny splash of a fish, the sudden shaking of an +aspen's leaves in the puffs of breeze that rose along the river, the +distant rumble of a night train, and time and again the sounds which +none can put a name to in the darkness, soft obscure expressions of +uncatalogued emotions from man and beast, bird and machine, or, +maybe, from departed Forsytes, Darties, Cardigans, taking night +strolls back into a world which had once suited their embodied +spirits. But Fleur heeded not these sounds; her spirit, far from +disembodied, fled with swift wing from railway-carriage to flowery +hedge, straining after Jon, tenacious of his forbidden image, and the +sound of his voice, which was taboo. And she crinkled her nose, +retrieving from the perfume of the riverside night that moment when +his hand slipped between the mayflowers and her cheek. Long she +leaned out in her freak dress, keen to burn her wings at life's +candle; while the moths brushed her cheeks on their pilgrimage to the +lamp on her dressing-table, ignorant that in a Forsyte's house there +is no open flame. But at last even she felt sleepy, and, forgetting +her bells, drew quickly in. + +Through the open window of his room, alongside Annette's, Soames, +wakeful too, heard their thin faint tinkle, as it might be shaken +from stars, or the dewdrops falling from a flower, if one could hear +such sounds. + +'Caprice!' he thought. 'I can't tell. She's wilful. What shall I +do? Fleur!' + +And long into the "small" night he brooded. + + + + + + +PART II + + + +I + +MOTHER AND SON + + +To say that Jon Forsyte accompanied his mother to Spain unwillingly +would scarcely have been adequate. He went as a well-natured dog +goes for a walk with its mistress, leaving a choice mutton-bone on +the lawn. He went looking back at it. Forsytes deprived of their +mutton-bones are wont to sulk. But Jon had little sulkiness in his +composition. He adored his mother, and it was his first travel. +Spain had become Italy by his simply saying: "I'd rather go to Spain, +Mum; you've been to Italy so many times; I'd like it new to both of +us." + +The fellow was subtle besides being naive. He never forgot that he +was going to shorten the proposed two months into six weeks, and must +therefore show no sign of wishing to do so. For one with so enticing +a mutton-bone and so fixed an idea, he made a good enough travelling +companion, indifferent to where or when he arrived, superior to food, +and thoroughly appreciative of a country strange to the most +travelled Englishman. Fleur's wisdom in refusing to write to him was +profound, for he reached each new place entirely without hope or +fever, and could concentrate immediate attention on the donkeys and +tumbling bells, the priests, patios, beggars, children, crowing +cocks, sombreros, cactus-hedges, old high white villages, goats, +olive-trees, greening plains, singing birds in tiny cages, +watersellers, sunsets, melons, mules, great churches, pictures, and +swimming grey-brown mountains of a fascinating land. + +It was already hot, and they enjoyed an absence of their compatriots. +Jon, who, so far as he knew, had no blood in him which was not +English, was often innately unhappy in the presence of his own +countrymen. He felt they had no nonsense about them, and took a more +practical view of things than himself. He confided to his mother +that he must be an unsociable beast--it was jolly to be away from +everybody who could talk about the things people did talk about. To +which Irene had replied simply: + +"Yes, Jon, I know." + +In this isolation he had unparalleled opportunities of appreciating +what few sons can apprehend, the whole-heartedness of a mother's +love. Knowledge of something kept from her made him, no doubt, +unduly sensitive; and a Southern people stimulated his admiration for +her type of beauty, which he had been accustomed to hear called +Spanish, but which he now perceived to be no such thing. Her beauty +was neither English, French, Spanish, nor Italian--it was special! +He appreciated, too, as never before, his mother's subtlety of +instinct. He could not tell, for instance, whether she had noticed +his absorption in that Goya picture, "La Vendimia," or whether she +knew that he had slipped back there after lunch and again next +morning, to stand before it full half an hour, a second and third +time. It was not Fleur, of course, but like enough to give him +heartache--so dear to lovers--remembering her standing at the foot of +his bed with her hand held above her head. To keep a postcard +reproduction of this picture in his pocket and slip it out to look at +became for Jon one of those bad habits which soon or late disclose +themselves to eyes sharpened by love, fear, or jealousy. And his +mother's were sharpened by all three. In Granada he was fairly +caught, sitting on a sun-warmed stone bench in a little battlemented +garden on the Alhambra hill, whence he ought to have been looking at +the view. His mother, he had thought, was examining the potted +stocks between the polled acacias, when her voice said: + +"Is that your favourite Goya, Jon?" + +He checked, too late, a movement such as he might have made at school +to conceal some surreptitious document, and answered: "Yes." + +"It certainly is most charming; but I think I prefer the 'Quitasol' +Your father would go crazy about Goya; I don't believe he saw them +when he was in Spain in '92." + +In '92--nine years before he had been born! What had been the +previous existences of his father and his mother? If they had a +right to share in his future, surely he had a right to share in their +pasts. He looked up at her. But something in her face--a look of +life hard-lived, the mysterious impress of emotions, experience, and +suffering-seemed, with its incalculable depth, its purchased +sanctity, to make curiosity impertinent. His mother must have had a +wonderfully interesting life; she was so beautiful, and so--so--but +he could not frame what he felt about her. He got up, and stood +gazing down at the town, at the plain all green with crops, and the +ring of mountains glamorous in sinking sunlight. Her life was like +the past of this old Moorish city, full, deep, remote--his own life +as yet such a baby of a thing, hopelessly ignorant and innocent! +They said that in those mountains to the West, which rose sheer from +the blue-green plain, as if out of a sea, Phoenicians had dwelt--a +dark, strange, secret race, above the land! His mother's life was as +unknown to him, as secret, as that Phoenician past was to the town +down there, whose cocks crowed and whose children played and +clamoured so gaily, day in, day out. He felt aggrieved that she +should know all about him and he nothing about her except that she +loved him and his father, and was beautiful. His callow ignorance-- +he had not even had the advantage of the War, like nearly everybody +else!--made him small in his own eyes. + +That night, from the balcony of his bedroom, he gazed down on the +roof of the town--as if inlaid with honeycomb of jet, ivory, and +gold; and, long after, he lay awake, listening to the cry of the +sentry as the hours struck, and forming in his head these lines: + + "Voice in the night crying, down in the old sleeping + Spanish city darkened under her white stars! + + "What says the voice-its clear-lingering anguish? + Just the watchman, telling his dateless tale of safety? + Just a road-man, flinging to the moon his song? + + "No! Tis one deprived, whose lover's heart is weeping, + Just his cry: 'How long?'" + +The word "deprived" seemed to him cold and unsatisfactory, but +"bereaved" was too final, and no other word of two syllables short- +long came to him, which would enable him to keep "whose lover's heart +is weeping." It was past two by the time he had finished it, and +past three before he went to sleep, having said it over to himself at +least twenty-four times. Next day he wrote it out and enclosed it in +one of those letters to Fleur which he always finished before he went +down, so as to have his mind free and companionable. + +About noon that same day, on the tiled terrace of their hotel, he +felt a sudden dull pain in the back of his head, a queer sensation in +the eyes, and sickness. The sun had touched him too affectionately. +The next three days were passed in semi-darkness, and a dulled, +aching indifference to all except the feel of ice on his forehead and +his mother's smile. She never moved from his room, never relaxed her +noiseless vigilance, which seemed to Jon angelic. But there were +moments when he was extremely sorry for himself, and wished terribly +that Fleur could see him. Several times he took a poignant imaginary +leave of her and of the earth, tears oozing out of his eyes. He even +prepared the message he would send to her by his mother--who would +regret to her dying day that she had ever sought to separate them-- +his poor mother! He was not slow, however, in perceiving that he had +now his excuse for going home. + +Toward half-past six each evening came a "gasgacha" of bells--a +cascade of tumbling chimes, mounting from the city below and falling +back chime on chime. After listening to them on the fourth day he +said suddenly: + +"I'd like to be back in England, Mum, the sun's too hot." + +"Very well, darling. As soon as you're fit to travel" And at once +he felt better, and--meaner. + +They had been out five weeks when they turned toward home. Jon's +head was restored to its pristine clarity, but he was confined to a +hat lined by his mother with many layers of orange and green silk and +he still walked from choice in the shade. As the long struggle of +discretion between them drew to its close, he wondered more and more +whether she could see his eagerness to get back to that which she had +brought him away from. Condemned by Spanish Providence to spend a +day in Madrid between their trains, it was but natural to go again to +the Prado. Jon was elaborately casual this time before his Goya +girl. Now that he was going back to her, he could afford a lesser +scrutiny. It was his mother who lingered before the picture, saying: + +"The face and the figure of the girl are exquisite." + +Jon heard her uneasily. Did she understand? But he felt once more +that he was no match for her in self-control and subtlety. She +could, in some supersensitive way, of which he had not the secret, +feel the pulse of his thoughts; she knew by instinct what he hoped +and feared and wished. It made him terribly uncomfortable and +guilty, having, beyond most boys, a conscience. He wished she would +be frank with him, he almost hoped for an open struggle. But none +came, and steadily, silently, they travelled north. Thus did he +first learn how much better than men women play a waiting game. In +Paris they had again to pause for a day. Jon was grieved because it +lasted two, owing to certain matters in connection with a dressmaker; +as if his mother, who looked beautiful in anything, had any need of +dresses! The happiest moment of his travel was that when he stepped +on to the Folkestone boat. + +Standing by the bulwark rail, with her arm in his, she said + +"I'm afraid you haven't enjoyed it much, Jon. But you've been very +sweet to me." + +Jon squeezed her arm. + +"Oh I yes, I've enjoyed it awfully-except for my head lately." + +And now that the end had come, he really had, feeling a sort of +glamour over the past weeks--a kind of painful pleasure, such as he +had tried to screw into those lines about the voice in the night +crying; a feeling such as he had known as a small boy listening +avidly to Chopin, yet wanting to cry. And he wondered why it was +that he couldn't say to her quite simply what she had said to him: + +"You were very sweet to me." Odd--one never could be nice and +natural like that! He substituted the words: "I expect we shall be +sick." + +They were, and reached London somewhat attenuated, having been away +six weeks and two days, without a single allusion to the subject +which had hardly ever ceased to occupy their minds. + + + + +II + +FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS + + +Deprived of his wife and son by the Spanish adventure, Jolyon found +the solitude at Robin Hill intolerable. A philosopher when he has +all that he wants is different from a philosopher when he has not. +Accustomed, however, to the idea, if not to the reality of +resignation, he would perhaps have faced it out but for his daughter +June. He was a "lame duck" now, and on her conscience. Having +achieved--momentarily--the rescue of an etcher in low circumstances, +which she happened to have in hand, she appeared at Robin Hill a +fortnight after Irene and Jon had gone. June was living now in a +tiny house with a big studio at Chiswick. A Forsyte of the best +period, so far as the lack of responsibility was concerned, she had +overcome the difficulty of a reduced income in a manner satisfactory +to herself and her father. The rent of the Gallery off Cork Street +which he had bought for her and her increased income tax happening to +balance, it had been quite simpl--she no longer paid him the rent. +The Gallery might be expected now at any time, after eighteen years +of barren usufruct, to pay its way, so that she was sure her father +would not feel it. Through this device she still had twelve hundred +a year, and by reducing what she ate, and, in place of two Belgians +in a poor way, employing one Austrian in a poorer, practically the +same surplus for the relief of genius. After three days at Robin +Hill she carried her father back with her to Town. In those three +days she had stumbled on the secret he had kept for two years, and +had instantly decided to cure him. She knew, in fact, the very man. +He had done wonders with. Paul Post--that painter a little in +advance of Futurism; and she was impatient with her father because +his eyebrows would go up, and because he had heard of neither. Of +course, if he hadn't "faith" he would never get well! It was absurd +not to have faith in the man who had healed Paul Post so that he had +only just relapsed, from having overworked, or overlived, himself +again. The great thing about this healer was that he relied on +Nature. He had made a special study of the symptoms of Nature--when +his patient failed in any natural symptom he supplied the poison +which caused it--and there you were! She was extremely hopeful. Her +father had clearly not been living a natural life at Robin Hill, and +she intended to provide the symptoms. He was--she felt--out of touch +with the times, which was not natural; his heart wanted stimulating. +In the little Chiswick house she and the Austrian--a grateful soul, +so devoted to June for rescuing her that she was in danger of decease +from overwork--stimulated Jolyon in all sorts of ways, preparing him +for his cure. But they could not keep his eyebrows down; as, for +example, when the Austrian woke him at eight o'clock just as he was +going to sleep, or June took The Times away from him, because it was +unnatural to read "that stuff" when he ought to be taking an interest +in "life." He never failed, indeed, to be astonished at her +resource, especially in the evenings. For his benefit, as she +declared, though he suspected that she also got something out of it, +she assembled the Age so far as it was satellite to genius; and with +some solemnity it would move up and down the studio before him in the +Fox-trot, and that more mental form of dancing--the One-step--which +so pulled against the music, that Jolyon's eyebrows would be almost +lost in his hair from wonder at the strain it must impose on the +dancer's will-power. Aware that, hung on the line in the Water +Colour Society, he was a back number to those with any pretension to +be called artists, he would sit in the darkest corner he could find, +and wonder about rhythm, on which so long ago he had been raised. +And when June brought some girl or young man up to him, he would rise +humbly to their level so far as that was possible, and think: 'Dear +me! This is very dull for them!' Having his father's perennial +sympathy with Youth, he used to get very tired from entering into +their points of view. But it was all stimulating, and he never +failed in admiration of his daughter's indomitable spirit. Even +genius itself attended these gatherings now and then, with its nose +on one side; and June always introduced it to her father. This, she +felt, was exceptionally good for him, for genius was a natural +symptom he had never had--fond as she was of him. + +Certain as a man can be that she was his own daughter, he often +wondered whence she got herself--her red-gold hair, now greyed into a +special colour; her direct, spirited face, so different from his own +rather folded and subtilised countenance, her little lithe figure, +when he and most of the Forsytes were tall. And he would dwell on +the origin of species, and debate whether she might be Danish or +Celtic. Celtic, he thought, from her pugnacity, and her taste in +fillets and djibbahs. It was not too much to say that he preferred +her to the Age with which she was surrounded, youthful though, for +the greater part, it was. She took, however, too much interest in +his teeth, for he still had some of those natural symptoms. Her +dentist at once found "Staphylococcus aureus present in pure culture" +(which might cause boils, of course), and wanted to take out all the +teeth he had and supply him with two complete sets of unnatural +symptoms. Jolyon's native tenacity was roused, and in the studio +that evening he developed his objections. He had never had any +boils, and his own teeth would last his time. Of course--June +admitted--they would last his time if he didn't have them out! But +if he had more teeth he would have a better heart and his time would +be longer. His recalcitrance--she said--was a symptom of his whole +attitude; he was taking it lying down. He ought to be fighting. +When was he going to see the man who had cured Paul Post? Jolyon was +very sorry, but the fact was he was not going to see him. June +chafed. Pondridge--she said--the healer, was such a fine man, and he +had such difficulty in making two ends meet, and getting his theories +recognised. It was just such indifference and prejudice as her +father manifested which was keeping him back. It would be so +splendid for both of them! + +"I perceive," said Jolyon, "that you are trying to kill two birds +with one stone." + +"To cure, you mean!" cried June. + +"My dear, it's the same thing." + +June protested. It was unfair to say that without a trial. + +Jolyon thought he might not have the chance, of saying it after. + +"Dad!" cried June, "you're hopeless." + +"That," said Jolyon, "is a fact, but I wish to remain hopeless as +long as possible. I shall let sleeping dogs lie, my child. They are +quiet at present." + +"That's not giving science a chance," cried June. "You've no idea +how devoted Pondridge is. He puts his science before everything." + +"Just," replied Jolyon, puffing the mild cigarette to which he was +reduced, "as Mr. Paul Post puts his art, eh? Art for Art's sake-- +Science for the sake of Science. I know those enthusiastic egomaniac +gentry. They vivisect you without blinking. I'm enough of a Forsyte +to give them the go-by, June." + +"Dad," said June, "if you only knew how old-fashioned that sounds! +Nobody can afford to be half-hearted nowadays." + +"I'm afraid," murmured Jolyon, with his smile, "that's the only +natural symptom with which Mr. Pondridge need not supply me. We are +born to be extreme or to be moderate, my dear; though, if you'll +forgive my saying so, half the people nowadays who believe they're +extreme are really very moderate. I'm getting on as well as I can +expect, and I must leave it at that." + +June was silent, having experienced in her time the inexorable +character of her father's amiable obstinacy so far as his own freedom +of action was concerned. + +How he came to let her know why Irene had taken Jon to Spain puzzled +Jolyon, for he had little confidence in her discretion. After she +had brooded on the news, it brought a rather sharp discussion, during +which he perceived to the full the fundamental opposition between her +active temperament and his wife's passivity. He even gathered that a +little soreness still remained from that generation-old struggle +between them over the body of Philip Bosinney, in which the passive +had so signally triumphed over the active principle. + +According to June, it was foolish and even cowardly to hide the past +from Jon. Sheer opportunism, she called it. + +"Which," Jolyon put in mildly, "is the working principle of real +life, my dear." + +"Oh!" cried June, "you don't really defend her for not telling Jon, +Dad. If it were left to you, you would." + +"I might, but simply because I know he must find out, which will be +worse than if we told him." + +"Then why don't you tell him? It's just sleeping dogs again." + +"My dear," said Jolyon, "I wouldn't for the world go against Irene's +instinct. He's her boy." + +"Yours too," cried June. + +"What is a man's instinct compared with a mother's?" + +"Well, I think it's very weak of you." + +"I dare say," said Jolyon, "I dare say." + +And that was all she got from him; but the matter rankled in her +brain. She could not bear sleeping dogs. And there stirred in her a +tortuous impulse to push the matter toward decision. Jon ought to be +told, so that either his feeling might be nipped in the bud, or, +flowering in spite of the past, come to fruition. And she determined +to see Fleur, and judge for herself. When June determined on +anything, delicacy became a somewhat minor consideration. After all, +she was Soames' cousin, and they were both interested in pictures. +She would go and tell him that he ought to buy a Paul Post, or +perhaps a piece of sculpture by Boris Strumolowski, and of course she +would say nothing to her father. She went on the following Sunday, +looking so determined that she had some difficulty in getting a cab +at Reading station. The river country was lovely in those days of +her own month, and June ached at its loveliness. She who had passed +through this life without knowing what union was had a love of +natural beauty which was almost madness. And when she came to that +choice spot where Soames had pitched his tent, she dismissed her cab, +because, business over, she wanted to revel in the bright water and +the woods. She appeared at his front door, therefore, as a mere +pedestrian, and sent in her card. It was in June's character to know +that when her nerves were fluttering she was doing something worth +while. If one's nerves did not flutter, she was taking the line of +least resistance, and knew that nobleness was not obliging her. She +was conducted to a drawing-room, which, though not in her style, +showed every mark of fastidious elegance. Thinking, 'Too much taste- +-too many knick-knacks,' she saw in an old lacquer-framed mirror the +figure of a girl coming in from the verandah. Clothed in white, and +holding some white roses in her hand, she had, reflected in that +silvery-grey pool of glass, a vision-like appearance, as if a pretty +ghost had come out of the green garden. + +"How do you do?" said June, turning round. "I'm a cousin of your +father's." + +"Oh, yes; I saw you in that confectioner's." + +"With my young stepbrother. Is your father in?" + +"He will be directly. He's only gone for a little walk." + +June slightly narrowed her blue eyes, and lifted her decided chin. + +"Your name's Fleur, isn't it? I've heard of you from Holly. What do +you think of Jon?" + +The girl lifted the roses in her hand, looked at them, and answered +calmly: + +"He's quite a nice boy." + +"Not a bit like Holly or me, is he?" + +"Not a bit." + +'She's cool,' thought June. + +And suddenly the girl said: "I wish you'd tell me why our families +don't get on?" + +Confronted with the question she had advised her father to answer, +June was silent; whether because this girl was trying to get +something out of her, or simply because what one would do +theoretically is not always what one will do when +it comes to the point. + +"You know," said the girl, "the surest way to make people find out +the worst is to keep them ignorant. My father's told me it was a +quarrel about property. But I don't believe it; we've both got +heaps. They wouldn't have been so bourgeois as all that." + +June flushed. The word applied to her grandfather and father +offended her. + +"My grandfather," she said, "was very generous, and my father is, +too; neither of them was in the least bourgeois." + +"Well, what was it then?" repeated the girl: Conscious that this +young Forsyte meant having what she wanted, June at once determined +to prevent her, and to get something for herself instead. + +"Why do you want to know?" + +The girl smelled at her roses. "I only want to know because they +won't tell me." + +"Well, it was about property, but there's more than one kind." + +"That makes it worse. Now I really must know." + +June's small and resolute face quivered. She was wearing a round +cap, and her hair had fluffed out under it. She looked quite young +at that moment, rejuvenated by encounter. + +"You know," she said, "I saw you drop your handkerchief. Is there +anything between you and Jon? Because, if so, you'd better drop that +too." + +The girl grew paler, but she smiled. + +"If there were, that isn't the way to make me." + +At the gallantry of that reply, June held out her hand. + +"I like you; but I don't like your father; I never have. We may as +well be frank." + +"Did you come down to tell him that?" + +June laughed. "No; I came down to see you." + +"How delightful of you." + +This girl could fence. + +"I'm two and a half times your age," said June, "but I quite +sympathize. It's horrid not to have one's own way." + +The girl smiled again. "I really think you might tell me." + +How the child stuck to her point + +"It's not my secret. But I'll see what I can do, because I think +both you and Jon ought to be told. And now I'll say good-bye." + +"Won't you wait and see Father?" + +June shook her head. "How can I get over to the other side?" + +"I'll row you across." + +"Look!" said June impulsively, "next time you're in London, come and +see me. This is where I live. I generally have young people in the +evening. But I shouldn't tell your father that you're coming." + +The girl nodded. + +Watching her scull the skiff across, June thought: 'She's awfully +pretty and well made. I never thought Soames would have a daughter +as pretty as this. She and Jon would make a lovely couple. + +The instinct to couple, starved within herself, was always at work +in June. She stood watching Fleur row back; the girl took her hand +off a scull to wave farewell, and June walked languidly on between +the meadows and the river, with an ache in her heart. Youth to +youth, like the dragon-flies chasing each other, and love like the +sun warming them through and through. Her youth! So long ago--when +Phil and she--And since? Nothing--no one had been quite what she had +wanted. And so she had missed it all. But what a coil was round +those two young things, if they really were in love, as Holly would +have it--as her father, and Irene, and Soames himself seemed to +dread. What a coil, and what a barrier! And the itch for the +future, the contempt, as it were, for what was overpast, which forms +the active principle, moved in the heart of one who ever believed +that what one wanted was more important than what other people did +not want. From the bank, awhile, in the warm summer stillness, she +watched the water-lily plants and willow leaves, the fishes rising; +sniffed the scent of grass and meadow-sweet, wondering how she could +force everybody to be happy. Jon and Fleur! Two little lame ducks-- +charming callow yellow little ducks! A great pity! Surely something +could be done! One must not take such situations lying down. She +walked on, and reached a station, hot and cross. + +That evening, faithful to the impulse toward direct action, which +made many people avoid her, she said to her father: + +"Dad, I've been down to see young Fleur. I think she's very +attractive. It's no good hiding our heads under our wings, is it?" + +The startled Jolyon set down his barley-water, and began crumbling +his bread. + +"It's what you appear to be doing," he said. "Do you realise whose +daughter she is?" + +"Can't the dead past bury its dead?" + +Jolyon rose. + +"Certain things can never be buried." + +"I disagree," said June. "It's that which stands in the way of all +happiness and progress. You don't understand the Age, Dad. It's got +no use for outgrown things. Why do you think it matters so terribly +that Jon should know about his mother? Who pays any attention to +that sort of thing now? The marriage laws are just as they were when +Soames and Irene couldn't get a divorce, and you had to come in. +We've moved, and they haven't. So nobody cares. Marriage without a +decent chance of relief is only a sort of slave-owning; people +oughtn't to own each other. Everybody sees that now. If Irene broke +such laws, what does it matter?" + +"It's not for me to disagree there," said Jolyon; "but that's all +quite beside the mark. This is a matter of human feeling." + +"Of course it is," cried June, "the human feeling of those two young +things." + +"My dear," said Jolyon with gentle exasperation; "you're talking +nonsense." + +"I'm not. If they prove to be really fond of each other, why should +they be made unhappy because of the past?" + +"You haven't lived that past. I have--through the feelings of my +wife; through my own nerves and my imagination, as only one who is +devoted can." + +June, too, rose, and began to wander restlessly. + +"If," she said suddenly, "she were the daughter of Philip Bosinney, I +could understand you better. Irene loved him, she never loved +Soames." + +Jolyon uttered a deep sound-the sort of noise an Italian peasant +woman utters to her mule. His heart had begun beating furiously, but +he paid no attention to it, quite carried away by his feelings. + +"That shows how little you understand. Neither I nor Jon, if I know +him, would mind a love-past. It's the brutality of a union without +love. This girl is the daughter of the man who once owned Jon's +mother as a negro-slave was owned. You can't lay that ghost; don't +try to, June! It's asking us to see Jon joined to the flesh and +blood of the man who possessed Jon's mother against her will. It's +no good mincing words; I want it clear once for all. And now I +mustn't talk any more, or I shall have to sit up with this all +night." And, putting his hand over his heart, Jolyon turned his back +on his daughter and stood looking at the river Thames. + +June, who by nature never saw a hornet's nest until she had put her +head into it, was seriously alarmed. She came and slipped her arm +through his. Not convinced that he was right, and she herself wrong, +because that was not natural to her, she was yet profoundly impressed +by the obvious fact that the subject was very bad for him. She +rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, and said nothing. + +After taking her elderly cousin across, Fleur did not land at once, +but pulled in among the reeds, into the sunshine. The peaceful +beauty of the afternoon seduced for a little one not much given to +the vague and poetic. In the field beyond the bank where her skiff +lay up, a machine drawn by a grey horse was turning an early field of +hay. She watched the grass cascading over and behind the light +wheels with fascination--it looked so cool and fresh. The click and +swish blended with the rustle of the willows and the poplars, and the +cooing of a wood-pigeon, in a true river song. Alongside, in the +deep green water, weeds, like yellow snakes, were writhing and nosing +with the current; pied cattle on the farther side stood in the shade +lazily swishing their tails. It was an afternoon to dream. And she +took out Jon's letters--not flowery effusions, but haunted in their +recital of things seen and done by a longing very agreeable to her, +and all ending "Your devoted J." Fleur was not sentimental, her +desires were ever concrete and concentrated, but what poetry there +was in the daughter of Soames and Annette had certainly in those +weeks of waiting gathered round her memories of Jon. They all +belonged to grass and blossom, flowers and running water. She +enjoyed him in the scents absorbed by her crinkling nose. The stars +could persuade her that she was standing beside him in the centre of +the map of Spain; and of an early morning the dewy cobwebs, the hazy +sparkle and promise of the day down in the garden, were Jon +personified to her. + +Two white swans came majestically by, while she was reading his +letters, followed by their brood of six young swans in a line, with +just so much water between each tail and head, a flotilla of grey +destroyers. Fleur thrust her letters back, got out her sculls, and +pulled up to the landing-stage. Crossing the lawn, she wondered +whether she should tell her father of June's visit. If he learned of +it from the butler, he might think it odd if she did not. It gave +her, too, another chance to startle out of him the reason of the +feud. She went, therefore, up the road to meet him. + +Soames had gone to look at a patch of ground on which the Local +Authorities were proposing to erect a Sanatorium for people with weak +lungs. Faithful to his native individualism, he took no part in +local affairs, content to pay the rates which were always going up. +He could not, however, remain indifferent to this new and dangerous +scheme. The site was not half a mile from his own house. He was +quite of opinion that the country should stamp out tuberculosis; but +this was not the place. It should be done farther away. He took, +indeed, an attitude common to all true Forsytes, that disability of +any sort in other people was not his affair, and the State should do +its business without prejudicing in any way the natural advantages +which he had acquired or inherited. Francie, the most free-spirited +Forsyte of his generation (except perhaps that fellow Jolyon) had +once asked him in her malicious way: "Did you ever see the name +Forsyte in a subscription list, Soames? "That was as it might be, +but a Sanatorium would depreciate the neighbourhood, and he should +certainly sign the petition which was being got up against it. +Returning with this decision fresh within him, he saw Fleur coming. + +She was showing him more affection of late, and the quiet time down +here with her in this summer weather had been making him feel quite +young; Annette was always running up to Town for one thing or +another, so that he had Fleur to himself almost as much as he could +wish. To be sure, young Mont had formed a habit of appearing on his +motor-cycle almost every other day. Thank goodness, the young fellow +had shaved off his half-toothbrushes, and no longer looked like a +mountebank! With a girl friend of Fleur's who was staying in the +house, and a neighbouring youth or so, they made two couples after +dinner, in the hall, to the music of the electric pianola, which +performed Fox-trots unassisted, with a surprised shine on its +expressive surface. Annette, even, now and then passed gracefully up +and down in the arms of one or other of the young men. And Soames, +coming to the drawing-room door, would lift his nose a little +sideways, and watch them, waiting to catch a smile from Fleur; then +move back to his chair by the drawing-room hearth, to peruse The +Times or some other collector's price list. To his ever-anxious eyes +Fleur showed no signs of remembering that caprice of hers. + +When she reached him on the dusty road, he slipped his hand within +her arm. + +"Who, do you think, has been to see you, Dad? She couldn't wait! +Guess!" + +"I never guess," said Soames uneasily. "Who?" + +"Your cousin, June Forsyte." + +Quite unconsciously Soames gripped her arm. "What did she want?" + +"I don't know. But it was rather breaking through the feud, wasn't +it?" + +"Feud? What feud?" + +"The one that exists in your imagination, dear." + +Soames dropped her arm. Was she mocking, or trying to draw him on? + +"I suppose she wanted me to buy a picture," he said at last. + +"I don't think so. Perhaps it was just family affection." + +"She's only a first cousin once removed," muttered Soames. + +"And the daughter of your enemy." + +"What d'you mean by that?" + +"I beg your pardon, dear; I thought he was." + +"Enemy!" repeated Soames. "It's ancient history. I don't know where +you get your notions." + +"From June Forsyte." + +It had come to her as an inspiration that if he thought she knew, or +were on the edge of knowledge, he would tell her. + +Soames was startled, but she had underrated his caution and tenacity. + +"If you know," he said coldly, "why do you plague me?" + +Fleur saw that she had overreached herself. + +"I don't want to plague you, darling. As you say, why want to know +more? Why want to know anything of that 'small' mystery--Je m'en +fiche, as Profond says?" + +"That chap!" said Soames profoundly. + +That chap, indeed, played a considerable, if invisible, part this +summer--for he had not turned up again. Ever since the Sunday when +Fleur had drawn attention to him prowling on the lawn, Soames had +thought of him a good deal, and always in connection with Annette, +for no reason, except that she was looking handsomer than for some +time past. His possessive instinct, subtle, less formal, more +elastic since the War, kept all misgiving underground. As one looks +on some American river, quiet and pleasant, knowing that an alligator +perhaps is lying in the mud with his snout just raised and +indistinguishable from a snag of wood--so Soames looked on the river +of his own existence, subconscious of Monsieur Profond, refusing to +see more than the suspicion of his snout. He had at this epoch in +his life practically all he wanted, and was as nearly happy as his +nature would permit. His senses were at rest; his affections found +all the vent they needed in his daughter; his collection was well +known, his money well invested; his health excellent, save for a +touch of liver now and again; he had not yet begun to worry seriously +about what would happen after death, inclining to think that nothing +would happen. He resembled one of his own gilt-edged securities, and +to knock the gilt off by seeing anything he could avoid seeing would +be, he felt instinctively, perverse and retrogressive. Those two +crumpled rose-leaves, Fleur's caprice and Monsieur Profond's snout, +would level away if he lay on them industriously. + +That evening Chance, which visits the lives of even the best-invested +Forsytes, put a clue into Fleur's hands. Her father came down to +dinner without a handkerchief, and had occasion to blow his nose. + +"I'll get you one, dear," she had said, and ran upstairs. In the +sachet where she sought for it--an old sachet of very faded silk-- +there were two compartments: one held handkerchiefs; the other was +buttoned, and contained something flat and hard. By some childish +impulse Fleur unbuttoned it. There was a frame and in it a +photograph of herself as a little girl. She gazed at it, fascinated, +as one is by one's own presentment. It slipped under her fidgeting +thumb, and she saw that another photograph was behind. She pressed +her own down further, and perceived a face, which she seemed to know, +of a young woman, very good-looking, in a very old style of evening +dress. Slipping her own photograph up over it again, she took out a +handkerchief and went down. Only on the stairs did she identify that +face. Surely--surely Jon's mother! The conviction came as a shock. +And she stood still in a flurry of thought. Why, of course! Jon's +father had married the woman her father had wanted to marry, had +cheated him out of her, perhaps. Then, afraid of showing by her +manner that she had lighted on his secret, she refused to think +further, and, shaking out the silk handkerchief, entered the dining- +room. + +"I chose the softest, Father." + +"H'm!" said Soames; "I only use those after a cold. Never mind!" + +That evening passed for Fleur in putting two and two together; +recalling the look on her father's face in the confectioner's shop--a +look strange and coldly intimate, a queer look. He must have loved +that woman very much to have kept her photograph all this time, in +spite of having lost her. Unsparing and matter-of-fact, her mind +darted to his relations with her own mother. Had he ever really +loved her? She thought not. Jon was the son of the woman he had +really loved. Surely, then, he ought not to mind his daughter loving +him; it only wanted getting used to. And a sigh of sheer relief was +caught in the folds of her nightgown slipping over her head. + + + + +III + +MEETINGS + + +Youth only recognises Age by fits and starts. Jon, for one, had +never really seen his father's age till he came back from Spain. The +face of the fourth Jolyon, worn by waiting, gave him quite a shock-- +it looked so wan and old. His father's mask had been forced awry by +the emotion of the meeting, so that the boy suddenly realised how +much he must have felt their absence. He summoned to his aid the +thought: 'Well, I didn't want to go!' It was out of date for Youth +to defer to Age. But Jon was by no means typically modern. His +father had always been "so jolly" to him, and to feel that one meant +to begin again at once the conduct which his father had suffered six +weeks' loneliness to cure was not agreeable. + +At the question, "Well, old man, how did the great Goya strike you?" +his conscience pricked him badly. The great Goya only existed +because he had created a face which resembled Fleur's. + +On the night of their return, he went to bed full of compunction; but +awoke full of anticipation. It was only the fifth of July, and no +meeting was fixed with Fleur until the ninth. He was to have three +days at home before going back to farm. Somehow he must contrive to +see her! + +In the lives of men an inexorable rhythm, caused by the need for +trousers, not even the fondest parents can deny. On the second day, +therefore, Jon went to Town, and having satisfied his conscience by +ordering what was indispensable in Conduit Street, turned his face +toward Piccadilly. Stratton Street, where her Club was, adjoined +Devonshire House. It would be the merest chance that she should be +at her Club. But he dawdled down Bond Street with a beating heart, +noticing the superiority of all other young men to himself. They +wore their clothes with such an air; they had assurance; they were +old. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the conviction that Fleur must +have forgotten him. Absorbed in his own feeling for her all these +weeks, he had mislaid that possibility. The corners of his mouth +drooped, his hands felt clammy. Fleur with the pick of youth at the +beck of her smile-Fleur incomparable! It was an evil moment. Jon, +however, had a great idea that one must be able to face anything. +And he braced himself with that dour refection in front of a bric-a- +brac shop. At this high-water mark of what was once the London +season, there was nothing to mark it out from any other except a grey +top hat or two, and the sun. Jon moved on, and turning the corner +into Piccadilly, ran into Val Dartie moving toward the Iseeum Club, +to which he had just been elected. + +"Hallo! young man! Where are you off to?" + +Jon gushed. "I've just been to my tailor's." + +Val looked him up and down. "That's good! I'm going in here to +order some cigarettes; then come and have some lunch." + +Jon thanked him. He might get news of her from Val! + +The condition of England, that nightmare of its Press and Public men, +was seen in different perspective within the tobacconist's which they +now entered. + +"Yes, sir; precisely the cigarette I used to supply your father with. +Bless me! Mr. Montague Dartie was a customer here from--let me see-- +the year Melton won the Derby. One of my very best customers he +was." A faint smile illumined the tobacconist's face. "Many's the +tip he's given me, to be sure! I suppose he took a couple of hundred +of these every week, year in, year out, and never changed his +cigarette. Very affable gentleman, brought me a lot of custom. I +was sorry he met with that accident. One misses an old customer like +him." + +Val smiled. His father's decease had closed an account which had +been running longer, probably, than any other; and in a ring of smoke +puffed out from that time-honoured cigarette he seemed to see again +his father's face, dark, good-looking, moustachioed, a little puffy, +in the only halo it had earned. His father had his fame here, +anyway--a man who smoked two hundred cigarettes a week, who could +give tips, and run accounts for ever! To his tobacconist a hero! +Even that was some distinction to inherit! + +"I pay cash," he said; "how much?" + +"To his son, sir, and cash--ten and six. I shall never forget Mr. +Montague Dartie. I've known him stand talkin' to me half an hour. +We don't get many like him now, with everybody in such a hurry. The +War was bad for manners, sir--it was bad for manners. You were in +it, I see." + +"No," said Val, tapping his knee, "I got this in the war before. +Saved my life, I expect. Do you want any cigarettes, Jon?" + +Rather ashamed, Jon murmured, "I don't smoke, you know," and saw the +tobacconist's lips twisted, as if uncertain whether to say "Good +God!" or "Now's your chance, sir!" + +"That's right," said Val; "keep off it while you can. You'll want it +when you take a knock. This is really the same tobacco, then?" + +"Identical, sir; a little dearer, that's all. Wonderful staying +power--the British Empire, I always say." + +"Send me down a hundred a week to this address, and invoice it +monthly. Come on, Jon." + +Jon entered the Iseeum with curiosity. Except to lunch now and then +at the Hotch-Potch with his father, he had never been in a London +Club. The Iseeum, comfortable and unpretentious, did not move, could +not, so long as George Forsyte sat on its Committee, where his +culinary acumen was almost the controlling force. The Club had made +a stand against the newly rich, and it had taken all George Forsyte's +prestige, and praise of him as a "good sportsman," to bring in +Prosper Profond. + +The two were lunching together when the half-brothers-in-law entered +the dining-room, and attracted by George's forefinger, sat down at +their table, Val with his shrewd eyes and charming smile, Jon with +solemn lips and an attractive shyness in his glance. There was an +air of privilege around that corner table, as though past masters +were eating there. Jon was fascinated by the hypnotic atmosphere. +The waiter, lean in the chaps, pervaded with such free-masonical +deference. He seemed to hang on George Forsyte's lips, to watch the +gloat in his eye with a kind of sympathy, to follow the movements of +the heavy club-marked silver fondly. His liveried arm and +confidential voice alarmed Jon, they came so secretly over his +shoulder. + +Except for George's "Your grandfather tipped me once; he was a deuced +good judge of a cigar!" neither he nor the other past master took any +notice of him, and he was grateful for this. The talk was all about +the breeding, points, and prices of horses, and he listened to it +vaguely at first, wondering how it was possible to retain so much +knowledge in a head. He could not take his eyes off the dark past +master--what he said was so deliberate and discouraging--such heavy, +queer, smiled-out words. Jon was thinking of butterflies, when he +heard him say: + +"I want to see Mr. Soames Forsyde take an interest in 'orses." + +"Old Soames! He's too dry a file!" + +With all his might Jon tried not to grow red, while the dark past +master went on. + +"His daughter's an attractive small girl. Mr. Soames Forsyde is a +bit old-fashioned. I want to see him have a pleasure some day." +George Forsyte grinned. + +"Don't you worry; he's not so miserable as he looks. He'll never +show he's enjoying anything--they might try and take it from him. +Old Soames! Once bit, twice shy!" + +"Well, Jon," said Val, hastily, "if you've finished, we'll go and +have coffee." + +"Who were those?" Jon asked, on the stairs. "I didn't quite---" + +"Old George Forsyte is a first cousin of your father's and of my +Uncle Soames. He's always been here. The other chap, Profond, is a +queer fish. I think he's hanging round Soames' wife, if you ask me!" + +Jon looked at him, startled. "But that's awful," he said: "I mean-- +for Fleur." + +"Don't suppose Fleur cares very much; she's very up-to-date." + +"Her mother!" + +"You're very green, Jon." + +Jon grew red. "Mothers," he stammered angrily, "are different." + +"You're right," said Val suddenly; "but things aren't what they were +when I was your age. There's a 'To-morrow we die' feeling. That's +what old George meant about my Uncle Soames. He doesn't mean to die +to-morrow." + +Jon said, quickly: "What's the matter between him and my father?" + +"Stable secret, Jon. Take my advice, and bottle up. You'll do no +good by knowing. Have a liqueur?" + +Jon shook his head. + +"I hate the way people keep things from one," he muttered, "and then +sneer at one for being green." + +"Well, you can ask Holly. If she won't tell you, you'll believe it's +for your own good, I suppose." + +Jon got up. "I must go now; thanks awfully for the lunch." + +Val smiled up at him half-sorry, and yet amused. The boy looked so +upset. + +"All right! See you on Friday." + +"I don't know," murmured Jon. + +And he did not. This conspiracy of silence made him desperate. It +was humiliating to be treated like a child! He retraced his moody +steps to Stratton Street. But he would go to her Club now, and find +out the worst! To his enquiry the reply was that Miss Forsyte was +not in the Club. She might be in perhaps later. She was often in on +Monday--they could not say. Jon said he would call again, and, +crossing into the Green Park, flung himself down under a tree. The +sun was bright, and a breeze fluttered the leaves of the young lime- +tree beneath which he lay; but his heart ached. Such darkness seemed +gathered round his happiness. He heard Big Ben chime "Three" above +the traffic. The sound moved something in him, and, taking out a +piece of paper, he began to scribble on it with a pencil. He had +jotted a stanza, and was searching the grass for another verse, when +something hard touched his shoulder-a green parasol. There above him +stood Fleur! + +"They told me you'd been, and were coming back. So I thought you +might be out here; and you are--it's rather wonderful!" + +"Oh, Fleur! I thought you'd have forgotten me." + +"When I told you that I shouldn't!" + +Jon seized her arm. + +"It's too much luck! Let's get away from this side." He almost +dragged her on through that too thoughtfully regulated Park, to find +some cover where they could sit and hold each other's hands. + +"Hasn't anybody cut in?" he said, gazing round at her lashes, in +suspense above her cheeks. + +"There is a young idiot, but he doesn't count." + +Jon felt a twitch of compassion for the-young idiot. + +"You know I've had sunstroke; I didn't tell you." + +"Really! Was it interesting?" + +"No. Mother was an angel. Has anything happened to you?" + +"Nothing. Except that I think I've found out what's wrong between +our families, Jon." + +His heart began beating very fast. + +"I believe my father wanted to marry your mother, and your father got +her instead." + +"Oh!" + +"I came on a photo of her; it was in a frame behind a photo of me. +Of course, if he was very fond of her, that would have made him +pretty mad, wouldn't it?" + +Jon thought for a minute. "Not if she loved my father best." + +"But suppose they were engaged?" + +"If we were engaged, and you found you loved somebody better, I might +go cracked, but I shouldn't grudge it you." + +"I should. You mustn't ever do that with me, Jon. + +"My God! Not much!" + +"I don't believe that he's ever really cared for my mother." + +Jon was silent. Val's words--the two past masters in the Club! + +"You see, we don't know," went on Fleur; "it may have been a great +shock. She may have behaved badly to him. People do." + +"My mother wouldn't." + +Fleur shrugged her shoulders. "I don't think we know much about our +fathers and mothers. We just see them in the light of the way they +treat us; but they've treated other people, you know, before we were +born-plenty, I expect. You see, they're both old. Look at your +father, with three separate families!" + +"Isn't there any place," cried Jon, "in all this beastly London where +we can be alone?" + +"Only a taxi." + +"Let's get one, then." + +When they were installed, Fleur asked suddenly: "Are you going back +to Robin Hill? I should like to see where you live, Jon. I'm +staying with my aunt for the night, but I could get back in time for +dinner. I wouldn't come to the house, of course." + +Jon gazed at her enraptured. + +"Splendid! I can show it you from the copse, we shan't meet anybody. +There's a train at four." + +The god of property and his Forsytes great and small, leisured, +official, commercial, or professional, like the working classes, +still worked their seven hours a day, so that those two of the fourth +generation travelled down to Robin Hill in an empty first-class +carriage, dusty and sun-warmed, of that too early train. They +travelled in blissful silence, holding each other's hands. + +At the station they saw no one except porters, and a villager or two +unknown to Jon, and walked out up the lane, which smelled of dust and +honeysuckle. + +For Jon--sure of her now, and without separation before him--it was a +miraculous dawdle, more wonderful than those on the Downs, or along +the river Thames. It was love-in-a-mist--one of those illumined +pages of Life, where every word and smile, and every light touch they +gave each other were as little gold and red and blue butterflies and +flowers and birds scrolled in among the text--a happy communing, +without afterthought, which lasted thirty-seven minutes. They +reached the coppice at the milking hour. Jon would not take her as +far as the farmyard; only to where she could see the field leading up +to the gardens, and the house beyond. They turned in among the +larches, and suddenly, at the winding of the path, came on Irene, +sitting on an old log seat. + +There are various kinds of shocks: to the vertebrae; to the nerves; +to moral sensibility; and, more potent and permanent, to personal +dignity. This last was the shock Jon received, coming thus on his +mother. He became suddenly conscious that he was doing an indelicate +thing. To have brought Fleur down openly--yes! But to sneak her in +like this! Consumed with shame, he put on a front as brazen as his +nature would permit. + +Fleur was smiling, a little defiantly; his mother's startled face was +changing quickly to the impersonal and gracious. It was she who +uttered the first words: + +"I'm very glad to see you. It was nice of Jon to think of bringing +you down to us." + +"We weren't coming to the house," Jon blurted out. "I just wanted +Fleur to see where I lived." + +His mother said quietly: + +"Won't you come up and have tea?" + +Feeling that he had but aggravated his breach of breeding, he heard +Fleur answer: + +"Thanks very much; I have to get back to dinner. I met Jon by +accident, and we thought it would be rather jolly just to see his +home." + +How self-possessed she was! + +"Of course; but you must have tea. We'll send you down to the +station. My husband will enjoy seeing you." + +The expression of his mother's eyes, resting on him for a moment, +cast Jon down level with the ground--a true worm. Then she led on, +and Fleur followed her. He felt like a child, trailing after those +two, who were talking so easily about Spain and Wansdon, and the +house up there beyond the trees and the grassy slope. He watched the +fencing of their eyes, taking each other in--the two beings he loved +most in the world. + +He could see his father sitting under the oaktree; and suffered in +advance all the loss of caste he must go through in the eyes of that +tranquil figure, with his knees crossed, thin, old, and elegant; +already he could feel the faint irony which would come into his voice +and smile. + +"This is Fleur Forsyte, Jolyon; Jon brought her down to see the +house. Let's have tea at once--she has to catch a train. Jon, tell +them, dear, and telephone to the Dragon for a car." + +To leave her alone with them was strange, and yet, as no doubt his +mother had foreseen, the least of evils at the moment; so he ran up +into the house. Now he would not see Fleur alone again--not for a +minute, and they had arranged no further meeting! When he returned +under cover of the maids and teapots, there was not a trace of +awkwardness beneath the tree; it was all within himself, but not the +less for that. They were talking of the Gallery off Cork Street. + +"We back numbers," his father was saying, "are awfully anxious to +find out why we can't appreciate the new stuff; you and Jon must tell +us." + +"It's supposed to be satiric, isn't it?" said Fleur. + +He saw his father's smile. + +"Satiric? Oh! I think it's more than that. What do you say, Jon?" + +"I don't know at all," stammered Jon. His father's face had a sudden +grimness. + +"The young are tired of us, our gods and our ideals. Off with their +heads, they say--smash their idols! And let's get back to-nothing! +And, by Jove, they've done it! Jon's a poet. He'll be going in, +too, and stamping on what's left of us. Property, beauty, sentiment- +-all smoke. We mustn't own anything nowadays, not even our feelings. +They stand in the way of--Nothing." + +Jon listened, bewildered, almost outraged by his father's words, +behind which he felt a meaning that he could not reach. He didn't +want to stamp on anything! + +"Nothing's the god of to-day," continued Jolyon; "we're back where +the Russians were sixty years ago, when they started Nihilism." + +"No, Dad," cried Jon suddenly, "we only want to live, and we don't +know how, because of the Past--that's all!" + +"By George!" said Jolyon, "that's profound, Jon. Is it your own? +The Past! Old ownerships, old passions, and their aftermath. Let's +have cigarettes." + +Conscious that his mother had lifted her hand to her lips, quickly, +as if to hush something, Jon handed the cigarettes. He lighted his +father's and Fleur's, then one for himself. Had he taken the knock +that Val had spoken of? The smoke was blue when he had not puffed, +grey when he had; he liked the sensation in his nose, and the sense +of equality it gave him. He was glad no one said: "So you've begun!" +He felt less young. + +Fleur looked at her watch, and rose. His mother went with her into +the house. Jon stayed with his father, puffing at the cigarette. + +"See her into the car, old man," said Jolyon; "and when she's gone, +ask your mother to come back to me." + +Jon went. He waited in the hall. He saw her into the car. There +was no chance for any word; hardly for a pressure of the hand. He +waited all that evening for something to be said to him. Nothing was +said. Nothing might have happened. He went up to bed, and in the +mirror on his dressing-table met himself. He did not speak, nor did +the image; but both looked as if they thought the more. + + + + +IV + +IN GREEN STREET + + +Uncertain whether the impression that Prosper Profond was dangerous +should be traced to his attempt to give Val the Mayfly filly; to a +remark of Fleur's: "He's like the hosts of Midian--he prowls and +prowls around"; to his preposterous inquiry of Jack Cardigan: "What's +the use of keepin' fit?" or, more simply, to the fact that he was a +foreigner, or alien as it was now called. Certain, that Annette was +looking particularly handsome, and that Soames--had sold him a +Gauguin and then torn up the cheque, so that Monsieur Profond himself +had said: "I didn't get that small picture I bought from Mr. +Forsyde." + +However suspiciously regarded, he still frequented Winifred's +evergreen little house in Green Street, with a good-natured +obtuseness which no one mistook for naiv ete, a word hardly +applicable to Monsieur Prosper Profond. Winifred still found him +"amusing," and would write him little notes saying: "Come and have a +'jolly' with us"--it was breath of life to her to keep up with the +phrases of the day. + +The mystery, with which all felt him to be surrounded, was due to his +having done, seen, heard, and known everything, and found nothing in +it--which was unnatural. The English type of disillusionment was +familiar enough to Winifred, who had always moved in fashionable +circles. It gave a certain cachet or distinction, so that one got +something out of it. But to see nothing in anything, not as a pose, +but because there was nothing in anything, was not English; and that +which was not English one could not help secretly feeling dangerous, +if not precisely bad form. It was like having the mood which the War +had left, seated--dark, heavy, smiling, indifferent--in your Empire +chair; it was like listening to that mood talking through thick pink +lips above a little diabolic beard. It was, as Jack Cardigan +expressed it--for the English character at large--"a bit too thick"-- +for if nothing was really worth getting excited about, there were +always games, and one could make it so! Even Winifred, ever a +Forsyte at heart, felt that there was nothing to be had out of such a +mood of disillusionment, so that it really ought not to be there. +Monsieur Profond, in fact, made the mood too plain in a country which +decently veiled such realities. + +When Fleur, after her hurried return from Robin Hill, came down to +dinner that evening, the mood was standing at the window of +Winifred's little drawing-room, looking out into Green Street, with +an air of seeing nothing in it. And Fleur gazed promptly into the +fireplace with an air of seeing a fire which was not there. + +Monsieur Profond came from the window. He was in full fig, with a +white waistcoat and a white flower in his buttonhole. + +"Well, Miss Forsyde," he said, "I'm awful pleased to see you. Mr. +Forsyde well? I was sayin' to-day I want to see him have some +pleasure. He worries." + +"You think so?" said Fleur shortly. + +"Worries," repeated Monsieur Profond, burring the r's. + +Fleur spun round. "Shall I tell you," she said, "what would give him +pleasure?" But the words, "To hear that you had cleared out," died +at the expression on his face. All his fine white teeth were +showing. + +"I was hearin' at the Club to-day about his old trouble." +Fleur opened her eyes. "What do you mean?" + +Monsieur Profond moved his sleek head as if to minimize his +statement. + +"Before you were born," he said; "that small business." + +Though conscious that he had cleverly diverted her from his own share +in her father's worry, Fleur was unable to withstand a rush of +nervous curiosity. "Tell me what you heard." + +"Why!" murmured Monsieur Profond, "you know all that." + +"I expect I do. But I should like to know that you haven't heard it +all wrong." + +"His first wife," murmured Monsieur Profond. + +Choking back the words, "He was never married before," she said: +"Well, what about her?" + +"Mr. George Forsyde was tellin' me about your father's first wife +marryin' his cousin Jolyon afterward. It was a small bit unpleasant, +I should think. I saw their boy--nice boy!" + +Fleur looked up. Monsieur Profond was swimming, heavily diabolical, +before her. That--the reason! With the most heroic effort of her +life so far, she managed to arrest that swimming figure. She could +not tell whether he had noticed. And just then Winifred came in. + +"Oh! here you both are already; Imogen and I have had the most +amusing afternoon at the Babies' bazaar." + +"What babies?" said Fleur mechanically. + +"The 'Save the Babies.' I got such a bargain, my dear. A piece of +old Armenian work--from before the Flood. I want your opinion on it, +Prosper." + +"Auntie," whispered Fleur suddenly. + +At the tone in the girl's voice Winifred closed in on her.' + +"What's the matter? Aren't you well?" + +Monsieur Profond had withdrawn into the window, where he was +practically out of hearing. + +"Auntie, he-he told me that father has been married before. Is it +true that he divorced her, and she married Jon Forsyte's father?" + +Never in all the life of the mother of four little Darties had +Winifred felt more seriously embarrassed. Her niece's face was so +pale, her eyes so dark, her voice so whispery and strained. + +"Your father didn't wish you to hear," she said, with all the aplomb +she could muster. "These things will happen. I've often told him he +ought to let you know." + +"Oh!" said Fleur, and that was all, but it made Winifred pat her +shoulder--a firm little shoulder, nice and white! She never could +help an appraising eye and touch in the matter of her niece, who +would have to be married, of course--though not to that boy Jon. + +"We've forgotten all about it years and years ago," she said +comfortably. "Come and have dinner!" + +"No, Auntie. I don't feel very well. May I go upstairs?" + +"My dear!" murmured Winifred, concerned, "you're not taking this to +heart? Why, you haven't properly come out yet! That boy's a child!" + +"What boy? I've only got a headache. But I can't stand that man to- +night." + +"Well, well," said Winifred, "go and lie down. I'll send you some +bromide, and I shall talk to Prosper Profond. What business had he +to gossip? Though I must say I think it's much better you should +know." + +Fleur smiled. "Yes," she said, and slipped from the room. + +She went up with her head whirling, a dry sensation in her throat, a +guttered frightened feeling in her breast. Never in her life as yet +had she suffered from even momentary fear that she would not get what +she had set her heart on. The sensations of the afternoon had been +full and poignant, and this gruesome discovery coming on the top of +them had really made her head ache. No wonder her father had hidden +that photograph, so secretly behind her own-ashamed of having kept +it! But could he hate Jon's mother and yet keep her photograph? She +pressed her hands over her forehead, trying to see things clearly. +Had they told Jon--had her visit to Robin Hill forced them to tell +him? Everything now turned on that! She knew, they all knew, +except--perhaps--Jon! + +She walked up and down, biting her lip and thinking desperately hard. +Jon loved his mother. If they had told him, what would he do? She +could not tell. But if they had not told him, should she not--could +she not get him for herself--get married to him, before he knew? She +searched her memories of Robin Hill. His mother's face so passive-- +with its dark eyes and as if powdered hair, its reserve, its smile-- +baffled her; and his father's--kindly, sunken, ironic. Instinctively +she felt they would shrink from telling Jon, even now, shrink from +hurting him--for of course it would hurt him awfully to know! + +Her aunt must be made not to tell her father that she knew. So long +as neither she herself nor Jon were supposed to know, there was still +a chance--freedom to cover one's tracks, and get what her heart was +set on. But she was almost overwhelmed by her isolation. Every +one's hand was against her--every one's! It was as Jon had said--he +and she just wanted to live and the past was in their way, a past +they hadn't shared in, and didn't understand! Oh! What a shame! And +suddenly she thought of June. Would she help them? For somehow June +had left on her the impression that she would be sympathetic with +their love, impatient of obstacle. Then, instinctively, she thought: +'I won't give anything away, though, even to her. I daren't. I mean +to have Jon; against them all.' + +Soup was brought up to her, and one of Winifred's pet headache +cachets. She swallowed both. Then Winifred herself appeared. Fleur +opened her campaign with the words: + +"You know, Auntie, I do wish people wouldn't think I'm in love with +that boy. Why, I've hardly seen him!" + +Winifred, though experienced, was not "fine." She accepted the +remark with considerable relief. Of course, it was not pleasant for +the girl to hear of the family scandal, and she set herself to +minimise the matter, a task for which she was eminently qualified, +"raised" fashionably under a comfortable mother and a father whose +nerves might not be shaken, and for many years the wife of Montague +Dartie. Her description was a masterpiece of understatement. +Fleur's father's first wife had been very foolish. There had been a +young man who had got run over, and she had left Fleur's father. +Then, years after, when it might all have come--right again, she had +taken up with their cousin Jolyon; and, of course, her father had +been obliged to have a divorce. Nobody remembered anything of it +now, except just the family. And, perhaps, it had all turned out for +the best; her father had Fleur; and Jolyon and Irene had been quite +happy, they said, and their boy was a nice boy. "Val having Holly, +too, is a sort of plaster, don't you know?" With these soothing +words, Winifred patted her niece's shoulder; thought: 'She's a nice, +plump little thing!' and went back to Prosper Profond, who, in spite +of his indiscretion, was very "amusing" this evening. + +For some minutes after her aunt had gone Fleur remained under +influence of bromide material and spiritual. But then reality came +back. Her aunt had left out all that mattered--all the feeling, the +hate, the love, the unforgivingness of passionate hearts. She, who +knew so little of life, and had touched only the fringe of love, was +yet aware by instinct that words have as little relation to fact and +feeling as coin to the bread it buys. 'Poor Father!' she thought. +'Poor me! Poor Jon! But I don't care, I mean to have him!' From +the window of her darkened room she saw "that man" issue from the +door below and "prowl" away. If he and her mother--how would that +affect her chance? Surely it must make her father cling to her more +closely, so that he would consent in the end to anything she wanted, +or become reconciled the sooner to what she did without his +knowledge. + +She took some earth from the flower-box in the window, and with all +her might flung it after that disappearing figure. It fell short, +but the action did her good. + +And a little puff of air came up from Green Street, smelling of +petrol, not sweet. + + + + +V + +PURELY FORSYTE AFFAIRS + + +Soames, coming up to the City, with the intention of calling in at +Green Street at the end of his day and taking Fleur back home with +him, suffered from rumination. Sleeping partner that he was, he +seldom visited the City now, but he still had a room of his own at +Cuthcott, Kingson and Forsyte's, and one special clerk and a half +assigned to the management of purely Forsyte affairs. They were +somewhat in flux just now--an auspicious moment for the disposal of +house property. And Soames was unloading the estates of his father +and Uncle Roger, and to some extent of his Uncle Nicholas. His +shrewd and matter-of-course probity in all money concerns had made +him something of an autocrat in connection with these trusts. If +Soames thought this or thought that, one had better save oneself the +bother of thinking too. He guaranteed, as it were, irresponsibility +to numerous Forsytes of the third and fourth generations. His fellow +trustees, such as his cousins Roger or Nicholas, his cousins-in-law +Tweetyman and Spender, or his sister Cicely's husband, all trusted +him; he signed first, and where he signed first they signed after, +and nobody was a penny the worse. Just now they were all a good many +pennies the better, and Soames was beginning to see the close of +certain trusts, except for distribution of the income from securities +as gilt-edged as was compatible with the period. + +Passing the more feverish parts of the City toward the most perfect +backwater in London, he ruminated. Money was extraordinarily tight; +and morality extraordinarily loose! The War had done it. Banks were +not lending; people breaking contracts all over the place. There was +a feeling in the air and a look on faces that he did not like. The +country seemed in for a spell of gambling and bankruptcies. There +was satisfaction in the thought that neither he nor his trusts had an +investment which could be affected by anything less maniacal than +national repudiation or a levy on capital. If Soames had faith, it +was in what he called "English common sense"--or the power to have +things, if not one way then another. He might--like his father James +before him--say he didn't know what things were coming to, but he +never in his heart believed they were. If it rested with him, they +wouldn't--and, after all, he was only an Englishman like any other, +so quietly tenacious of what he had that he knew he would never +really part with it without something more or less equivalent in +exchange. His mind was essentially equilibristic in material +matters, and his way of putting the national situation difficult to +refute in a world composed of human beings. Take his own case, for +example! He was well off. Did that do anybody harm? He did not eat +ten meals a day; he ate no more than, perhaps not so much as, a poor +man. He spent no money on vice; breathed no more air, used no more +water to speak of than the mechanic or the porter. He certainly had +pretty things about him, but they had given employment in the making, +and somebody must use them. He bought pictures, but Art must be +encouraged. He was, in fact, an accidental channel through which +money flowed, employing labour. What was there objectionable in +that? In his charge money was in quicker and more useful flux than +it would be in charge of the State and a lot of slow-fly money- +sucking officials. And as to what he saved each year--it was just as +much in flux as what he didn't save, going into Water Board or +Council Stocks, or something sound and useful. The State paid him no +salary for being trustee of his own or other people's money he did +all that for nothing. Therein lay the whole case against +nationalisation--owners of private property were unpaid, and yet had +every incentive to quicken up the flux. Under nationalisation--just +the opposite! In a country smarting from officialism he felt that he +had a strong case. + +It particularly annoyed him, entering that backwater of perfect +peace, to think that a lot of unscrupulous Trusts and Combinations +had been cornering the market in goods of all kinds, and keeping +prices at an artificial height. Such abusers of the individualistic +system were the ruffians who caused all the trouble, and it was some +satisfaction to see them getting into a stew at fast lest the whole +thing might come down with a run--and land them in the soup. + +The offices of Cuthcott, Kingson and Forsyte occupied the ground and +first floors of a house on the right-hand side; and, ascending to his +room, Soames thought: 'Time we had a coat of paint.' + +His old clerk Gradman was seated, where he always was, at a huge +bureau with countless pigeonholes. Half-the-clerk stood beside him, +with a broker's note recording investment of the proceeds from sale +of the Bryanston Square house, in Roger Forsyte's estate. Soames +took it, and said: + +"Vancouver City Stock. H'm. It's down today!" + +With a sort of grating ingratiation old Gradman answered him: + +"Ye-es; but everything's down, Mr. Soames." And half-the-clerk +withdrew. + +Soames skewered the document on to a number of other papers and hung +up his hat. + +"I want to look at my Will and Marriage Settlement, Gradman." + +Old Gradman, moving to the limit of his swivel chair, drew out two +drafts from the bottom lefthand drawer. Recovering his body, he +raised his grizzle-haired face, very red from stooping. + +"Copies, Sir." + +Soames took them. It struck him suddenly how like Gradman was to the +stout brindled yard dog they had been wont to keep on his chain at +The Shelter, till one day Fleur had come and insisted it should be +let loose, so that it had at once bitten the cook and been destroyed. +If you let Gradman off his chain, would he bite the cook? + +Checking this frivolous fancy, Soames unfolded his Marriage +Settlement. He had not looked at it for over eighteen years, not +since he remade his Will when his father died and Fleur was born. He +wanted to see whether the words "during coverture" were in. Yes, +they were--odd expression, when you thought of it, and derived +perhaps from horse-breeding! Interest on fifteen thousand pounds +(which he paid her without deducting income tax) so long as she +remained his wife, and afterward during widowhood "dum casta"--old- +fashioned and rather pointed words, put in to insure the conduct of +Fleur's mother. His Will made it up to an annuity of a thousand +under the same conditions. All right! He returned the copies to +Gradman, who took them without looking up, swung the chair, restored +the papers to their drawer, and went on casting up. + +"Gradman! I don't like the condition of the country; there are a lot +of people about without any common sense. I want to find a way by +which I can safeguard Miss Fleur against anything which might arise." + +Gradman wrote the figure "2" on his blotting-paper. + +"Ye-es," he said; "there's a nahsty spirit." + +"The ordinary restraint against anticipation doesn't meet the case." + +"Nao," said Gradman. + +"Suppose those Labour fellows come in, or worse! It's these people +with fixed ideas who are the danger. Look at Ireland!" + +"Ah!" said Gradman. + +"Suppose I were to make a settlement on her at once with myself as +beneficiary for life, they couldn't take anything but the interest +from me, unless of course they alter the law." + +Gradman moved his head and smiled. + +"Ah!" he said, "they wouldn't do tha-at!" + +"I don't know," muttered Soames; "I don't trust them." + +"It'll take two years, sir, to be valid against death duties." + +Soames sniffed. Two years! He was only sixty-five! + +"That's not the point. Draw a form of settlement that passes all my +property to Miss Fleur's children in equal shares, with antecedent +life-interests first to myself and then to her without power of +anticipation, and add a clause that in the event of anything +happening to divert her life-interest, that interest passes to the +trustees, to apply for her benefit, in their absolute discretion." + +Gradman grated: "Rather extreme at your age, sir; you lose control." + +"That's my business," said Soames sharply. + +Gradman wrote on a piece of paper: "Life-interest--anticipation-- +divert interest--absolute discretion...." and said: + +"What trustees? There's young Mr. Kingson; he's a nice steady young +fellow." + +"Yes, he might do for one. I must have three. There isn't a Forsyte +now who appeals to me." + +"Not young Mr. Nicholas? He's at the Bar. We've given 'im briefs." + +"He'll never set the Thames on fire," said Soames. + +A smile oozed out on Gradman's face, greasy from countless mutton- +chops, the smile of a man who sits all day. + +"You can't expect it, at his age, Mr. Soames." + +"Why? What is he? Forty?" + +"Ye-es, quite a young fellow." + +"Well, put him in; but I want somebody who'll take a personal +interest. There's no one that I can see." + +"What about Mr. Valerius, now he's come home?" + +"Val Dartie? With that father?" + +"We-ell," murmured Gradman, "he's been dead seven years--the Statute +runs against him." + +"No," said Soames. "I don't like the connection." He rose. Gradman +said suddenly: + +"If they were makin' a levy on capital, they could come on the +trustees, sir. So there you'd be just the same. I'd think it over, +if I were you." + +"That's true," said Soames. "I will. What have you done about that +dilapidation notice in Vere Street?" + +"I 'aven't served it yet. The party's very old. She won't want to +go out at her age." + +"I don't know. This spirit of unrest touches every one." + +"Still, I'm lookin' at things broadly, sir. She's eighty-one." + +"Better serve it," said Soames, "and see what she says. Oh! and Mr. +Timothy? Is everything in order in case of--" + +"I've got the inventory of his estate all ready; had the furniture +and pictures valued so that we know what reserves to put on. I shall +be sorry when he goes, though. Dear me! It is a time since I first +saw Mr. Timothy!" + +"We can't live for ever," said Soames, taking down his hat. + +"Nao," said Gradman; "but it'll be a pity--the last of the old +family! Shall I take up the matter of that nuisance in Old Compton +Street? Those organs--they're nahsty things." + +"Do. I must call for Miss Fleur and catch the four o'clock. Good- +day, Gradman." + +"Good-day, Mr. Soames. I hope Miss Fleur--" + +"Well enough, but gads about too much." + +"Ye-es," grated Gradman; "she's young." + +Soames went out, musing: "Old Gradman! If he were younger I'd put +him in the trust. There's nobody I can depend on to take a real +interest." + +Leaving the bilious and mathematical exactitude, the preposterous +peace of that backwater, he thought suddenly: 'During coverture! Why +can't they exclude fellows like Profond, instead of a lot of hard- +working Germans?' and was surprised at the depth of uneasiness which +could provoke so unpatriotic a thought. But there it was! One never +got a moment of real peace. There was always something at the back +of everything! And he made his way toward Green Street. + +Two hours later by his watch, Thomas Gradman, stirring in his swivel +chair, closed the last drawer of his bureau, and putting into his +waistcoat pocket a bunch of keys so fat that they gave him a +protuberance on the liver side, brushed his old top hat round with +his sleeve, took his umbrella, and descended. Thick, short, and +buttoned closely into his old frock coat, he walked toward Covent +Garden market. He never missed that daily promenade to the Tube for +Highgate, and seldom some critical transaction on the way in +connection with vegetables and fruit. Generations might be born, and +hats might change, wars be fought, and Forsytes fade away, but Thomas +Gradman, faithful and grey, would take his daily walk and buy his +daily vegetable. Times were not what they were, and his son had lost +a leg, and they never gave him those nice little plaited baskets to +carry the stuff in now, and these Tubes were convenient things--still +he mustn't complain; his health was good considering his time of +life, and after fifty-four years in the Law he was getting a round +eight hundred a year and a little worried of late, because it was +mostly collector's commission on the rents, and with all this +conversion of Forsyte property going on, it looked like drying up, +and the price of living still so high; but it was no good worrying--" +The good God made us all"--as he was in the habit of saying; still, +house property in London--he didn't know what Mr. Roger or Mr. James +would say if they could see it being sold like this--seemed to show a +lack of faith; but Mr. Soames--he worried. Life and lives in being +and twenty-one years after--beyond that you couldn't go; still, he +kept his health wonderfully--and Miss Fleur was a pretty little +thing--she was; she'd marry; but lots of people had no children +nowadays--he had had his first child at twenty-two; and Mr. Jolyon, +married while he was at Cambridge, had his child the same year-- +gracious Peter! That was back in '69, a long time before old Mr. +Jolyon--fine judge of property--had taken his Will away from Mr. +James--dear, yes! Those were the days when they were buyin' property +right and left, and none of this khaki and fallin' over one another +to get out of things; and cucumbers at twopence; and a melon--the old +melons, that made your mouth water! Fifty years since he went into +Mr. James' office, and Mr. James had said to him: "Now, Gradman, +you're only a shaver--you pay attention, and you'll make your five +hundred a year before you've done." And he had, and feared God, and +served the Forsytes, and kept a vegetable diet at night. And, buying +a copy of John Bull--not that he approved of it, an extravagant +affair--he entered the Tube elevator with his mere brown-paper +parcel, and was borne down into the bowels of the earth. + + + + +VI + +SOAMES' PRIVATE LIFE + + +On his way to Green Street it occurred to Soames that he ought to go +into Dumetrius' in Suffolk Street about the possibility of the +Bolderby Old Crome. Almost worth while to have fought the war to +have the Bolderby Old Crome, as it were, in flux! Old Bolderby had +died, his son and grandson had been killed--a cousin was coming into +the estate, who meant to sell it, some said because of the condition +of England, others said because he had asthma. + +If Dumetrius once got hold of it the price would become prohibitive; +it was necessary for Soames to find out whether Dumetrius had got it, +before he tried to get it himself. He therefore confined himself to +discussing with Dumetrius whether Monticellis would come again now +that it was the fashion for a picture to be anything except a +picture; and the future of Johns, with a side-slip into Buxton +Knights. It was only when leaving that he added: "So they're not +selling the Bolderby Old Crome, after all? "In sheer pride of racial +superiority, as he had calculated would be the case, Dumetrius +replied: + +"Oh! I shall get it, Mr. Forsyte, sir!" + +The flutter of his eyelid fortified Soames in a resolution to write +direct to the new Bolderby, suggesting that the only dignified way of +dealing with an Old Crome was to avoid dealers. He therefore said, +"Well, good-day!" and went, leaving Dumetrius the wiser. + +At Green Street he found that Fleur was out and would be all the +evening; she was staying one more night in London. He cabbed on +dejectedly, and caught his train. + +He reached his house about six o'clock. The air was heavy, midges +biting, thunder about. Taking his letters he went up to his +dressing-room to cleanse himself of London. + +An uninteresting post. A receipt, a bill for purchases on behalf of +Fleur. A circular about an exhibition of etchings. A letter +beginning: + +"SIR, +"I feel it my duty..." + +That would be an appeal or something unpleasant. He looked at once +for the signature. There was none! Incredulously he turned the page +over and examined each corner. Not being a public man, Soames had +never yet had an anonymous letter, and his first impulse was to tear +it up, as a dangerous thing; his second to read it, as a thing still +more dangerous. + +"SIR, +"I feel it my duty to inform you that having no interest in the +matter your lady is carrying on with a foreigner--" + +Reaching that word Soames stopped mechanically and examined the +postmark. So far as he could pierce the impenetrable disguise in +which the Post Office had wrapped it, there was something with a +"sea" at the end and a "t" in it. Chelsea? No! Battersea? Perhaps! +He read on. + +"These foreigners are all the same. Sack the lot. This one meets +your lady twice a week. I know it of my own knowledge--and to see an +Englishman put on goes against the grain. You watch it and see if +what I say isn't true. I shouldn't meddle if it wasn't a dirty +foreigner that's in it. Yours obedient." + +The sensation with which Soames dropped the letter was similar to +that he would have had entering his bedroom and finding it full of +black-beetles. The meanness of anonymity gave a shuddering obscenity +to the moment. And the worst of it was that this shadow had been at +the back of his mind ever since the Sunday evening when Fleur had +pointed down at Prosper Profond strolling on the lawn, and said: +"Prowling cat!" Had he not in connection therewith, this very day, +perused his Will and Marriage Settlement? And now this anonymous +ruffian, with nothing to gain, apparently, save the venting of his +spite against foreigners, had wrenched it out of the obscurity in +which he had hoped and wished it would remain. To have such +knowledge forced on him, at his time of life, about Fleur's mother I +He picked the letter up from the carpet, tore it across, and then, +when it hung together by just the fold at the back, stopped tearing, +and reread it. He was taking at that moment one of the decisive +resolutions of his life. He would not be forced into another +scandal. No! However he decided to deal with this matter--and it +required the most far-sighted and careful consideration he would do +nothing that might injure Fleur. That resolution taken, his mind +answered the helm again, and he made his ablutions. His hands +trembled as he dried them. Scandal he would not have, but something +must be done to stop this sort of thing! He went into his wife's +room and stood looking around him. The idea of searching for +anything which would incriminate, and entitle him to hold a menace +over her, did not even come to him. There would be nothing--she was +much too practical. The idea of having her watched had been +dismissed before it came--too well he remembered his previous +experience of that. No! He had nothing but this torn-up letter from +some anonymous ruffian, whose impudent intrusion into his private +life he so violently resented. It was repugnant to him to make use +of it, but he might have to. What a mercy Fleur was not at home to- +night! A tap on the door broke up his painful cogitations. + +"Mr. Michael Mont, sir, is in the drawing-room. Will you see him?" + +"No," said Soames; "yes. I'll come down." + +Anything that would take his mind off for a few minutes! + +Michael Mont in flannels stood on the verandah smoking a cigarette. +He threw it away as Soames came up, and ran his hand through his +hair. + +Soames' feeling toward this young man was singular. He was no doubt +a rackety, irresponsible young fellow according to old standards, yet +somehow likeable, with his extraordinarily cheerful way of blurting +out his opinions. + +"Come in," he said; "have you had tea?" + +Mont came in. + +"I thought Fleur would have been back, sir; but I'm glad she isn't. +The fact is, I--I'm fearfully gone on her; so fearfully gone that I +thought you'd better know. It's old-fashioned, of course, coming to +fathers first, but I thought you'd forgive that. I went to my own +Dad, and he says if I settle down he'll see me through. He rather +cottons to the idea, in fact. I told him about your Goya." + +"Oh!" said Soames, inexpressibly dry. "He rather cottons?" + +"Yes, sir; do you?" + +Soames smiled faintly. + +"You see," resumed Mont, twiddling his straw hat, while his hair, +ears, eyebrows, all seemed to stand up from excitement, "when you've +been through the War you can't help being in a hurry." + +"To get married; and unmarried afterward," said Soames slowly. + +"Not from Fleur, sir. Imagine, if you were me!" + +Soames cleared his throat. That way of putting it was forcible +enough. + +"Fleur's too young," he said. + +"Oh! no, sir. We're awfully old nowadays. My Dad seems to me a +perfect babe; his thinking apparatus hasn't turned a hair. But he's +a Baronight, of course; that keeps him back." + +"Baronight," repeated Soames; "what may that be?" + +"Bart, sir. I shall be a Bart some day. But I shall live it down, +you know." + +"Go away and live this down," said Soames. + +Young Mont said imploringly: "Oh! no, sir. I simply must hang +around, or I shouldn't have a dog's chance. You'll let Fleur do what +she likes, I suppose, anyway. Madame passes me." + +"Indeed!" said Soames frigidly. + +"You don't really bar me, do you?" and the young man looked so +doleful that Soames smiled. + +"You may think you're very old," he said; "but you strike me as +extremely young. To rattle ahead of everything is not a proof of +maturity." + +"All right, sir; I give you our age. But to show you I mean +business--I've got a job." + +"Glad to hear it." + +"Joined a publisher; my governor is putting up the stakes." + +Soames put his hand over his mouth--he had so very nearly said: "God +help the publisher!" His grey eyes scrutinised the agitated young +man. + +"I don't dislike you, Mr. Mont, but Fleur is everything to me: +Everything--do you understand?" + +"Yes, sir, I know; but so she is to me." + +"That's as may be. I'm glad you've told me, however. And now I +think there's nothing more to be said." + +"I know it rests with her, sir." + +"It will rest with her a long time, I hope." + +"You aren't cheering," said Mont suddenly. + +"No," said Soames, "my experience of life has not made me anxious to +couple people in a hurry. Good-night, Mr. Mont. I shan't tell Fleur +what you've said." + +"Oh!" murmured Mont blankly; "I really could knock my brains out for +want of her. She knows that perfectly well." + +"I dare say." And Soames held out his hand. A distracted squeeze, a +heavy sigh, and soon after sounds from the young man's motor-cycle +called up visions of flying dust and broken bones. + +'The younger generation!' he thought heavily, and went out on to the +lawn. The gardeners had been mowing, and there was still the smell +of fresh-cut grass--the thundery air kept all scents close to earth. +The sky was of a purplish hue--the poplars black. Two or three boats +passed on the river, scuttling, as it were, for shelter before the +storm. 'Three days' fine weather,' thought Soames, 'and then a +storm!' Where was Annette? With that chap, for all he knew--she was +a young woman! Impressed with the queer charity of that thought, he +entered the summerhouse and sat down. The fact was--and he admitted +it--Fleur was so much to him that his wife was very little--very +little; French--had never been much more than a mistress, and he was +getting indifferent to that side of things! It was odd how, with all +this ingrained care for moderation and secure investment, Soames ever +put his emotional eggs into one basket. First Irene--now Fleur. He +was dimly conscious of it, sitting there, conscious of its odd +dangerousness. It had brought him to wreck and scandal once, but +now--now it should save him! He cared so much for Fleur that he +would have no further scandal. If only he could get at that +anonymous letter-writer, he would teach him not to meddle and stir up +mud at the bottom of water which he wished should remain stagnant!... +A distant flash, a low rumble, and large drops of rain spattered on +the thatch above him. He remained indifferent, tracing a pattern +with his finger on the dusty surface of a little rustic table. +Fleur's future! 'I want fair sailing for her,' he thought. 'Nothing +else matters at my time of life.' A lonely business--life! What you +had you never could keep to yourself! As you warned one off, you let +another in. One could make sure of nothing! He reached up and +pulled a red rambler rose from a cluster which blocked the window. +Flowers grew and dropped--Nature was a queer thing! The thunder +rumbled and crashed, travelling east along a river, the paling +flashes flicked his eyes; the poplar tops showed sharp and dense +against the sky, a heavy shower rustled and rattled and veiled in the +little house wherein he sat, indifferent, thinking. + +When the storm was over, he left his retreat and went down the wet +path to the river bank. + +Two swans had come, sheltering in among the reeds. He knew the birds +well, and stood watching the dignity in the curve of those white +necks and formidable snake-like heads. 'Not dignified--what I have +to do!' he thought. And yet it must be tackled, lest worse befell. +Annette must be back by now from wherever she had gone, for it was +nearly dinner-time, and as the moment for seeing her approached, the +difficulty of knowing what to say and how to say it had increased. A +new and scaring thought occurred to him. Suppose she wanted her +liberty to marry this fellow! Well, if she did, she couldn't have +it. He had not married her for that. The image of Prosper Profond +dawdled before him reassuringly. Not a marrying man! No, no! Anger +replaced that momentary scare. 'He had better not come my way,' he +thought. The mongrel represented---! But what did Prosper Profond +represent? Nothing that mattered surely. And yet something real +enough in the world--unmorality let off its chain, disillusionment on +the prowl! That expression Annette had caught from him: "Je m'en +fiche! "A fatalistic chap! A continental--a cosmopolitan--a product +of the age! If there were condemnation more complete, Soames felt +that he did not know it. + +The swans had turned their heads, and were looking past him into some +distance of their own. One of them uttered a little hiss, wagged its +tail, turned as if answering to a rudder, and swam away. The other +followed. Their white bodies, their stately necks, passed out of his +sight, and he went toward the house. + +Annette was in the drawing-room, dressed for dinner, and he thought +as he went up-stairs 'Handsome is as handsome does.' Handsome! +Except for remarks about the curtains in the drawing-room, and the +storm, there was practically no conversation during a meal +distinguished by exactitude of quantity and perfection of quality. +Soames drank nothing. He followed her into the drawing-room +afterward, and found her smoking a cigarette on the sofa between the +two French windows. She was leaning back, almost upright, in a low +black frock, with her knees crossed and her blue eyes half-closed; +grey-blue smoke issued from her red, rather full lips, a fillet bound +her chestnut hair, she wore the thinnest silk stockings, and shoes +with very high heels showing off her instep. A fine piece in any +room! Soames, who held that torn letter in a hand thrust deep into +the side-pocket of his dinner-jacket, said: + +"I'm going to shut the window; the damp's lifting in." + +He did so, and stood looking at a David Cox adorning the cream- +panelled wall close by. + +What was she thinking of? He had never understood a woman in his +life--except Fleur--and Fleur not always! His heart beat fast. But +if he meant to do it, now was the moment. Turning from the David +Cox, he took out the torn letter. + +"I've had this." + +Her eyes widened, stared at him, and hardened. + +Soames handed her the letter. + +"It's torn, but you can read it." And he turned back to the David +Cox--a sea-piece, of good tone--but without movement enough. 'I +wonder what that chap's doing at this moment?' he thought. 'I'll +astonish him yet.' Out of the corner of his eye he saw Annette +holding the letter rigidly; her eyes moved from side to side under +her darkened lashes and frowning darkened eyes. She dropped the +letter, gave a little shiver, smiled, and said: + +"Dirrty!" + +"I quite agree," said Soames; "degrading. Is it true?" + +A tooth fastened on her red lower lip. "And what if it were?" + +She was brazen! + +"Is that all you have to say?" + +"No." + + +"Well, speak out!" + +"What is the good of talking?" + +Soames said icily: "So you admit it?" + +"I admit nothing. You are a fool to ask. A man like you should not +ask. It is dangerous." + +Soames made a tour of the room, to subdue his rising anger. + +"Do you remember," he said, halting in front of her, "what you were +when I married you? Working at accounts in a restaurant." + +"Do you remember that I was not half your age?" + +Soames broke off the hard encounter of their eyes, and went back to +the David Cox. + +"I am not going to bandy words. I require you to give up this-- +friendship. I think of the matter entirely as it affects Fleur." + +"Ah!--Fleur!" + +"Yes," said Soames stubbornly; "Fleur. She is your child as well as +mine." + +"It is kind to admit that!" + +"Are you going to do what I say?" + +"I refuse to tell you." + +"Then I must make you." + +Annette smiled. + +"No, Soames," she said. "You are helpless. Do not say things that +you will regret." + +Anger swelled the veins on his forehead. He opened his mouth to vent +that emotion, and could not. Annette went on: + +"There shall be no more such letters, I promise you. That is +enough." + +Soames writhed. He had a sense of being treated like a child by this +woman who had deserved he did not know what. + +"When two people have married, and lived like us, Soames, they had +better be quiet about each other. There are things one does not drag +up into the light for people to laugh at. You will be quiet, then; +not for my sake for your own. You are getting old; I am not, yet. +You have made me ver-ry practical" + +Soames, who had passed through all the sensations of being choked, +repeated dully: + +"I require you to give up this friendship." + +"And if I do not?" + +"Then--then I will cut you out of my Will." + +Somehow it did not seem to meet the case. Annette laughed. + +"You will live a long time, Soames." + +"You--you are a bad woman," said Soames suddenly. + +Annette shrugged her shoulders. + +"I do not think so. Living with you has killed things in me, it is +true; but I am not a bad woman. I am sensible--that is all. And so +will you be when you have thought it over." + +"I shall see this man," said Soames sullenly, "and warn him off." + +"Mon cher, you are funny. You do not want me, you have as much of me +as you want; and you wish the rest of me to be dead. I admit +nothing, but I am not going to be dead, Soames, at my age; so you had +better be quiet, I tell you. I myself will make no scandal; none. +Now, I am not saying any more, whatever you do." + +She reached out, took a French novel off a little table, and opened +it. Soames watched her, silenced by the tumult of his feelings. The +thought of that man was almost making him want her, and this was a +revelation of their relationship, startling to one little given to +introspective philosophy. Without saying another word he went out +and up to the picture-gallery. This came of marrying a Frenchwoman! +And yet, without her there would have been no Fleur! She had served +her purpose. + +'She's right,' he thought; 'I can do nothing. I don't even know that +there's anything in it.' The instinct of self-preservation warned +him to batten down his hatches, to smother the fire with want of air. +Unless one believed there was something in a thing, there wasn't. + +That night he went into her room. She received him in the most +matter-of-fact way, as if there had been no scene between them. And +he returned to his own room with a curious sense of peace. If one +didn't choose to see, one needn't. And he did not choose--in future +he did not choose. There was nothing to be gained by it--nothing! +Opening the drawer he took from the sachet a handkerchief, and the +framed photograph of Fleur. When he had looked at it a little he +slipped it down, and there was that other one--that old one of Irene. +An owl hooted while he stood in his window gazing at it. The owl +hooted, the red climbing roses seemed to deepen in colour, there came +a scent of lime-blossom. God! That had been a different thing! +Passion--Memory! Dust! + + + + +VII + +JUNE TAKES A HAND + + +One who was a sculptor, a Slav, a sometime resident in New York, +an egoist, and impecunious, was to be found of an evening in June +Forsyte's studio on the bank of the Thames at Chiswick. On the +evening of July 6, Boris Strumolowski--several of whose works were on +show there because they were as yet too advanced to be on show +anywhere else--had begun well, with that aloof and rather Christ-like +silence which admirably suited his youthful, round, broad cheek-boned +countenance framed in bright hair banged like a girl's. June had +known him three weeks, and he still seemed to her the principal +embodiment of genius, and hope of the future; a sort of Star of the +East which had strayed into an unappreciative West. Until that +evening he had conversationally confined himself to recording his +impressions of the United States, whose dust he had just shaken from +off his feet--a country, in his opinion, so barbarous in every way +that he had sold practically nothing there, and become an object of +suspicion to the police; a country, as he said, without a race of its +own, without liberty, equality, or fraternity, without principles, +traditions, taste, without--in a word--a soul. He had left it for +his own good, and come to the only other country where he could live +well. June had dwelt unhappily on him in her lonely moments, +standing before his creations--frightening, but powerful and symbolic +once they had been explained! That he, haloed by bright hair like an +early Italian painting, and absorbed in his genius to the exclusion +of all else--the only sign of course by which real genius could be +told--should still be a "lame duck" agitated her warm heart almost to +the exclusion of Paul Post. And she had begun to take steps to clear +her Gallery, in order to fill it with Strumolowski masterpieces. She +had at once encountered trouble. Paul Post had kicked; Vospovitch +had stung. With all the emphasis of a genius which she did not as +yet deny them, they had demanded another six weeks at least of her +Gallery. The American stream, still flowing in, would soon be +flowing out. The American stream was their right, their only hope, +their salvation--since nobody in this "beastly" country cared for +Art. June had yielded to the demonstration. After all Boris would +not mind their having the full benefit of an American stream, which +he himself so violently despised. + +This evening she had put that to Boris with nobody else present, +except Hannah Hobdey, the mediaeval black-and-whitist, and Jimmy +Portugal, editor of the Neo-Artist. She had put it to him with that +sudden confidence which continual contact with the neo-artistic world +had never been able to dry up in her warm and generous nature. He +had not broken his Christ-like silence, however, for more than two +minutes before she began to move her blue eyes from side to side, as +a cat moves its tail. This--he said--was characteristic of England, +the most selfish country in the world; the country which sucked the +blood of other countries; destroyed the brains and hearts of +Irishmen, Hindus, Egyptians, Boers, and Burmese, all the best races +in the world; bullying, hypocritical England! This was what he had +expected, coming to, such a country, where the climate was all fog, +and the people all tradesmen perfectly blind to Art, and sunk in +profiteering and the grossest materialism. Conscious that Hannah +Hobdey was murmuring, "Hear, hear!" and Jimmy Portugal sniggering, +June grew crimson, and suddenly rapped out: + +"Then why did you ever come? We didn't ask you." + +The remark was so singularly at variance with all she had led him to +expect from her, that Strumolowski stretched out his hand and took a +cigarette. + +"England never wants an idealist," he said. + +But in June something primitively English was thoroughly upset; old +Jolyon's sense of justice had risen, as it were, from bed. "You come +and sponge on us," she said, "and then abuse us. If you think that's +playing the game, I don't." + +She now discovered that which others had discovered before her--the +thickness of hide beneath which the sensibility of genius is +sometimes veiled. Strumolowski's young and ingenuous face became the +incarnation of a sneer. + +"Sponge, one does not sponge, one takes what is owing--a tenth part +of what is owing. You will repent to say that, Miss Forsyte." + +"Oh, no," said June, "I shan't." + +"Ah! We know very well, we artists--you take us to get what you can +out of us. I want nothing from you"--and he blew out a cloud of +June's smoke. + +Decision rose in an icy puff from the turmoil of insulted shame +within her. "Very well, then, you can take your things away." + +And, almost in the same moment, she thought: 'Poor boy! He's only +got a garret, and probably not a taxi fare. In front of these +people, too; it's positively disgusting!' + +Young Strumolowski shook his head violently; his hair, thick, smooth, +close as a golden plate, did not fall off. + +"I can live on nothing," he said shrilly; "I have often had to for +the sake of my Art. It is you bourgeois who force us to spend +money." + +The words hit June like a pebble, in the ribs. After all she had +done for Art, all her identification with its troubles and lame +ducks. She was struggling for adequate words when the door was +opened, and her Austrian murmured: + +"A young lady, gnadiges Fraulein." + +"Where?" + +"In the little meal-room." + +With a glance at Boris Strumolowski, at Hannah Hobdey, at Jimmy +Portugal, June said nothing, and went out, devoid of equanimity. +Entering the "little meal-room," she perceived the young lady to be +Fleur--looking very pretty, if pale. At this disenchanted moment a +little lame duck of her own breed was welcome to June, so +homoeopathic by instinct. + +The girl must have come, of course, because of Jon; or, if not, at +least to get something out of her. And June felt just then that to +assist somebody was the only bearable thing. + +"So you've remembered to come," she said. + +"Yes. What a jolly little duck of a house! But please don't let me +bother you, if you've got people." + +"Not at all," said June. "I want to let them stew in their own juice +for a bit. Have you come about Jon?" + +"You said you thought we ought to be told. Well, I've found out." + +"Oh!" said June blankly. "Not nice, is it?" + +They were standing one on each side of the little bare table at which +June took her meals. A vase on it was full of Iceland poppies; the +girl raised her hand and touched them with a gloved finger. To her +new-fangled dress, frilly about the hips and tight below the knees, +June took a sudden liking--a charming colour, flax-blue. + +'She makes a picture,' thought June. Her little room, with its +whitewashed walls, its floor and hearth of old pink brick, its black +paint, and latticed window athwart which the last of the sunlight was +shining, had never looked so charming, set off by this young figure, +with the creamy, slightly frowning face. She remembered with sudden +vividness how nice she herself had looked in those old days when her +heart was set on Philip Bosinney, that dead lover, who had broken +from her to destroy for ever Irene's allegiance to this girl's +father. Did Fleur know of that, too? + +"Well," she said, "what are you going to do?" + +It was some seconds before Fleur answered. + +"I don't want Jon to suffer. I must see him once more to put an end +to it." + +"You're going to put an end to it!" + +"What else is there to do?" + +The girl seemed to June, suddenly, intolerably spiritless. + +"I suppose you're right," she muttered. "I know my father thinks so; +but--I should never have done it myself. I can't take things lying +down." + +How poised and watchful that girl looked; how unemotional her voice +sounded! + +"People will assume that I'm in love." + +"Well, aren't you?" + +Fleur shrugged her shoulders. 'I might have known it,' thought June; +'she's Soames' daughter--fish! And yet--he!' + +"What do you want me to do then?" she said with a sort of disgust. + +"Could I see Jon here to-morrow on his way down to Holly's? He'd +come if you sent him a line to-night. And perhaps afterward you'd +let them know quietly at Robin Hill that it's all over, and that they +needn't tell Jon about his mother." + +"All right!" said June abruptly. "I'll write now, and you can post +it. Half-past two tomorrow. I shan't be in, myself." + +She sat down at the tiny bureau which filled one corner. When she +looked round with the finished note Fleur was still touching the +poppies with her gloved finger. + +June licked a stamp. "Well, here it is. If you're not in love, of +course, there's no more to be said. Jon's lucky." + +Fleur took the note. "Thanks awfully!" + +'Cold-blooded little baggage!' thought June. Jon, son of her +father, to love, and not to be loved by the daughter of--Soames! It +was humiliating! + +"Is that all?" + +Fleur nodded; her frills shook and trembled as she swayed toward the +door. + +"Good-bye!" + +"Good-bye!... Little piece of fashion!" muttered June, closing the +door. "That family!" And she marched back toward her studio. Boris +Strumolowski had regained his Christ-like silence and Jimmy Portugal +was damning everybody, except the group in whose behalf he ran the +Neo-Artist. Among the condemned were Eric Cobbley, and several other +"lame-duck" genii who at one time or another had held first place in +the repertoire of June's aid and adoration. She experienced a sense +of futility and disgust, and went to the window to let the river-wind +blow those squeaky words away. + +But when at length Jimmy Portugal had finished, and gone with Hannah +Hobdey, she sat down and mothered young Strumolowski for half an +hour, promising him a month, at least, of the American stream; so +that he went away with his halo in perfect order. 'In spite of all,' +June thought, 'Boris is wonderful' + + + + +VIII + +THE BIT BETWEEN THE TEETH + + +To know that your hand is against every one's is--for some natures-- +to experience a sense of moral release. Fleur felt no remorse when +she left June's house. Reading condemnatory resentment in her little +kinswoman's blue eyes-she was glad that she had fooled her, despising +June because that elderly idealist had not seen what she was after. + +End it, forsooth! She would soon show them all that she was only +just beginning. And she smiled to herself on the top of the bus +which carried her back to Mayfair. But the smile died, squeezed out +by spasms of anticipation and anxiety. Would she be able to manage +Jon? She had taken the bit between her teeth, but could she make him +take it too? She knew the truth and the real danger of delay--he +knew neither; therein lay all the difference in the world. + +'Suppose I tell him,' she thought; 'wouldn't it really be safer?' +This hideous luck had no right to spoil their love; he must see that! +They could not let it! People always accepted an accomplished fact +in time! From that piece of philosophy--profound enough at her age-- +she passed to another consideration less philosophic. If she +persuaded Jon to a quick and secret marriage, and he found out +afterward that she had known the truth. What then? Jon hated +subterfuge. Again, then, would it not be better to tell him? But +the memory of his mother's face kept intruding on that impulse. +Fleur was afraid. His mother had power over him; more power perhaps +than she herself. Who could tell? It was too great a risk. Deep- +sunk in these instinctive calculations she was carried on past Green +Street as far as the Ritz Hotel. She got down there, and walked back +on the Green Park side. The storm had washed every tree; they still +dripped. Heavy drops fell on to her frills, and to avoid them she +crossed over under the eyes of the Iseeum Club. Chancing to look up +she saw Monsieur Profond with a tall stout man in the bay window. +Turning into Green Street she heard her name called, and saw "that +prowler" coming up. He took off his hat--a glossy "bowler" such as +she particularly detested. + +"Good evenin'! Miss Forsyde. Isn't there a small thing I can do for +you?" + +"Yes, pass by on the other side." + +"I say! Why do you dislike me?" + +"Do I?" + +"It looks like it." + +"Well, then, because you make me feel life isn't worth living." + +Monsieur Profond smiled. + +"Look here, Miss Forsyde, don't worry. It'll be all right. Nothing +lasts." + +"Things do last," cried Fleur; "with me anyhow--especially likes and +dislikes." + +"Well, that makes me a bit un'appy." + +"I should have thought nothing could ever make you happy or unhappy." + +"I don't like to annoy other people. I'm goin' on my yacht." + +Fleur looked at him, startled. + +"Where?" + +"Small voyage to the South Seas or somewhere," said Monsieur Profond. + +Fleur suffered relief and a sense of insult. Clearly he meant to +convey that he was breaking with her mother. How dared he have +anything to break, and yet how dared he break it? + +"Good-night, Miss Forsyde! Remember me to Mrs. Dartie. I'm not so +bad really. Good-night!" Fleur left him standing there with his hat +raised. Stealing a look round, she saw him stroll--immaculate and +heavy--back toward his Club. + +'He can't even love with conviction,' she thought. 'What will Mother +do?' + +Her dreams that night were endless and uneasy; she rose heavy and +unrested, and went at once to the study of Whitaker's Almanac. A +Forsyte is instinctively aware that facts are the real crux of any +situation. She might conquer Jon's prejudice, but without exact +machinery to complete their desperate resolve, nothing would happen. +>From the invaluable tome she learned that they must each be twenty- +one; or some one's consent would be necessary, which of course was +unobtainable; then she became lost in directions concerning licenses, +certificates, notices, districts, coming finally to the word +"perjury." But that was nonsense! Who would really mind their +giving wrong ages in order to be married for love! She ate hardly +any breakfast, and went back to Whitaker. The more she studied the +less sure she became; till, idly turning the pages, she came to +Scotland. People could be married there without any of this +nonsense. She had only to go and stay there twenty-one days, then +Jon could come, and in front of two people they could declare +themselves married. And what was more--they would be! It was far +the best way; and at once she ran over her schoolfellows. There was +Mary Lambe who lived in Edinburgh and was "quite a sport!" + +She had a brother too. She could stay with Mary Lambe, who with her +brother would serve for witnesses. She well knew that some girls +would think all this unnecessary, and that all she and Jon need do +was to go away together for a weekend and then say to their people: +"We are married by Nature, we must now be married by Law." But Fleur +was Forsyte enough to feel such a proceeding dubious, and to dread +her father's face when he heard of it. Besides, she did not believe +that Jon would do it; he had an opinion of her such as she could not +bear to diminish. No! Mary Lambe was preferable, and it was just +the time of year to go to Scotland. More at ease now she packed, +avoided her aunt, and took a bus to Chiswick. She was too early, and +went on to Kew Gardens. She found no peace among its flower-beds, +labelled trees, and broad green spaces, and having lunched off +anchovy-paste sandwiches and coffee, returned to Chiswick and rang +June's bell. The Austrian admitted her to the "little meal-room." +Now that she knew what she and Jon were up against, her longing for +him had increased tenfold, as if he were a toy with sharp edges or +dangerous paint such as they had tried to take from her as a child. +If she could not have her way, and get Jon for good and all, she felt +like dying of privation. By hook or crook she must and would get +him! A round dim mirror of very old glass hung over the pink brick +hearth. She stood looking at herself reflected in it, pale, and +rather dark under the eyes; little shudders kept passing through her +nerves. Then she heard the bell ring, and, stealing to the window, +saw him standing on the doorstep smoothing his hair and lips, as if +he too were trying to subdue the fluttering of his nerves. + +She was sitting on one of the two rush-seated chairs, with her back +to the door, when he came in, and she said at once + +"Sit down, Jon, I want to talk seriously." + +Jon sat on the table by her side, and without looking at him she went +on: + +"If you don't want to lose me, we must get married." + +Jon gasped. + +"Why? Is there anything new?" + +"No, but I felt it at Robin Hill, and among my people." + +"But--" stammered Jon, "at Robin Hill--it was all smooth--and they've +said nothing to me." + +"But they mean to stop us. Your mother's face was enough. And my +father's." + +"Have you seen him since?" + +Fleur nodded. What mattered a few supplementary lies? + +"But," said Jon eagerly, "I can't see how they can feel like that +after all these years." + +Fleur looked up at him. + +"Perhaps you don't love me enough." +"Not love you enough! Why--!" + +"Then make sure of me." + +"Without telling them?" + +"Not till after." + +Jon was silent. How much older he looked than on that day, barely +two months ago, when she first saw him--quite two years older! + +"It would hurt Mother awfully," he said. + +Fleur drew her hand away. + +"You've got to choose." + +Jon slid off the table on to his knees. + +"But why not tell them? They can't really stop us, Fleur!" + +"They can! I tell you, they can." + +"How?" + +"We're utterly dependent--by putting money pressure, and all sorts of +other pressure. I'm not patient, Jon." + +"But it's deceiving them." + +Fleur got up. + +"You can't really love me, or you wouldn't hesitate. 'He either +fears his fate too much!'" + +Lifting his hands to her waist, Jon forced her to sit down again. +She hurried on: + +"I've planned it all out. We've only to go to Scotland. When we're +married they'll soon come round. People always come round to facts. +Don't you see, Jon?" + +"But to hurt them so awfully!" + +So he would rather hurt her than those people of his! "All right, +then; let me go!" + +Jon got up and put his back against the door. + +"I expect you're right," he said slowly; "but I want to think it +over." + +She could see that he was seething with feelings he wanted to +express; but she did not mean to help him. She hated herself at this +moment and almost hated him. Why had she to do all the work to +secure their love? It wasn't fair. And then she saw his eyes, +adoring and distressed. + +"Don't look like that! I only don't want to lose you, Jon." + +"You can't lose me so long as you want me." + +"Oh, yes, I can." + +Jon put his hands on her shoulders. + +"Fleur, do you know anything you haven't told me?" + +It was the point-blank question she had dreaded. She looked straight +at him, and answered: "No." She had burnt her boats; but what did it +matter, if she got him? He would forgive her. And throwing her arms +round his neck, she kissed him on the lips. She was winning! She +felt it in the beating of his heart against her, in the closing of +his eyes. "I want to make sure! I want to make sure!" she +whispered. "Promise!" + +Jon did not answer. His face had the stillness of extreme trouble. +At last he said: + +"It's like hitting them. I must think a little, Fleur. I really +must." + +Fleur slipped out of his arms. + +"Oh! Very well!" And suddenly she burst into tears of disappointment, +shame, and overstrain. Followed five minutes of acute misery. Jon's +remorse and tenderness knew no bounds; but he did not promise. +Despite her will to cry, "Very well, then, if you don't love me +enough-goodbye!" she dared not. From birth accustomed to her own +way, this check from one so young, so tender, so devoted, baffled and +surprised her. She wanted to push him away from her, to try what +anger and coldness would do, and again she dared not. The knowledge +that she was scheming to rush him blindfold into the irrevocable +weakened everything--weakened the sincerity of pique, and the +sincerity of passion; even her kisses had not the lure she wished for +them. That stormy little meeting ended inconclusively. + +"Will you some tea, gnadiges Fraulein?" + +Pushing Jon from her, she cried out: + +"No-no, thank you! I'm just going." + +And before he could prevent her she was gone. + +She went stealthily, mopping her gushed, stained cheeks, frightened, +angry, very miserable. She had stirred Jon up so fearfully, yet +nothing definite was promised or arranged! But the more uncertain +and hazardous the future, the more "the will to have" worked its +tentacles into the flesh of her heart--like some burrowing tick! + +No one was at Green Street. Winifred had gone with Imogen to see a +play which some said was allegorical, and others "very exciting, +don't you know." It was because of what others said that Winifred +and Imogen had gone. Fleur went on to Paddington. Through the +carriage the air from the brick-kilns of West Drayton and the late +hayfields fanned her still gushed cheeks. Flowers had seemed to be +had for the picking; now they were all thorned and prickled. But the +golden flower within the crown of spikes seemed to her tenacious +spirit all the fairer and more desirable. + + + + +IX + +THE FAT IN THE FIRE + + +On reaching home Fleur found an atmosphere so peculiar that it +penetrated even the perplexed aura of her own private life. Her +mother was inaccessibly entrenched in a brown study; her father +contemplating fate in the vinery. Neither of them had a word to +throw to a dog. 'Is it because of me?' thought Fleur. 'Or because +of Profond?' To her mother she said: + +"What's the matter with Father?" + +Her mother answered with a shrug of her shoulders. + +To her father: + +"What's the matter with Mother?" + +Her father answered: + +"Matter? What should be the matter?" and gave her a sharp look. + +"By the way," murmured Fleur, "Monsieur Profond is going a 'small' +voyage on his yacht, to the South Seas." + +Soames examined a branch on which no grapes were growing. + +"This vine's a failure," he said. "I've had young Mont here. He +asked me something about you." + +"Oh! How do you like him, Father?" + +"He--he's a product--like all these young people." + +"What were you at his age, dear?" + +Soames smiled grimly. + +"We went to work, and didn't play about--flying and motoring, and +making love." + +"Didn't you ever make love?" + +She avoided looking at him while she said that, but she saw him well +enough. His pale face had reddened, his eyebrows, where darkness was +still mingled with the grey, had come close together. + +"I had no time or inclination to philander." + +"Perhaps you had a grand passion." + +Soames looked at her intently. + +"Yes--if you want to know--and much good it did me." He moved away, +along by the hot-water pipes. Fleur tiptoed silently after him. + +"Tell me about it, Father!" + +Soames became very still. + +"What should you want to know about such things, at your age?" + +"Is she alive?" + +He nodded. + +"And married?" Yes." + +"It's Jon Forsyte's mother, isn't it? And she was your wife first." + +It was said in a flash of intuition. Surely his opposition came from +his anxiety that she should not know of that old wound to his pride. +But she was startled. To see some one so old and calm wince as if +struck, to hear so sharp a note of pain in his voice! + +"Who told you that? If your aunt! I can't bear the affair talked +of." + +"But, darling," said Fleur, softly, "it's so long ago." + +"Long ago or not, I...." + +Fleur stood stroking his arm. + +"I've tried to forget," he said suddenly; "I don't wish to be +reminded." And then, as if venting some long and secret irritation, +he added: "In these days people don't understand. Grand passion, +indeed! No one knows what it is." + +"I do," said Fleur, almost in a whisper. + +Soames, who had turned his back on her, spun round. + +"What are you talking of--a child like you!" + +"Perhaps I've inherited it, Father." + +"What?" + +"For her son, you see." + +He was pale as a sheet, and she knew that she was as bad. They stood +staring at each other in the steamy heat, redolent of the mushy scent +of earth, of potted geranium, and of vines coming along fast. + +"This is crazy," said Soames at last, between dry lips. + +Scarcely moving her own, she murmured: + +"Don't be angry, Father. I can't help it." + +But she could see he wasn't angry; only scared, deeply scared. + +"I thought that foolishness," he stammered, "was all forgotten." + +"Oh, no! It's ten times what it was." + +Soames kicked at the hot-water pipe. The hapless movement touched +her, who had no fear of her father--none. + +"Dearest!" she said. "What must be, must, you know." + +"Must!" repeated Soames. "You don't know what you're talking of. +Has that boy been told?" + +The blood rushed into her cheeks. + +"Not yet." + +He had turned from her again, and, with one shoulder a little raised, +stood staring fixedly at a joint in the pipes. + +"It's most distasteful to me," he said suddenly; "nothing could be +more so. Son of that fellow! It's--it's--perverse!" + +She had noted, almost unconsciously, that he did not say "son of that +woman," and again her intuition began working. + +Did the ghost of that grand passion linger in some corner of his +heart? + +She slipped her hand under his arm. + +"Jon's father is quite ill and old; I saw him." + +"You--?" + +"Yes, I went there with Jon; I saw them both." + +"Well, and what did they say to you?" + +"Nothing. They were very polite." + +"They would be." He resumed his contemplation of the pipe-joint, and +then said suddenly: + +"I must think this over--I'll speak to you again to-night." + +She knew this was final for the moment, and stole away, leaving him +still looking at the pipe-joint. She wandered into the fruit-garden, +among the raspberry and currant bushes, without impetus to pick and +eat. Two months ago--she was light-hearted! Even two days ago-- +light-hearted, before Prosper Profond told her. Now she felt tangled +in a web-of passions, vested rights, oppressions and revolts, the +ties of love and hate. At this dark moment of discouragement there +seemed, even to her hold-fast nature, no way out. How deal with it-- +how sway and bend things to her will, and get her heart's desire? +And, suddenly, round the corner of the high box hedge, she came plump +on her mother, walking swiftly, with an open letter in her hand. Her +bosom was heaving, her eyes dilated, her cheeks flushed. Instantly +Fleur thought: 'The yacht! Poor Mother!' + +Annette gave her a wide startled look, and said: + +"J'ai la migraine." + +"I'm awfully sorry, Mother." + +"Oh, yes! you and your father--sorry!" + +"But, Mother--I am. I know what it feels like." + +Annette's startled eyes grew wide, till the whites showed above them. + +"Poor innocent!" she said. + +Her mother--so self-possessed, and commonsensical--to look and speak +like this! It was all frightening! Her father, her mother, herself! +And only two months back they had seemed to have everything they +wanted in this world. + +Annette crumpled the letter in her hand. Fleur knew that she must +ignore the sight. + +"Can't I do anything for your head, Mother?" + +Annette shook that head and walked on, swaying her hips. + +'It's cruel,' thought Fleur, 'and I was glad! That man! What do men +come prowling for, disturbing everything! I suppose he's tired of +her. What business has he to be tired of my mother? What business!' +And at that thought, so natural and so peculiar, she uttered a little +choked laugh. + +She ought, of course, to be delighted, but what was there to be +delighted at? Her father didn't really care! Her mother did, +perhaps? She entered the orchard, and sat down under a cherry-tree. +A breeze sighed in the higher boughs; the sky seen through their +green was very blue and very white in cloud--those heavy white clouds +almost always present in river landscape. Bees, sheltering out of +the wind, hummed softly, and over the lush grass fell the thick shade +from those fruit-trees planted by her father five-and-twenty, years +ago. Birds were almost silent, the cuckoos had ceased to sing, but +wood-pigeons were cooing. The breath and drone and cooing of high +summer were not for long a sedative to her excited nerves. Crouched +over her knees she began to scheme. Her father must be made to back +her up. Why should he mind so long as she was happy? She had not +lived for nearly nineteen years without knowing that her future was +all he really cared about. She had, then, only to convince him that +her future could not be happy without Jon. He thought it a mad +fancy. How foolish the old were, thinking they could tell what the +young felt! Had not he confessed that he--when young--had loved with +a grand passion? He ought to understand! 'He piles up his money for +me,' she thought; 'but what's the use, if I'm not going to be happy?' +Money, and all it bought, did not bring happiness. Love only brought +that. The ox-eyed daisies in this orchard, which gave it such a +moony look sometimes, grew wild and happy, and had their hour. 'They +oughtn't to have called me Fleur,' she mused, 'if they didn't mean me +to have my hour, and be happy while it lasts.' Nothing real stood in +the way, like poverty, or disease--sentiment only, a ghost from the +unhappy past! Jon was right. They wouldn't let you live, these old +people! They made mistakes, committed crimes, and wanted their +children to go on paying! The breeze died away; midges began to +bite. She got up, plucked a piece of honeysuckle, and went in. + +It was hot that night. Both she and her mother had put on thin, pale +low frocks. The dinner flowers were pale. Fleur was struck with the +pale look of everything; her father's face, her mother's shoulders; +the pale panelled walls, the pale grey velvety carpet, the lamp- +shade, even the soup was pale. There was not one spot of colour in +the room, not even wine in the pale glasses, for no one drank it. +What was not pale was black--her father's clothes, the butler's +clothes, her retriever stretched out exhausted in the window, the +curtains black with a cream pattern. A moth came in, and that was +pale. And silent was that half-mourning dinner in the heat. + +Her father called her back as she was following her mother out. + +She sat down beside him at the table, and, unpinning the pale +honeysuckle, put it to her nose. + +"I've been thinking," he said. + +"Yes, dear?" + +"It's extremely painful for me to talk, but there's no help for it. +I don't know if you understand how much you are to me I've never +spoken of it, I didn't think it necessary; but--but you're +everything. Your mother--" he paused, staring at his finger-bowl of +Venetian glass. + +"Yes?"' + +"I've only you to look to. I've never had--never wanted anything +else, since you were born." + +"I know," Fleur murmured. + +Soames moistened his lips. + +"You may think this a matter I can smooth over and arrange for you. +You're mistaken. I'm helpless." + +Fleur did not speak. + +"Quite apart from my own feelings," went on Soames with more +resolution, "those two are not amenable to anything I can say. They- +-they hate me, as people always hate those whom they have injured." +"But he--Jon--" + +"He's their flesh and blood, her only child. Probably he means to +her what you mean to me. It's a deadlock." + +"No," cried Fleur, "no, Father!" + +Soames leaned back, the image of pale patience, as if resolved on the +betrayal of no emotion. + +"Listen!" he said. "You're putting the feelings of two months--two +months--against the feelings of thirty-five years! What chance do +you think you have? Two months--your very first love affair, a +matter of half a dozen meetings, a few walks and talks, a few kisses- +-against, against what you can't imagine, what no one could who +hasn't been through it. Come, be reasonable, Fleur! It's midsummer +madness!" + +Fleur tore the honeysuckle into little, slow bits. + +"The madness is in letting the past spoil it all. + +"What do we care about the past? It's our lives, not yours." + +Soames raised his hand to his forehead, where suddenly she saw +moisture shining. + +"Whose child are you?" he said. "Whose child is he? The present is +linked with the past, the future with both. There's no getting away +from that." + +She had never heard philosophy pass those lips before. Impressed +even in her agitation, she leaned her elbows on the table, her chin +on her hands. + +"But, Father, consider it practically. We want each other. There's +ever so much money, and nothing whatever in the way but sentiment. +Let's bury the past, Father." + +His answer was a sigh. + +"Besides," said Fleur gently, "you can't prevent us." + +"I don't suppose," said Soames, "that if left to myself I should try +to prevent you; I must put up with things, I know, to keep your +affection. But it's not I who control this matter. That's what I +want you to realise before it's too late. If you go on thinking you +can get your way and encourage this feeling, the blow will be much +heavier when you find you can't." + +"Oh!" cried Fleur, "help me, Father; you can help me, you know." + +Soames made a startled movement of negation. "I?" he said bitterly. +"Help? I am the impediment--the just cause and impediment--isn't +that the jargon? You have my blood in your veins." + +He rose. + +"Well, the fat's in the fire. If you persist in your wilfulness +you'll have yourself to blame. Come! Don't be foolish, my child--my +only child!" + +Fleur laid her forehead against his shoulder. + +All was in such turmoil within her. But no good to show it! No good +at all! She broke away from him, and went out into the twilight, +distraught, but unconvinced. All was indeterminate and vague within +her, like the shapes and shadows in the garden, except--her will to +have. A poplar pierced up into the dark-blue sky and touched a white +star there. The dew wetted her shoes, and chilled her bare +shoulders. She went down to the river bank, and stood gazing at a +moonstreak on the darkening water. Suddenly she smelled tobacco +smoke, and a white figure emerged as if created by the moon. It was +young Mont in flannels, standing in his boat. She heard the tiny +hiss of his cigarette extinguished in the water. + +"Fleur," came his voice, "don't be hard on a poor devil! I've been +waiting hours." + +"For what?" + +"Come in my boat!" + +"Not I." + +"Why not?" + +"I'm not a water-nymph." + +"Haven't you any romance in you? Don't be modern, Fleur!" + +He appeared on the path within a yard of her. + +"Go away!" + +"Fleur, I love you. Fleur!" + +Fleur uttered a short laugh. + +"Come again," she said, "when I haven't got my wish." + +"What is your wish?" + +"Ask another." + +"Fleur," said Mont, and his voice sounded strange, "don't mock me! +Even vivisected dogs are worth decent treatment before they're cut up +for good." + +Fleur shook her head; but her lips were trembling. + +"Well, you shouldn't make me jump. Give me a cigarette." + +Mont gave her one, lighted it, and another for himself. + +"I don't want to talk rot," he said, "but please imagine all the rot +that all the lovers that ever were have talked, and all my special +rot thrown in." + +"Thank you, I have imagined it. Good-night!" They stood for a +moment facing each other in the shadow of an acacia-tree with very +moonlit blossoms, and the smoke from their cigarettes mingled in the +air between them. + +"Also ran: 'Michael Mont'?" he said. Fleur turned abruptly toward +the house. On the lawn she stopped to look back. Michael Mont was +whirling his arms above him; she could see them dashing at his head; +then waving at the moonlit blossoms of the acacia. His voice just +reached her. "Jolly-jolly!" Fleur shook herself. She couldn't help +him, she had too much trouble of her own! On the verandah she +stopped very suddenly again. Her mother was sitting in the drawing- +room at her writing bureau, quite alone. There was nothing +remarkable in the expression of her face except its utter immobility. +But she looked desolate! Fleur went upstairs. At the door of her +room she paused. She could hear her father walking up and down, up +and down the picture-gallery. + +'Yes,' she thought, jolly! Oh, Jon!' + + + + +X + +DECISION + + +When Fleur left him Jon stared at the Austrian. She was a thin woman +with a dark face and the concerned expression of one who has watched +every little good that life once had slip from her, one by one. +"No tea?" she said. + +Susceptible to the disappointment in her voice, Jon murmured: + +"No, really; thanks." + +"A lil cup--it ready. A lil cup and cigarette." + +Fleur was gone! Hours of remorse and indecision lay before him! And +with a heavy sense of disproportion he smiled, and said: + +"Well--thank you!" + +She brought in a little pot of tea with two little cups, and a silver +box of cigarettes on a little tray. + +"Sugar? Miss Forsyte has much sugar--she buy my sugar, my friend's +sugar also. Miss Forsyte is a veree kind lady. I am happy to serve +her. You her brother?" + +"Yes," said Jon, beginning to puff the second cigarette of his life. + +"Very young brother," said the Austrian, with a little anxious smile, +which reminded him of the wag of a dog's tail. + +"May I give you some?" he said. "And won't you sit down, please?" + +The Austrian shook her head. + +"Your father a very nice old man--the most nice old man I ever see. +Miss Forsyte tell me all about him. Is he better?" + +Her words fell on Jon like a reproach. "Oh Yes, I think he's all +right." + +"I like to see him again," said the Austrian, putting a hand on her +heart; "he have veree kind heart." + +"Yes," said Jon. And again her words seemed to him a reproach. + +"He never give no trouble to no one, and smile so gentle." + +"Yes, doesn't he?" + +"He look at Miss Forsyte so funny sometimes. I tell him all my +story; he so sympatisch. Your mother--she nice and well?" + +"Yes, very." + +"He have her photograph on his dressing-table. Veree beautiful" + +Jon gulped down his tea. This woman, with her concerned face and her +reminding words, was like the first and second murderers. + +"Thank you," he said; "I must go now. May--may I leave this with +you?" + +He put a ten-shilling note on the tray with a doubting hand and +gained the door. He heard the Austrian gasp, and hurried out. He +had just time to catch his train, and all the way to Victoria looked +at every face that passed, as lovers will, hoping against hope. On +reaching Worthing he put his luggage into the local train, and set +out across the Downs for Wansdon, trying to walk off his aching +irresolution. So long as he went full bat, he could enjoy the beauty +of those green slopes, stopping now and again to sprawl on the grass, +admire the perfection of a wild rose or listen to a lark's song. But +the war of motives within him was but postponed--the longing for +Fleur, and the hatred of deception. He came to the old chalk-pit +above Wansdon with his mind no more made up than when he started. To +see both sides of a question vigorously was at once Jon's strength +and weakness. He tramped in, just as the first dinner-bell rang. +His things had already been brought up. He had a hurried bath and +came down to find Holly alone--Val had gone to Town and would not be +back till the last train. + +Since Val's advice to him to ask his sister what was the matter +between the two families, so much had happened--Fleur's disclosure in +the Green Park, her visit to Robin Hill, to-day's meeting--that there +seemed nothing to ask. He talked of Spain, his sunstroke, Val's +horses, their father's health. Holly startled him by saying that she +thought their father not at all well. She had been twice to Robin +Hill for the week-end. He had seemed fearfully languid, sometimes +even in pain, but had always refused to talk about himself. + +"He's awfully dear and unselfish--don't you think, Jon?" + +Feeling far from dear and unselfish himself, Jon answered: "Rather!" + +"I think, he's been a simply perfect father, so long as I can +remember." + +"Yes," answered Jon, very subdued. + +"He's never interfered, and he's always seemed to understand. I +shall never forget his letting me go to South Africa in the Boer War +when I was in love with Val." + +"That was before he married Mother, wasn't it?" said Jon suddenly. + +"Yes. Why?" + +"Oh! nothing. Only, wasn't she engaged to Fleur's father first?" + +Holly put down the spoon she was using, and raised her eyes. Her +stare was circumspect. What did the boy know? Enough to make it +better to tell him? She could not decide. He looked strained and +worried, altogether older, but that might be the sunstroke. + +"There was something," she said. "Of course we were out there, and +got no news of anything." She could not take the risk. + +It was not her secret. Besides, she was in the dark about his +feelings now. Before Spain she had made sure he was in love; but +boys were boys; that was seven weeks ago, and all Spain between. + +She saw that he knew she was putting him off, and added: + +"Have you heard anything of Fleur?" + +"Yes." + +His face told her, then, more than the most elaborate explanations. +So he had not forgotten! + +She said very quietly: "Fleur is awfully attractive, Jon, but you +know--Val and I don't really like her very much." + +"Why?" + +"We think she's got rather a 'having' nature." + +"'Having'? I don't know what you mean. She--she--" he pushed his +dessert plate away, got up, and went to the window. + +Holly, too, got up, and put her arm round his waist. + +"Don't be angry, Jon dear. We can't all see people in the same +light, can we? You know, I believe each of us only has about one or +two people who can see the best that's in us, and bring it out. For +you I think it's your mother. I once saw her looking at a letter of +yours; it was wonderful to see her face. I think she's the most +beautiful woman I ever saw--Age doesn't seem to touch her." + +Jon's face softened; then again became tense. Everybody--everybody +was against him and Fleur! It all strengthened the appeal of her +words: "Make sure of me--marry me, Jon!" + +Here, where he had passed that wonderful week with her--the tug of +her enchantment, the ache in his heart increased with every minute +that she was not there to make the room, the garden, the very air +magical. Would he ever be able to live down here, not seeing her? +And he closed up utterly, going early to bed. It would not make him +healthy, wealthy, and wise, but it closeted him with memory of Fleur +in her fancy frock. He heard Val's arrival--the Ford discharging +cargo, then the stillness of the summer night stole back--with only +the bleating of very distant sheep, and a night-Jar's harsh purring. +He leaned far out. Cold moon--warm air--the Downs like silver! +Small wings, a stream bubbling, the rambler roses! God--how empty +all of it without her! In the Bible it was written: Thou shalt leave +father and mother and cleave to--Fleur! + +Let him have pluck, and go and tell them! They couldn't stop him +marrying her--they wouldn't want to stop him when they knew how he +felt. Yes! He would go! Bold and open--Fleur was wrong! + +The night-jar ceased, the sheep were silent; the only sound in the +darkness was the bubbling of the stream. And Jon in his bed slept, +freed from the worst of life's evils--indecision. + + + + +XI + +TIMOTHY PROPHESIES + + +On the day of the cancelled meeting at the National Gallery began the +second anniversary of the resurrection of England's pride and glory-- +or, more shortly, the top hat. "Lord's"--that festival which the +War had driven from the field--raised its light and dark blue flags +for the second time, displaying almost every feature of a glorious +past. Here, in the luncheon interval, were all species of female and +one species of male hat, protecting the multiple types of face +associated with "the classes." The observing Forsyte might discern +in the free or unconsidered seats a certain number of the squash- +hatted, but they hardly ventured on the grass; the old school--or +schools--could still rejoice that the proletariat was not yet paying +the necessary half-crown. Here was still a close borough, the only +one left on a large scale--for the papers were about to estimate the +attendance at ten thousand. And the ten thousand, all animated by +one hope, were asking each other one question: "Where are you +lunching?" Something wonderfully uplifting and reassuring in that +query and the sight of so many people like themselves voicing it! +What reserve power in the British realm--enough pigeons, lobsters, +lamb, salmon mayonnaise, strawberries, and bottles of champagne to +feed the lot! No miracle in prospect--no case of seven loaves and a +few fishes--faith rested on surer foundations. Six thousand top +hats, four thousand parasols would be doffed and furled, ten thousand +mouths all speaking the same English would be filled. There was life +in the old dog yet! Tradition! And again Tradition! How strong and +how elastic! Wars might rage, taxation prey, Trades Unions take +toll, and Europe perish of starvation; but the ten thousand would be +fed; and, within their ring fence, stroll upon green turf, wear their +top hats, and meet--themselves. The heart was sound, the pulse still +regular. E-ton! E-ton! Har-r-o-o-o-w! + +Among the many Forsytes, present on a hunting-ground theirs, by +personal prescriptive right, or proxy, was Soames with his wife and +daughter. He had not been at either school, he took no interest in +cricket, but he wanted Fleur to show her frock, and he wanted to wear +his top hat parade it again in peace and plenty among his peers. He +walked sedately with Fleur between him and Annette. No women +equalled them, so far as he could see. They could walk, and hold +themselves up; there was substance in their good looks; the modern +woman had no build, no chest, no anything! He remembered suddenly +with what intoxication of pride he had walked round with Irene in the +first years of his first marriage. And how they used to lunch on the +drag which his mother would make his father have, because it was so +"chic"--all drags and carriages in those days, not these lumbering +great Stands! And how consistently Montague Dartie had drunk too +much. He supposed that people drank too much still, but there was +not the scope for it there used to be. He remembered George Forsyte- +-whose brothers Roger and Eustace had been at Harrow and Eton-- +towering up on the top of the drag waving a light-blue flag with one +hand and a dark-blue flag with the other, and shouting "Etroow- +Harrton!" Just when everybody was silent, like the buffoon he had +always been; and Eustace got up to the nines below, too dandified to +wear any colour or take any notice. H'm! Old days, and Irene in +grey silk shot with palest green. He looked, sideways, at Fleur's +face. Rather colourless-no light, no eagerness! That love affair +was preying on her--a bad business! He looked beyond, at his wife's +face, rather more touched up than usual, a little disdainful--not +that she had any business to disdain, so far as he could see. She +was taking Profond's defection with curious quietude; or was his +"small" voyage just a blind? If so, he should refuse to see it! +Having promenaded round the pitch and in front of the pavilion, they +sought Winifred's table in the Bedouin Club tent. This Club--a new +"cock and hen"--had been founded in the interests of travel, and of a +gentleman with an old Scottish name, whose father had somewhat +strangely been called Levi. Winifred had joined, not because she had +travelled, but because instinct told her that a Club with such a name +and such a founder was bound to go far; if one didn't join at once +one might never have the chance. Its tent, with a text from the +Koran on an orange ground, and a small green camel embroidered over +the entrance, was the most striking on the ground. Outside it they +found Jack Cardigan in a dark blue tie (he had once played for +Harrow), batting with a Malacca cane to show how that fellow ought to +have hit that ball. He piloted them in. Assembled in Winifred's +corner were Imogen, Benedict with his young wife, Val Dartie without +Holly, Maud and her husband, and, after Soames and his two were +seated, one empty place. + +"I'm expecting Prosper," said Winifred, "but he's so busy with his +yacht." + +Soames stole a glance. No movement in his wife's face! Whether that +fellow were coming or not, she evidently knew all about it. It did +not escape him that Fleur, too, looked at her mother. If Annette +didn't respect his feelings, she might think of Fleur's! The +conversation, very desultory, was syncopated by Jack Cardigan talking +about "mid-off." He cited all the "great mid-offs" from the +beginning of time, as if they had been a definite racial entity in +the composition of the British people. Soames had finished his +lobster, and was beginning on pigeon-pie, when he heard the words, +"I'm a small bit late, Mrs. Dartie," and saw that there was no longer +any empty place. That fellow was sitting between Annette and Imogen. +Soames ate steadily on, with an occasional word to Maud and Winifred. +Conversation buzzed around him. He heard the voice of Profond say: + +"I think you're mistaken, Mrs. Forsyde; I'll--I'll bet Miss Forsyde +agrees with me." + +"In what?" came Fleur's clear voice across the table. + +"I was sayin', young gurls are much the same as they always were-- +there's very small difference." + +"Do you know so much about them?" + + +That sharp reply caught the ears of all, and Soames moved uneasily on +his thin green chair. + +"Well, I don't know, I think they want their own small way, and I +think they always did." + +"Indeed!" + +"Oh, but--Prosper," Winifred interjected comfortably, "the girls in +the streets--the girls who've been in munitions, the little flappers +in the shops; their manners now really quite hit you in the eye." + +At the word "hit" Jack Cardigan stopped his disquisition; and in the +silence Monsieur Profond said: + +"It was inside before, now it's outside; that's all." + +"But their morals!" cried Imogen. + +"Just as moral as they ever were, Mrs. Cardigan, but they've got more +opportunity." + +The saying, so cryptically cynical, received a little laugh from +Imogen, a slight opening of Jack Cardigan's mouth, and a creak from +Soames' chair. + +Winifred said: "That's too bad, Prosper." + +"What do you say, Mrs. Forsyde; don't you think human nature's always +the same?" + +Soames subdued a sudden longing to get up and kick the fellow. He +heard his wife reply: + +"Human nature is not the same in England as anywhere else." That was +her confounded mockery! + +"Well, I don't know much about this small country"--'No, thank God!' +thought Soames--"but I should say the pot was boilin' under the lid +everywhere. We all want pleasure, and we always did." + +Damn the fellow! His cynicism was--was outrageous! + +When lunch was over they broke up into couples for the digestive +promenade. Too proud to notice, Soames knew perfectly that Annette +and that fellow had gone prowling round together. Fleur was with +Val; she had chosen him, no doubt, because he knew that boy. He +himself had Winifred for partner. They walked in the bright, +circling stream, a little flushed and sated, for some minutes, till +Winifred sighed: + +"I wish we were back forty years, old boy!" + +Before the eyes of her spirit an interminable procession of her own +"Lord's" frocks was passing, paid for with the money of her father, +to save a recurrent crisis. "It's been very amusing, after all. +Sometimes I even wish Monty was back. What do you think of people +nowadays, Soames?" + +"Precious little style. The thing began to go to pieces with +bicycles and motor-cars; the War has finished it." + +"I wonder what's coming?" said Winifred in a voice dreamy from +pigeon-pie. "I'm not at all sure we shan't go back to crinolines and +pegtops. Look at that dress!" + +Soames shook his head. + +"There's money, but no faith in things. We don't lay by for the +future. These youngsters--it's all a short life and a merry one with +them." + +"There's a hat!" said Winifred. "I don't know--when you come to +think of the people killed and all that in the War, it's rather +wonderful, I think. There's no other country--Prosper says the rest +are all bankrupt, except America; and of course her men always took +their style in dress from us." + +"Is that chap," said Soames, "really going to the South Seas?" + +"Oh! one never knows where Prosper's going!" + +"He's a sign of the times," muttered Soames, "if you like." + +Winifred's hand gripped his arm. + +"Don't turn your head," she said in a low voice, "but look to your +right in the front row of the Stand." + +Soames looked as best he could under that limitation. A man in a +grey top hat, grey-bearded, with thin brown, folded cheeks, and a +certain elegance of posture, sat there with a woman in a lawn- +coloured frock, whose dark eyes were fixed on himself. Soames looked +quickly at his feet. How funnily feet moved, one after the other +like that! Winifred's voice said in his ear: + +"Jolyon looks very ill; but he always had style. She doesn't change- +-except her hair." + +"Why did you tell Fleur about that business?" + +"I didn't; she picked it up. I always knew she would." + +"Well, it's a mess. She's set her heart upon their boy." + +"The little wretch," murmured Winifred. "She tried to take me in +about that. What shall you do, Soames?" + +"Be guided by events." + +They moved on, silent, in the almost solid crowd. + +"Really," said Winifred suddenly; "it almost seems like Fate. Only +that's so old-fashioned. Look! there are George and Eustace!" + +George Forsyte's lofty bulk had halted before them. + +"Hallo, Soames!" he said. "Just met Profond and your wife. You'll +catch 'em if you put on pace. Did you ever go to see old Timothy?" + +Soames nodded, and the streams forced them apart. + +"I always liked old George," said Winifred. "He's so droll." + +"I never did," said Soames. "Where's your seat? I shall go to mine. +Fleur may be back there." + +Having seen Winifred to her seat, he regained his own, conscious of +small, white, distant figures running, the click of the bat, the +cheers and counter-cheers. No Fleur, and no Annette! You could +expect nothing of women nowadays! They had the vote. They were +"emancipated," and much good it was doing them! So Winifred would go +back, would she, and put up with Dartie all over again? To have the +past once more--to be sitting here as he had sat in '83 and '84, +before he was certain that his marriage with Irene had gone all +wrong, before her antagonism had become so glaring that with the best +will in the world he could not overlook it. The sight of her with +that fellow had brought all memory back. Even now he could not +understand why she had been so impracticable. She could love other +men; she had it in her! To himself, the one person she ought to have +loved, she had chosen to refuse her heart. It seemed to him, +fantastically, as he looked back, that all this modern relaxation of +marriage--though its forms and laws were the same as when he married +her--that all this modern looseness had come out of her revolt; it +seemed to him, fantastically, that she had started it, till all +decent ownership of anything had gone, or was on the point of going. +All came from her! And now--a pretty state of things! Homes! How +could you have them without mutual ownership? Not that he had ever +had a real home! But had that been his fault? He had done his best. +And his rewards were--those two sitting in that Stand, and this +affair of Fleur's! + +And overcome by loneliness he thought: 'Shan't wait any longer! They +must find their own way back to the hotel--if they mean to come!' +Hailing a cab outside the ground, he said: + +"Drive me to the Bayswater Road." His old aunts had never failed +him. To them he had meant an ever-welcome visitor. Though they were +gone, there, still, was Timothy! + +Smither was standing in the open doorway. + +"Mr. Soames! I was just taking the air. Cook will be so pleased." + +"How is Mr. Timothy?" + +"Not himself at all these last few days, sir; he's been talking a +great deal. Only this morning he was saying: 'My brother James, he's +getting old.' His mind wanders, Mr. Soames, and then he will talk of +them. He troubles about their investments. The other day he said: +'There's my brother Jolyon won't look at Consols'--he seemed quite +down about it. Come in, Mr. Soames, come in! It's such a pleasant +change!" + +"Well," said Soames, "just for a few minutes." + +"No," murmured Smither in the hall, where the air had the singular +freshness of the outside day, "we haven't been very satisfied with +him, not all this week. He's always been one to leave a titbit to +the end; but ever since Monday he's been eating it first. If you +notice a dog, Mr. Soames, at its dinner, it eats the meat first. +We've always thought it such a good sign of Mr. Timothy at his age to +leave it to the last, but now he seems to have lost all his self- +control; and, of course, it makes him leave the rest. The doctor +doesn't make anything of it, but"--Smither shook her head--"he seems +to think he's got to eat it first, in case he shouldn't get to it. +That and his talking makes us anxious." + +"Has he said anything important?" + +"I shouldn't like to say that, Mr. Soames; but he's turned against +his Will. He gets quite pettish--and after having had it out every +morning for years, it does seem funny. He said the other day: 'They +want my money.' It gave me such a turn, because, as I said to him, +nobody wants his money, I'm sure. And it does seem a pity he should +be thinking about money at his time of life. I took my courage in my +'ands. 'You know, Mr. Timothy,' I said, 'my dear mistress'--that's +Miss Forsyte, Mr. Soames, Miss Ann that trained me--'she never +thought about money,' I said, 'it was all character with her.' He +looked at me, I can't tell you how funny, and he said quite dry: +'Nobody wants my character.' Think of his saying a thing like that! +But sometimes he'll say something as sharp and sensible as anything." + +Soames, who had been staring at an old print by the hat-rack, +thinking, 'That's got value!' murmured: "I'll go up and see him, +Smither." + +"Cook's with him," answered Smither above her corsets; "she will be +pleased to see you." + +He mounted slowly, with the thought: 'Shan't care to live to be that +age.' + +On the second floor, he paused, and tapped. The door was opened, and +he saw the round homely face of a woman about sixty. + +"Mr. Soames!" she said: "Why! Mr. Soames!" + +Soames nodded. "All right, Cook!" and entered. + +Timothy was propped up in bed, with his hands joined before his +chest, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, where a fly was standing +upside down. Soames stood at the foot of the bed, facing him. + +"Uncle Timothy," he said, raising his voice. "Uncle Timothy!" + +Timothy's eyes left the fly, and levelled themselves on his visitor. +Soames could see his pale tongue passing over his darkish lips. + +"Uncle Timothy," he said again, "is there anything I can do for you? +Is there anything you'd like to say?" + +"Ha!" said Timothy. + +"I've come to look you up and see that everything's all right." + +Timothy nodded. He seemed trying to get used to the apparition +before him. + +"Have you got everything you want?" + +"No," said Timothy. + +"Can I get you anything?" + +"No," said Timothy. + +"I'm Soames, you know; your nephew, Soames Forsyte. Your brother +James' son." + +Timothy nodded. + +"I shall be delighted to do anything I can for you." + +Timothy beckoned. Soames went close to him: + +"You--" said Timothy in a voice which seemed to have outlived tone, +"you tell them all from me--you tell them all--" and his finger +tapped on Soames' arm, "to hold on--hold on--Consols are goin' up," +and he nodded thrice. + +"All right!" said Soames; "I will." + +"Yes," said Timothy, and, fixing his eyes again on the ceiling, he +added: "That fly!" + +Strangely moved, Soames looked at the Cook's pleasant fattish face, +all little puckers from staring at fires. + +"That'll do him a world of good, sir," she said. + +A mutter came from Timothy, but he was clearly speaking to himself, +and Soames went out with the cook. + +"I wish I could make you a pink cream, Mr. Soames, like in old days; +you did so relish them. Good-bye, sir; it has been a pleasure." + +"Take care of him, Cook, he is old." + +And, shaking her crumpled hand, he went down-stairs. Smither was +still taking the air in the doorway. + +"What do you think of him, Mr. Soames?" + +"H'm!" Soames murmured: "He's lost touch." + +"Yes," said Smither, "I was afraid you'd think that coming fresh out +of the world to see him like." + +"Smither," said Soames, "we're all indebted to you." + +"Oh, no, Mr. Soames, don't say that! It's a pleasure--he's such a +wonderful man." + +"Well, good-bye!" said Soames, and got into his taxi. + +'Going up!' he thought; 'going up!' + +Reaching the hotel at Knightsbridge he went to their sitting-room, +and rang for tea. Neither of them were in. And again that sense of +loneliness came over him. These hotels. What monstrous great places +they were now! He could remember when there was nothing bigger than +Long's or Brown's, Morley's or the Tavistock, and the heads that were +shaken over the Langham and the Grand. Hotels and Clubs--Clubs and +Hotels; no end to them now! And Soames, who had just been watching +at Lord's a miracle of tradition and continuity, fell into reverie +over the changes in that London where he had been born five-and-sixty +years before. Whether Consols were going up or not, London had +become a terrific property. No such property in the world, unless it +were New York! There was a lot of hysteria in the papers nowadays; +but any one who, like himself, could remember London sixty years ago, +and see it now, realised the fecundity and elasticity of wealth. +They had only to keep their heads, and go at it steadily. Why! he +remembered cobblestones, and stinking straw on the floor of your cab. +And old Timothy--what could be not have told them, if he had kept his +memory! Things were unsettled, people in a funk or in a hurry, but +here were London and the Thames, and out there the British Empire, +and the ends of the earth. "Consols are goin' up!" He should n't be +a bit surprised. It was the breed that counted. And all that was +bull-dogged in Soames stared for a moment out of his grey eyes, till +diverted by the print of a Victorian picture on the walls. The hotel +had bought three dozen of that little lot! The old hunting or +"Rake's Progress" prints in the old inns were worth looking at--but +this sentimental stuff--well, Victorianism had gone! "Tell them to +hold on!" old Timothy had said. But to what were they to hold on in +this modern welter of the "democratic principle"? Why, even privacy +was threatened! And at the thought that privacy might perish, Soames +pushed back his teacup and went to the window. Fancy owning no more +of Nature than the crowd out there owned of the flowers and trees and +waters of Hyde Park! No, no! Private possession underlay everything +worth having. The world had slipped its sanity a bit, as dogs now +and again at full moon slipped theirs and went off for a night's +rabbiting; but the world, like the dog, knew where its bread was +buttered and its bed warm, and would come back sure enough to the +only home worth having--to private ownership. The world was in its +second childhood for the moment, like old Timothy--eating its titbit +first! + +He heard a sound behind him, and saw that his wife and daughter had +come in. + +"So you're back!" he said. + +Fleur did not answer; she stood for a moment looking at him and her +mother, then passed into her bedroom. Annette poured herself out a +cup of tea. + +"I am going to Paris, to my mother, Soames." "Oh! To your mother?" + +"Yes." + +"For how long?" + +"I do not know." + +"And when are you going?" + +"On Monday." + +Was she really going to her mother? Odd, how indifferent he felt! +Odd, how clearly she had perceived the indifference he would feel so +long as there was no scandal. And suddenly between her and himself +he saw distinctly the face he had seen that afternoon--Irene's. + +"Will you want money?" + +"Thank you; I have enough." + +"Very well. Let us know when you are coming back." + +Annette put down the cake she was fingering, and, looking up through +darkened lashes, said: + +"Shall I give Maman any message?" + +"My regards." + +Annette stretched herself, her hands on her waist, and said in +French: + +"What luck that you have never loved me, Soames!" Then rising, she +too left the room. Soames was glad she had spoken it in French--it +seemed to require no dealing with. Again that other face--pale, +dark-eyed, beautiful still! And there stirred far down within him +the ghost of warmth, as from sparks lingering beneath a mound of +flaky ash. And Fleur infatuated with her boy! Queer chance! Yet, +was there such a thing as chance? A man went down a street, a brick +fell on his head. Ah! that was chance, no doubt. But this! +"Inherited," his girl had said. She--she was "holding on"! + + + + + + +PART III + + +I + +OLD JOLYON WALKS + + +Twofold impulse had made Jolyon say to his wife at breakfast +"Let's go up to Lord's!" + +"Wanted"--something to abate the anxiety in which those two had lived +during the sixty hours since Jon had brought Fleur down. "Wanted"-- +too, that which might assuage the pangs of memory in one who knew he +might lose them any day! + +Fifty-eight years ago Jolyon had become an Eton boy, for old Jolyon's +whim had been that he should be canonised at the greatest possible +expense. Year after year he had gone to Lord's from Stanhope Gate +with a father whose youth in the eighteen-twenties had been passed +without polish in the game of cricket. Old Jolyon would speak quite +openly of swipes, full tosses, half and three-quarter balls; and +young Jolyon with the guileless snobbery of youth had trembled lest +his sire should be overheard. Only in this supreme matter of cricket +he had been nervous, for his father--in Crimean whiskers then--had +ever impressed him as the beau ideal. Though never canonised +himself, Old Jolyon's natural fastidiousness and balance had saved +him from the errors of the vulgar. How delicious, after howling in a +top hat and a sweltering heat, to go home with his father in a hansom +cab, bathe, dress, and forth to the "Disunion" Club, to dine off +white bait, cutlets, and a tart, and go--two "swells," old and young, +in lavender kid gloves--to the opera or play. And on Sunday, when +the match was over, and his top hat duly broken, down with his father +in a special hansom to the "Crown and Sceptre," and the terrace above +the river--the golden sixties when the world was simple, dandies +glamorous, Democracy not born, and the books of Whyte Melville coming +thick and fast. + +A generation later, with his own boy, Jolly, Harrow-buttonholed with +corn-flowers--by old Jolyon's whim his grandson had been canonised at +a trifle less expense--again Jolyon had experienced the heat and +counter-passions of the day, and come back to the cool and the +strawberry beds of Robin Hill, and billiards after dinner, his boy +making the most heart-breaking flukes and trying to seem languid and +grown-up. Those two days each year he and his son had been alone +together in the world, one on each side--and Democracy just born! + +And so, he had unearthed a grey top hat, borrowed a tiny bit of +light-blue ribbon from Irene, and gingerly, keeping cool, by car and +train and taxi, had reached Lord's Ground. There, beside her in a +lawn-coloured frock with narrow black edges, he had watched the game, +and felt the old thrill stir within him. + +When Soames passed, the day was spoiled. Irene's face was distorted +by compression of the lips. No good to go on sitting here with +Soames or perhaps his daughter recurring in front of them, like +decimals. And he said: + +"Well, dear, if you've had enough--let's go!" + +That evening Jolyon felt exhausted. Not wanting her to see him thus, +he waited till she had begun to play, and stole off to the little +study. He opened the long window for air, and the door, that he +might still hear her music drifting in; and, settled in his father's +old armchair, closed his eyes, with his head against the worn brown +leather. Like that passage of the Cesar Franck Sonata--so had been +his life with her, a divine third movement. And now this business of +Jon's--this bad business! Drifted to the edge of consciousness, he +hardly knew if it were in sleep that he smelled the scent of a cigar, +and seemed to see his father in the blackness before his closed eyes. +That shape formed, went, and formed again; as if in the very chair +where he himself was sitting, he saw his father, black-coated, with. +knees crossed, glasses balanced between thumb and finger; saw the big +white moustaches, and the deep eyes looking up below a dome of +forehead and seeming to search his own, seeming to speak. "Are you +facing it, Jo? It's for you to decide. She's only a woman!" Ah! +how well he knew his father in that phrase; how all the Victorian Age +came up with it! And his answer "No, I've funked it--funked hurting +her and Jon and myself. I've got a heart; I've funked it." But the +old eyes, so much older, so much younger than his own, kept at it; +"It's your wife, your son; your past. Tackle it, my boy!" Was it a +message from walking spirit; or but the instinct of his sire living +on within him? And again came that scent of cigar smoke-from the old +saturated leather. Well! he would tackle it, write to Jon, and put +the whole thing down in black and white! And suddenly he breathed +with difficulty, with a sense of suffocation, as if his heart were +swollen. He got up and went out into the air. The stars were very +bright. He passed along the terrace round the corner of the house, +till, through the window of the music-room, he could see Irene at the +piano, with lamp-light falling on her powdery hair; withdrawn into +herself she seemed, her dark eyes staring straight before her, her +hands idle. Jolyon saw her raise those hands and clasp them over her +breast. 'It's Jon, with her,' he thought; 'all Jon! I'm dying out of +her--it's natural!' + +And, careful not to be seen, he stole back. + +Next day, after a bad night, he sat down to his task. He wrote with +difficulty and many erasures. + + +"MY DEAREST BOY, + +"You are old enough to understand how very difficult it is for elders +to give themselves away to their young. Especially when--like your +mother and myself, though I shall never think of her as anything but +young--their hearts are altogether set on him to whom they must +confess. I cannot say we are conscious of having sinned exactly-- +people in real life very seldom are, I believe--but most persons +would say we had, and at all events our conduct, righteous or not, +has found us out. The truth is, my dear, we both have pasts, which +it is now my task to make known to you, because they so grievously +and deeply affect your future. Many, very many years ago, as far +back indeed as 1883, when she was only twenty, your mother had the +great and lasting misfortune to make an unhappy marriage--no, not +with me, Jon. Without money of her own, and with only a stepmother-- +closely related to Jezebel--she was very unhappy in her home life. +It was Fleur's father that she married, my cousin Soames Forsyte. He +had pursued her very tenaciously and to do him justice was deeply in +love with her. Within a week she knew the fearful mistake she had +made. It was not his fault; it was her error of judgment--her +misfortune." + +So far Jolyon had kept some semblance of irony, but now his subject +carried him away. + +"Jon, I want to explain to you if I can--and it's very hard--how it +is that an unhappy marriage such as this can so easily come about. +You will of course say: 'If she didn't really love him how could she +ever have married him?' You would be right if it were not for one or +two rather terrible considerations. From this initial mistake of +hers all the subsequent trouble, sorrow, and tragedy have come, and +so I must make it clear to you if I can. You see, Jon, in those days +and even to this day--indeed, I don't see, for all the talk of +enlightenment, how it can well be otherwise--most girls are married +ignorant of the sexual side of life. Even if they know what it means +they have not experienced it. That's the crux. It is this actual +lack of experience, whatever verbal knowledge they have, which makes +all the difference and all the trouble. In a vast number of +marriages-and your mother's was one--girls are not and cannot be +certain whether they love the man they marry or not; they do not know +until after that act of union which makes the reality of marriage. +Now, in many, perhaps in most doubtful cases, this act cements and +strengthens the attachment, but in other cases, and your mother's +was one, it is a revelation of mistake, a destruction of such +attraction as there was. There is nothing more tragic in a woman's +life than such a revelation, growing daily, nightly clearer. +Coarse-grained and unthinking people are apt to laugh at such a +mistake, and say, 'What a fuss about nothing!' Narrow and self- +righteous people, only capable of judging the lives of others by +their own, are apt to condemn those who make this tragic error, to +condemn them for life to the dungeons they have made for themselves. +You know the expression: 'She has made her bed, she must lie on it!' +It is a hard-mouthed saying, quite unworthy of a gentleman or lady in +the best sense of those words; and I can use no stronger +condemnation. I have not been what is called a moral man, but I wish +to use no words to you, my dear, which will make you think lightly of +ties or contracts into which you enter. Heaven forbid! But with the +experience of a life behind me I do say that those who condemn the +victims of these tragic mistakes, condemn them and hold out no hands +to help them, are inhuman, or rather they would be if they had the +understanding to know what they are doing. But they haven't! Let +them go! They are as much anathema to me as I, no doubt, am to them. +I have had to say all this, because I am going to put you into a +position to judge your mother, and you are very young, without +experience of what life is. To go on with the story. After three +years of effort to subdue her shrinking--I was going to say her +loathing and it's not too strong a word, for shrinking soon becomes +loathing under such circumstances--three years of what to a +sensitive, beauty-loving nature like your mother's, Jon, was torment, +she met a young man who fell in love with her. He was the architect +of this very house that we live in now, he was building it for her +and Fleur's father to live in, a new prison to hold her, in place of +the one she inhabited with him in London. Perhaps that fact played +some part in what came of it. But in any case she, too, fell in love +with him. I know it's not necessary to explain to you that one does +not precisely choose with whom one will fall in love. It comes. +Very well! It came. I can imagine--though she never said much to me +about it--the struggle that then took place in her, because, Jon, she +was brought up strictly and was not light in her ideas--not at all. +However, this was an overwhelming feeling, and it came to pass that +they loved in deed as well as in thought. Then came a fearful +tragedy. I must tell you of it because if I don't you will never +understand the real situation that you have now to face. The man +whom she had married--Soames Forsyte, the father of Fleur one night, +at the height of her passion for this young man, forcibly reasserted +his rights over her. The next day she met her lover and told him of +it. Whether he committed suicide or whether he was accidentally run +over in his distraction, we never knew; but so it was. Think of your +mother as she was that evening when she heard of his death. I +happened to see her. Your grandfather sent me to help her if I +could. I only just saw her, before the door was shut against me by +her husband. But I have never forgotten her face, I can see it now. +I was not in love with her then, not for twelve years after, but I +have never for gotten. My dear boy--it is not easy to write like +this. But you see, I must. Your mother is wrapped up in you, +utterly, devotedly. I don't wish to write harshly of Soames Forsyte. +I don't think harshly of him. I have long been sorry for him; +perhaps I was sorry even then. As the world judges she was in error, +he within his rights. He loved her--in his way. She was his +property. That is the view he holds of life--of human feelings and +hearts--property. It's not his fault--so was he born. To me it is a +view that has always been abhorrent--so was I born! Knowing you as I +do, I feel it cannot be otherwise than abhorrent to you. Let me go +on with the story. Your mother fled from his house that night; for +twelve years she lived quietly alone without companionship of any +sort, until in 1899 her husband--you see, he was still her husband, +for he did not attempt to divorce her, and she of course had no right +to divorce him--became conscious, it seems, of the want of children, +and commenced a long attempt to induce her to go back to him and give +him a child. I was her trustee then, under your Grandfather's Will, +and I watched this going on. While watching, I became attached to +her, devotedly attached. His pressure increased, till one day she +came to me here and practically put herself under my protection. Her +husband, who was kept informed of all her movements, attempted to +force us apart by bringing a divorce suit, or possibly he really +meant it, I don't know; but anyway our names were publicly joined. +That decided us, and we became united in fact. She was divorced, +married me, and you were born. We have lived in perfect happiness, +at least I have, and I believe your mother also. Soames, soon after +the divorce, married Fleur's mother, and she was born. That is the +story, Jon. I have told it you, because by the affection which we +see you have formed for this man's daughter you are blindly moving +toward what must utterly destroy your mother's happiness, if not your +own. I don't wish to speak of myself, because at my age there's no +use supposing I shall cumber the ground much longer, besides, what I +should suffer would be mainly on her account, and on yours. But what +I want you to realise is that feelings of horror and aversion such as +those can never be buried or forgotten. They are alive in her to-day. +Only yesterday at Lord's we happened to see Soames Forsyte. Her +face, if you had seen it, would have convinced you. The idea that +you should marry his daughter is a nightmare to her, Jon. I have +nothing to say against Fleur save that she is his daughter. But your +children, if you married her, would be the grandchildren of Soames, +as much as of your mother, of a man who once owned your mother as a +man might own a slave. Think what that would mean. By such a +marriage you enter the camp which held your mother prisoner and +wherein she ate her heart out. You are just on the threshold of +life, you have only known this girl two months, and however deeply +you think you love her, I appeal to you to break it off at once. +Don't give your mother this rankling pain and humiliation during the +rest of her life. Young though she will always seem to me, she is +fifty-seven. Except for us two she has no one in the world. She +will soon have only you. Pluck up your spirit, Jon, and break away. +Don't put this cloud and barrier between you. Don't break her heart! +Bless you, my dear boy, and again forgive me for all the pain this +letter must bring you--we tried to spare it you, but Spain--it seems- +--was no good. + +"Ever your devoted father + +"JOLYON FORSYTE." + + +Having finished his confession, Jolyon sat with a thin cheek on his +hand, re-reading. There were things in it which hurt him so much, +when he thought of Jon reading them, that he nearly tore the letter +up. To speak of such things at all to a boy--his own boy--to speak +of them in relation to his own wife and the boy's own mother, seemed +dreadful to the reticence of his Forsyte soul. And yet without +speaking of them how make Jon understand the reality, the deep +cleavage, the ineffaceable scar? Without them, how justify this +stiffing of the boy's love? He might just as well not write at all! + +He folded the confession, and put it in his pocket. It was--thank +Heaven!--Saturday; he had till Sunday evening to think it over; for +even if posted now it could not reach Jon till Monday. He felt a +curious relief at this delay, and at the fact that, whether sent or +not, it was written. + +In the rose garden, which had taken the place of the old fernery, he +could see Irene snipping and pruning, with a little basket on her +arm. She was never idle, it seemed to him, and he envied her now +that he himself was idle nearly all his time. He went down to her. +She held up a stained glove and smiled. A piece of lace tied under +her chin concealed her hair, and her oval face with its still dark +brows looked very young. + +"The green-fly are awful this year, and yet it's cold. You look +tired, Jolyon." + +Jolyon took the confession from his pocket. "I've been writing this. +I think you ought to see it?" + +"To Jon?" Her whole face had changed, in that instant, becoming +almost haggard. + +"Yes; the murder's out." + +He gave it to her, and walked away among the roses. Presently, +seeing that she had finished reading and was standing quite still +with the sheets of the letter against her skirt, he came back to her. + +"Well?" + +"It's wonderfully put. I don't see how it could be put better. +Thank you, dear." + +"Is there anything you would like left out?" + +She shook her head. + +"No; he must know all, if he's to understand." + +"That's what I thought, but--I hate it!" + +He had the feeling that he hated it more than she--to him sex was so +much easier to mention between man and woman than between man and +man; and she had always been more natural and frank, not deeply +secretive like his Forsyte self. + +"I wonder if he will understand, even now, Jolyon? He's so young; +and he shrinks from the physical." + +"He gets that shrinking from my father, he was as fastidious as a +girl in all such matters. Would it be better to rewrite the whole +thing, and just say you hated Soames?" + +Irene shook her head. + +"Hate's only a word. It conveys nothing. No, better as it is." + +"Very well. It shall go to-morrow." + +She raised her face to his, and in sight of the big house's many +creepered windows, he kissed her. + + + + +II + +CONFESSION + + +Late that same afternoon, Jolyon had a nap in the old armchair. +Face down on his knee was La Rotisserie de la Refine Pedauque, and +just before he fell asleep he had been thinking: 'As a people shall +we ever really like the French? Will they ever really like us!' He +himself had always liked the French, feeling at home with their wit, +their taste, their cooking. Irene and he had paid many visits to +France before the War, when Jon had been at his private school. His +romance with her had begun in Paris--his last and most enduring +romance. But the French--no Englishman could like them who could not +see them in some sort with the detached aesthetic eye! And with that +melancholy conclusion he had nodded off. + +When he woke he saw Jon standing between him and the window. The boy +had evidently come in from the garden and was waiting for him to +wake. Jolyon smiled, still half asleep. How nice the chap looked-- +sensitive, affectionate, straight! Then his heart gave a nasty jump; +and a quaking sensation overcame him. Jon! That confession! He +controlled himself with an effort. "Why, Jon, where did you spring +from?" + +Jon bent over and kissed his forehead. + +Only then he noticed the look on the boy's face. + +"I came home to tell you something, Dad." + +With all his might Jolyon tried to get the better of the jumping, +gurgling sensations within his chest. + +"Well, sit down, old man. Have you seen your mother?" + +"No." The boy's flushed look gave place to pallor; he sat down on +the arm of the old chair, as, in old days, Jolyon himself used to sit +beside his own father, installed in its recesses. Right up to the +time of the rupture in their relations he had been wont to perch +there--had he now reached such a moment with his own son? All his +life he had hated scenes like poison, avoided rows, gone on his own +way quietly and let others go on theirs. But now--it seemed--at the +very end of things, he had a scene before him more painful than any +he had avoided. He drew a visor down over his emotion, and waited +for his son to speak. + +"Father," said Jon slowly, "Fleur and I are engaged." + +'Exactly!' thought Jolyon, breathing with difficulty. + +"I know that you and Mother don't like the idea. Fleur says that +Mother was engaged to her father before you married her. Of course I +don't know what happened, but it must be ages ago. I'm devoted to +her, Dad, and she says she is to me." + +Jolyon uttered a queer sound, half laugh, half groan. + +"You are nineteen, Jon, and I am seventy-two. How are we to +understand each other in a matter like this, eh?" + +"You love Mother, Dad; you must know what we feel. It isn't fair to +us to let old things spoil our happiness, is it?" + +Brought face to face with his confession, Jolyon resolved to do +without it if by any means he could. He laid his hand on the boy's +arm. + +"Look, Jon! I might put you off with talk about your both being too +young and not knowing your own minds, and all that, but you wouldn't +listen, besides, it doesn't meet the case--Youth, unfortunately, +cures itself. You talk lightly about 'old things like that,' knowing +nothing--as you say truly--of what happened. Now, have I ever given +you reason to doubt my love for you, or my word?" + +At a less anxious moment he might have been amused by the conflict +his words aroused--the boy's eager clasp, to reassure him on these +points, the dread on his face of what that reassurance would bring +forth; but he could only feel grateful for the squeeze. + +"Very well, you can believe what I tell you. If you don't give up +this love affair, you will make Mother wretched to the end of her +days. Believe me, my dear, the past, whatever it was, can't be +buried--it can't indeed." + +Jon got off the arm of the chair. + +'The girl'--thought Jolyon--'there she goes--starting up before him-- +life itself--eager, pretty, loving!' + +"I can't, Father; how can I--just because you say that? Of course, I +can't!" + +"Jon, if you knew the story you would give this up without +hesitation; you would have to! Can't you believe me?" + +"How can you tell what I should think? Father, I love her better +than anything in the world." + +Jolyon's face twitched, and he said with painful slowness: + +"Better than your mother, Jon?" + +>From the boy's face, and his clenched fists Jolyon realised the +stress and struggle he was going through. + +"I don't know," he burst out, "I don't know! But to give Fleur up +for nothing--for something I don't understand, for something that I +don't believe can really matter half so much, will make me--make me" + +"Make you feel us unjust, put a barrier--yes. But that's better than +going on with this." + +"I can't. Fleur loves me, and I love her. You want me to trust you; +why don't you trust me, Father? We wouldn't want to know anything-- +we wouldn't let it make any difference. It'll only make us both love +you and Mother all the more." + +Jolyon put his hand into his breast pocket, but brought it out again +empty, and sat, clucking his tongue against his teeth. + +"Think what your mother's been to you, Jon! She has nothing but you; +I shan't last much longer." + +"Why not? It isn't fair to--Why not?" + +"Well," said Jolyon, rather coldly, "because the doctors tell me I +shan't; that's all." + +"Oh, Dad!" cried Jon, and burst into tears. + +This downbreak of his son, whom he had not seen cry since he was ten, +moved Jolyon terribly. He recognised to the full how fearfully soft +the boy's heart was, how much he would suffer in this business, and +in life generally. And he reached out his hand helplessly--not +wishing, indeed not daring to get up. + +"Dear man," he said, "don't--or you'll make me!" + +Jon smothered down his paroxysm, and stood with face averted, very +still. + +'What now?' thought Jolyon. 'What can I say to move him?' + +"By the way, don't speak of that to Mother," he said; "she has enough +to frighten her with this affair of yours. I know how you feel. +But, Jon, you know her and me well enough to be sure we wouldn't wish +to spoil your happiness lightly. Why, my dear boy, we don't care for +anything but your happiness--at least, with me it's just yours and +Mother's and with her just yours. It's all the future for you both +that's at stake." + +Jon turned. His face was deadly pale; his eyes, deep in his head, +seemed to burn. + +"What is it? What is it? Don't keep me like this!" + +Jolyon, who knew that he was beaten, thrust his hand again into his +breast pocket, and sat for a full minute, breathing with difficulty, +his eyes closed. The thought passed through his mind: 'I've had a +good long innings--some pretty bitter moments--this is the worst!' +Then he brought his hand out with the letter, and said with a sort of +fatigue: "Well, Jon, if you hadn't come to-day, I was going to send +you this. I wanted to spare you--I wanted to spare your mother and +myself, but I see it's no good. Read it, and I think I'll go into +the garden." He reached forward to get up. + +Jon, who had taken the letter, said quickly, "No, I'll go"; and was +gone. + +Jolyon sank back in his chair. A blue-bottle chose that moment to +come buzzing round him with a sort of fury; the sound was homely, +better than nothing.... Where had the boy gone to read his letter? +The wretched letter--the wretched story! A cruel business--cruel to +her--to Soames--to those two children--to himself!... His heart +thumped and pained him. Life--its loves--its work--its beauty--its +aching, and--its end! A good time; a fine time in spite of all; +until--you regretted that you had ever been born. Life--it wore you +down, yet did not make you want to die--that was the cunning evil! +Mistake to have a heart! Again the blue-bottle came buzzing-- +bringing in all the heat and hum and scent of summer--yes, even the +scent--as of ripe fruits, dried grasses, sappy shrubs, and the +vanilla breath of cows. And out there somewhere in the fragrance Jon +would be reading that letter, turning and twisting its pages in his +trouble, his bewilderment and trouble--breaking his heart about it! +The thought made Jolyon acutely miserable. Jon was such a tender- +hearted chap, affectionate to his bones, and conscientious, too--it +was so unfair, so damned unfair! He remembered Irene saying to him +once: "Never was any one born more loving and lovable than Jon." +Poor little Jon! His world gone up the spout, all of a summer +afternoon! Youth took things so hard! And stirred, tormented by +that vision of Youth taking things hard, Jolyon got out of his chair, +and went to the window. The boy was nowhere visible. And he passed +out. If one could take any help to him now--one must! + +He traversed the shrubbery, glanced into the walled garden--no Jon! +Nor where the peaches and the apricots were beginning to swell and +colour. He passed the Cupressus trees, dark and spiral, into the +meadow. Where had the boy got to? Had he rushed down to the +coppice--his old hunting-ground? Jolyon crossed the rows of hay. +They would cock it on Monday and be carrying the day after, if rain +held off. Often they had crossed this field together--hand in hand, +when Jon was a little chap. Dash it! The golden age was over by the +time one was ten! He came to the pond, where flies and gnats were +dancing over a bright reedy surface; and on into the coppice. It was +cool there, fragrant of larches. Still no Jon! He called. No +answer! On the log seat he sat down, nervous, anxious, forgetting +his own physical sensations. He had been wrong to let the +boy get away with that letter; he ought to have kept him under his +eye from the start! Greatly troubled, he got up to retrace his +steps. At the farm-buildings he called again, and looked into the +dark cow-house. There in the cool, and the scent of vanilla and +ammonia, away from flies, the three Alderneys were chewing the quiet +cud; just milked, waiting for evening, to be turned out again into +the lower field. One turned a lazy head, a lustrous eye; Jolyon +could see the slobber on its grey lower lip. He saw everything with +passionate clearness, in the agitation of his nerves--all that in his +time he had adored and tried to paint--wonder of light and shade and +colour. No wonder the legend put Christ into a manger--what more +devotional than the eyes and moon-white horns of a chewing cow in the +warm dusk! He called again. No answer! And he hurried away out of +the coppice, past the pond, up the hill. Oddly ironical--now he came +to think of it--if Jon had taken the gruel of his discovery down in +the coppice where his mother and Bosinney in those old days had made +the plunge of acknowledging their love. Where he himself, on the log +seat the Sunday morning he came back from Paris, had realised to the +full that Irene had become the world to him. That would have been +the place for Irony to tear the veil from before the eyes of Irene's +boy! But he was not here! Where had he got to? One must find the +poor chap! + +A gleam of sun had come, sharpening to his hurrying senses all the +beauty of the afternoon, of the tall trees and lengthening shadows, +of the blue, and the white clouds, the scent of the hay, and the +cooing of the pigeons; and the flower shapes standing tall. He came +to the rosery, and the beauty of the roses in that sudden sunlight +seemed to him unearthly. "Rose, you Spaniard!" Wonderful three +words! There she had stood by that bush of dark red roses; had stood +to read and decide that Jon must know it all! He knew all now! Had +she chosen wrong? He bent and sniffed a rose, its petals brushed his +nose and trembling lips; nothing so soft as a rose-leaf's velvet, +except her neck--Irene! On across the lawn he went, up the slope, to +the oak-tree. Its top alone was glistening, for the sudden sun was +away over the house; the lower shade was thick, blessedly cool--he +was greatly overheated. He paused a minute with his hand on the rope +of the swing--Jolly, Holly--Jon! The old swing! And suddenly, he +felt horribly--deadly ill. 'I've over done it!' he thought: 'by +Jove! I've overdone it--after all!' He staggered up toward the +terrace, dragged himself up the steps, and fell against the wall of +the house. He leaned there gasping, his face buried in the honey- +suckle that he and she had taken such trouble with that it might +sweeten the air which drifted in. Its fragrance mingled with awful +pain. 'My love!' he thought; 'the boy!' And with a great effort he +tottered in through the long window, and sank into old Jolyon's +chair. The book was there, a pencil in it; he caught it up, +scribbled a word on the open page.... His hand dropped.... So it +was like this--was it?... + +There was a great wrench; and darkness.... + + + + +III + +IRENE + + +When Jon rushed away with the letter in his hand, he ran along the +terrace and round the corner of the house, in fear and confusion. +Leaning against the creepered wall he tore open the letter. It was +long--very long! This added to his fear, and he began reading. When +he came to the words: "It was Fleur's father that she married," +everything seemed to spin before him. He was close to a window, and +entering by it, he passed, through music-room and hall, up to his +bedroom. Dipping his face in cold water, he sat on his bed, and went +on reading, dropping each finished page on the bed beside him. His +father's writing was easy to read--he knew it so well, though he had +never had a letter from him one quarter so long. He read with a dull +feeling--imagination only half at work. He best grasped, on that +first reading, the pain his father must have had in writing such a +letter. He let the last sheet fall, and in a sort of mental, moral +helplessness began to read the first again. It all seemed to him +disgusting--dead and disgusting. Then, suddenly, a hot wave of +horrified emotion tingled through him. He buried his face in his +hands. His mother! Fleur's father! He took up the letter again, +and read on mechanically. And again came the feeling that it was all +dead and disgusting; his own love so different! This letter said his +mother--and her father! An awful letter! + +Property! Could there be men who looked on women as their property? +Faces seen in street and countryside came thronging up before him-- +red, stock-fish faces; hard, dull faces; prim, dry faces; violent +faces; hundreds, thousands of them! How could he know what men who +had such faces thought and did? He held his head in his hands and +groaned. His mother! He caught up the letter and read on again: +"horror and aversion-alive in her to-day.... your children.... +grandchildren.... of a man who once owned your mother as a man might +own a slave...." He got up from his bed. This cruel shadowy past, +lurking there to murder his love and Fleur's, was true, or his father +could never have written it. 'Why didn't they tell me the first +thing,' he thought, 'the day I first saw Fleur? They knew "I'd seen +her. They were afraid, and--now--I've--got it!' Overcome by misery +too acute for thought or reason, he crept into a dusky corner of the +room and sat down on the floor. He sat there, like some unhappy +little animal. There was comfort in dusk, and the floor--as if he +were back in those days when he played his battles sprawling all over +it. He sat there huddled, his hair ruffled, his hands clasped round +his knees, for how long he did not know. He was wrenched from his +blank wretchedness by the sound of the door opening from his mother's +room. The blinds were down over the windows of his room, shut up in +his absence, and from where he sat he could only hear a rustle, her +footsteps crossing, till beyond the bed he saw her standing before +his dressing-table. She had something in her hand. He hardly +breathed, hoping she would not see him, and go away. He saw her +touch things on the table as if they had some virtue in them, then +face the window-grey from head to foot like a ghost. The least turn +of her head, and she must see him! Her lips moved: "Oh! Jon!" She +was speaking to herself; the tone of her voice troubled Jon's heart. +He saw in her hand a little photograph. She held it toward the +light, looking at it--very small. He knew it--one of himself as a +tiny boy, which she always kept in her bag. His heart beat fast. +And, suddenly as if she had heard it, she turned her eyes and saw +him. At the gasp she gave, and the movement of her hands pressing +the photograph against her breast, he said: + +"Yes, it's me." + +She moved over to the bed, and sat down on it, quite close to him, +her hands still clasping her breast, her feet among the sheets of the +letter which had slipped to the floor. She saw them, and her hands +grasped the edge of the bed. She sat very upright, her dark eyes +fixed on him. At last she spoke. + +"Well, Jon, you know, I see." + +"Yes." + +"You've seen Father?" + +"Yes." + +There was a long silence, till she said: + +"Oh! my darling!" + +"It's all right." The emotions in him were so, violent and so mixed +that he dared not move--resentment, despair, and yet a strange +yearning for the comfort of her hand on his forehead. + +"What are you going to do?" + +"I don't know." + +There was another long silence, then she got up. She stood a moment, +very still, made a little movement with her hand, and said: "My +darling boy, my most darling boy, don't think of me--think of +yourself," and, passing round the foot of the bed, went back into her +room. + +Jon turned--curled into a sort of ball, as might a hedgehog--into the +corner made by the two walls. + +He must have been twenty minutes there before a cry roused him. It +came from the terrace below. He got up, scared. Again came the cry: +"Jon!" His mother was calling! He ran out and down the stairs, +through the empty dining-room into the study. She was kneeling +before the old armchair, and his father was lying back quite white, +his head on his breast, one of his hands resting on an open book, +with a pencil clutched in it--more strangely still than anything he +had ever seen. She looked round wildly, and said: + +"Oh! Jon--he's dead--he's dead!" + +Jon flung himself down, and reaching over the arm of the chair, where +he had lately been sitting, put his lips to the forehead. Icy cold! +How could--how could Dad be dead, when only an hour ago--! His +mother's arms were round the knees; pressing her breast against them. +"Why--why wasn't I with him?" he heard her whisper. Then he saw the +tottering word "Irene" pencilled on the open page, and broke down +himself. It was his first sight of human death, and its unutterable +stillness blotted from him all other emotion; all else, then, was but +preliminary to this! All love and life, and joy, anxiety, and +sorrow, all movement, light and beauty, but a beginning to this +terrible white stillness. It made a dreadful mark on him; all seemed +suddenly little, futile, short. He mastered himself at last, got up, +and raised her. + +"Mother! don't cry--Mother!" + +Some hours later, when all was done that had to be, and his mother +was lying down, he saw his father alone, on the bed, covered with a +white sheet. He stood for a long time gazing at that face which had +never looked angry--always whimsical, and kind. "To be kind and keep +your end up--there's nothing else in it," he had once heard his +father say. How wonderfully Dad had acted up to that philosophy! He +understood now that his father had known for a long time past that +this would come suddenly--known, and not said a word. He gazed with +an awed and passionate reverence. The loneliness of it--just to +spare his mother and himself! His own trouble seemed small while he +was looking at that face. The word scribbled on the page! The +farewell word! Now his mother had no one but himself! He went up +close to the dead face--not changed at all, and yet completely +changed. He had heard his father say once that he did not believe in +consciousness surviving death, or that if it did it might be just +survival till the natural age limit of the body had been reached--the +natural term of its inherent vitality; so that if the body were +broken by accident, excess, violent disease, consciousness might +still persist till, in the course of Nature uninterfered with, it +would naturally have faded out. It had struck him because he had +never heard any one else suggest it. When the heart failed like +this--surely it was not quite natural! Perhaps his father's +consciousness was in the room with him. Above the bed hung a picture +of his father's father. Perhaps his consciousness, too, was still +alive; and his brother's--his half-brother, who had died in the +Transvaal. Were they all gathered round this bed? Jon kissed the +forehead, and stole back to his own room. The door between it and +his mother's was ajar; she had evidently been in--everything was +ready for him, even some biscuits and hot milk, and the letter no +longer on the floor. He ate and drank, watching the last light fade. +He did not try to see into the future--just stared at the dark +branches of the oak-tree, level with his window, and felt as if life +had stopped. Once in the night, turning in his heavy sleep, he was +conscious of something white and still, beside his bed, and started +up. + +His mother's voice said: + +"It's only I, Jon dear!" Her hand pressed his forehead gently back; +her white figure disappeared. + +Alone! He fell heavily asleep again, and dreamed he saw his mother's +name crawling on his bed. + + + + +IV + +SOAMES COGITATES + + +The announcement in The Times of his cousin Jolyon's death affected +Soames quite simply. So that chap was gone! There had never been a +time in their two lives when love had not been lost between them. +That quick-blooded sentiment hatred had run its course long since in +Soames' heart, and he had refused to allow any recrudescence, but he +considered this early decease a piece of poetic justice. For twenty +years the fellow had enjoyed the reversion of his wife and house, +and--he was dead! The obituary notice, which appeared a little +later, paid Jolyon--he thought--too much attention. It spoke of that +"diligent and agreeable painter whose work we have come to look on as +typical of the best late-Victorian water-colour art." Soames, who +had almost mechanically preferred Mole, Morpin, and Caswell Baye, and +had always sniffed quite audibly when he came to one of his cousin's +on the line, turned The Times with a crackle. + +He had to go up to Town that morning on Forsyte affairs, and was +fully conscious of Gradman's glance sidelong over his spectacles. +The old clerk had about him an aura of regretful congratulation. He +smelled, as it were, of old days. One could almost hear him +thinking: "Mr. Jolyon, ye-es--just my age, and gone--dear, dear! I +dare say she feels it. She was a mice-lookin' woman. Flesh is +flesh! They've given 'im a notice in the papers. Fancy!" His +atmosphere in fact caused Soames to handle certain leases and +conversions with exceptional swiftness. + +"About that settlement on Miss Fleur, Mr. Soames?" + +"I've thought better of that," answered Soames shortly. + +"Ah! I'm glad of that. I thought you were a little hasty. The +times do change." + +How this death would affect Fleur had begun to trouble Soames. He +was not certain that she knew of it--she seldom looked at the paper, +never at the births, marriages, and deaths. + +He pressed matters on, and made his way to Green Street for lunch. +Winifred was almost doleful. Jack Cardigan had broken a splashboard, +so far as one could make out, and would not be "fit" for some time. +She could not get used to the idea. + +"Did Profond ever get off?" he said suddenly. + +"He got off," replied Winifred, "but where--I don't know." + +Yes, there it was--impossible to tell anything! Not that he wanted +to know. Letters from Annette were coming from Dieppe, where she and +her mother were staying. + +"You saw that fellow's death, I suppose?" + +"Yes," said Winifred. "I'm sorry for--for his children. He was very +amiable." Soames uttered a rather queer sound. A suspicion of the +old deep truth--that men were judged in this world rather by what +they were than by what they did--crept and knocked resentfully at the +back doors of his mind. + +"I know there was a superstition to that effect," he muttered. + +"One must do him justice now he's dead." + +"I should like to have done him justice before," said Soames; "but I +never had the chance. Have you got a 'Baronetage' here?" + +"Yes; in that bottom row." + +Soames took out a fat red book, and ran over the leaves. + +"Mont-Sir Lawrence, 9th Bt., cr. 1620, e. s. of Geoffrey, 8th Bt., +and Lavinia, daur. of Sir Charles Muskham, Bt., of Muskham Hall, +Shrops: marr. 1890 Emily, daur. of Conway Charwell, Esq., of +Condaford Grange, co. Oxon; 1 son, heir Michael Conway, b. 1895, 2 +daurs. Residence: Lippinghall Manor, Folwell, Bucks. Clubs: Snooks': +Coffee House: Aeroplane. See BidIicott." + +"H'm!" he said. "Did you ever know a publisher?" + +"Uncle Timothy." + +"Alive, I mean." + +"Monty knew one at his Club. He brought him here to dinner once. +Monty was always thinking of writing a book, you know, about how to +make money on the turf. He tried to interest that man." + +"Well?" + +"He put him on to a horse--for the Two Thousand. We didn't see him +again. He was rather smart, if I remember." + +"Did it win?" + +"No; it ran last, I think. You know Monty really was quite clever in +his way." + +"Was he?" said Soames. "Can you see any connection between a sucking +baronet and publishing?" + +"People do all sorts of things nowadays," replied Winifred. "The +great stunt seems not to be idle--so different from our time. To do +nothing was the thing then. But I suppose it'll come again." + +"This young Mont that I'm speaking of is very sweet on Fleur. If it +would put an end to that other affair I might encourage it." + +"Has he got style?" asked Winifred. + +"He's no beauty; pleasant enough, with some scattered brains. +There's a good deal of land, I believe. He seems genuinely attached. +But I don't know." + +"No," murmured Winifred; "it's--very difficult. I always found it +best to do nothing. It is such a bore about Jack; now we shan't get +away till after Bank Holiday. Well, the people are always amusing, I +shall go into the Park and watch them." + +"If I were you," said Soames, "I should have a country cottage, and +be out of the way of holidays and strikes when you want." + +"The country bores me," answered Winifred, "and I found the railway +strike quite exciting." + +Winifred had always been noted for sang-froid. + +Soames took his leave. All the way down to Reading he debated +whether he should tell Fleur of that boy's father's death. It did +not alter the situation except that he would be independent now, and +only have his mother's opposition to encounter. He would come into a +lot of money, no doubt, and perhaps the house--the house built for +Irene and himself--the house whose architect had wrought his domestic +ruin. His daughter--mistress of that house! That would be poetic +justice! Soames uttered a little mirthless laugh. He had designed +that house to re-establish his failing union, meant it for the seat +of his descendants, if he could have induced Irene to give him one! +Her son and Fleur! Their children would be, in some sort, offspring +of the union between himself and her! + +The theatricality in that thought was repulsive to his sober sense. +And yet--it would be the easiest and wealthiest way out of the +impasse, now that Jolyon was gone. The juncture of two Forsyte +fortunes had a kind of conservative charm. And she--Irene-would be +linked to him once more. Nonsense! Absurd! He put the notion from +his head. + +On arriving home he heard the click of billiard-balls, and through +the window saw young Mont sprawling over the table. Fleur, with her +cue akimbo, was watching with a smile. How pretty she looked! No +wonder that young fellow was out of his mind about her. A title-- +land! There was little enough in land, these days; perhaps less in a +title. The old Forsytes had always had a kind of contempt for +titles, rather remote and artificial things--not worth the money they +cost, and having to do with the Court. They had all had that feeling +in differing measure--Soames remembered. Swithin, indeed, in his +most expansive days had once attended a Levee. He had come away +saying he shouldn't go again--"all that small fry." It was suspected +that he had looked too big in knee-breeches. Soames remembered how +his own mother had wished to be presented because of the fashionable +nature of the performance, and how his father had put his foot down +with unwonted decision. What did she want with that peacocking-- +wasting time and money; there was nothing in it! + +The instinct which had made and kept the English Commons the chief +power in the State, a feeling that their own world was good enough +and a little better than any other because it was their world, had +kept the old Forsytes singularly free of "flummery," as Nicholas had +been wont to call it when he had the gout. Soames' generation, more +self-conscious and ironical, had been saved by a sense of Swithin in +knee-breeches. While the third and the fourth generation, as it +seemed to him, laughed at everything. + +However, there was no harm in the young fellow's being heir to a +title and estate--a thing one couldn't help. He entered quietly, as +Mont missed his shot. He noted the young man's eyes, fixed on Fleur +bending over in her turn; and the adoration in them almost touched +him. + +She paused with the cue poised on the bridge of her slim hand, and +shook her crop of short dark chestnut hair. + +"I shall never do it." + +"'Nothing venture.'" + +"All right." The cue struck, the ball rolled. "There!" + +"Bad luck! Never mind!" + +Then they saw him, and Soames said: + +"I'll mark for you." + +He sat down on the raised seat beneath the marker, trim and tired, +furtively studying those two young faces. When the game was over +Mont came up to him. + +"I've started in, sir. Rum game, business, isn't it? I suppose you +saw a lot of human nature as a solicitor." + +"I did." + +"Shall I tell you what I've noticed: People are quite on the wrong +tack in offering less than they can afford to give; they ought to +offer more, and work backward." + +Soames raised his eyebrows. + +"Suppose the more is accepted?" + +"That doesn't matter a little bit," said Mont; "it's much more paying +to abate a price than to increase it. For instance, say we offer an +author good terms--he naturally takes them. Then we go into it, find +we can't publish at a decent profit and tell him so. He's got +confidence in us because we've been generous to him, and he comes +down like a lamb, and bears us no malice. But if we offer him poor +terms at the start, he doesn't take them, so we have to advance them +to get him, and he thinks us damned screws into the bargain. + +"Try buying pictures on that system," said Soames; "an offer accepted +is a contract--haven't you learned that?" + +Young Mont turned his head to where Fleur was standing in the window. + +"No," he said, "I wish I had. Then there's another thing. Always +let a man off a bargain if he wants to be let off." + +"As advertisement?" said Soames dryly. + +"Of course it is; but I meant on principle." + +"Does your firm work on those lines?" + +"Not yet," said Mont, "but it'll come." + +"And they will go." + +"No, really, sir. I'm making any number of observations, and they +all confirm my theory. Human nature is consistently underrated in +business, people do themselves out of an awful lot of pleasure and +profit by that. Of course, you must be perfectly genuine and open, +but that's easy if you feel it. The more human and generous you are +the better chance you've got in business." + +Soames rose. + +"Are you a partner?" + +"Not for six months, yet." + +"The rest of the firm had better make haste and retire." + +Mont laughed. + +"You'll see," he said. "There's going to be a big change. The +possessive principle has got its shutters up." + +"What?" said Soames. + +"The house is to let! Good-bye, sir; I'm off now." + +Soames watched his daughter give her hand, saw her wince at the +squeeze it received, and distinctly heard the young man's sigh as he +passed out. Then she came from the window, trailing her finger along +the mahogany edge of the billiard-table. Watching her, Soames knew +that she was going to ask him something. Her finger felt round the +last pocket, and she looked up. + +"Have you done anything to stop Jon writing to me, Father?" + +Soames shook his head. + +"You haven't seen, then?" he said. "His father died just a week ago +to-day." + +"Oh!" + +In her startled, frowning face he saw the instant struggle to +apprehend what this would mean. + +"Poor Jon! Why didn't you tell me, Father?" + +"I never know!" said Soames slowly; "you don't confide in me." + +"I would, if you'd help me, dear." + +"Perhaps I shall." + +Fleur clasped her hands. "Oh! darling--when one wants a thing +fearfully, one doesn't think of other people. Don't be angry with +me." + +Soames put out his hand, as if pushing away an aspersion. + +"I'm cogitating," he said. What on earth had made him use a word +like that! "Has young Mont been bothering you again?" + +Fleur smiled. "Oh! Michael! He's always bothering; but he's such a +good sort--I don't mind him." + +"Well," said Soames, "I'm tired; I shall go and have a nap before +dinner." + +He went up to his picture-gallery, lay down on the couch there, and +closed his eyes. A terrible responsibility this girl of his--whose +mother was--ah! what was she? A terrible responsibility! Help her-- +how could he help her? He could not alter the fact that he was her +father. Or that Irene--! What was it young Mont had said--some +nonsense about the possessive instinct--shutters up--To let? Silly! + +The sultry air, charged with a scent of meadow-sweet, of river and +roses, closed on his senses, drowsing them. + + + + +V + +THE FIXED IDEA + + +"The fixed idea," which has outrun more constables than any other form +of human disorder, has never more speed and stamina than when it +takes the avid guise of love. To hedges and ditches, and doors, to +humans without ideas fixed or otherwise, to perambulators and the +contents sucking their fixed ideas, even to the other sufferers from +this fast malady--the fixed idea of love pays no attention. It runs +with eyes turned inward to its own light, oblivious of all other +stars. Those with the fixed ideas that human happiness depends on +their art, on vivisecting dogs, on hating foreigners, on paying +supertax, on remaining Ministers, on making wheels go round, on +preventing their neighbours from being divorced, on conscientious +objection, Greek roots, Church dogma, paradox and superiority to +everybody else, with other forms of ego-mania--all are unstable +compared with him or her whose fixed idea is the possession of some +her or him. And though Fleur, those chilly summer days, pursued the +scattered life of a little Forsyte whose frocks are paid for, and +whose business is pleasure, she was--as Winifred would have said in +the latest fashion of speech--"honest to God" indifferent to it all. +She wished and wished for the moon, which sailed in cold skies above +the river or the Green Park when she went to Town. She even kept +Jon's letters, covered with pink silk, on her heart, than which in +days when corsets were so low, sentiment so despised, and chests so +out of fashion, there could, perhaps, have been no greater proof of +the fixity of her idea. + +After hearing of his father's death, she wrote to Jon, and received +his answer three days later on her return from a river picnic. It +was his first letter since their meeting at June's. She opened it +with misgiving, and read it with dismay. + +"Since I saw you I've heard everything about the past. I won't tell +it you--I think you knew when we met at June's. She says you did. +If you did, Fleur, you ought to have told me. I expect you only +heard your father's side of it. I have heard my mother's. It's +dreadful. Now that she's so sad I can't do anything to hurt her +more. Of course, I long for you all day, but I don't believe now +that we shall ever come together--there's something too strong +pulling us apart." + +So! Her deception had found her out. But Jon--she felt--had +forgiven that. It was what he said of his mother which caused the +guttering in her heart and the weak sensation in her legs. + +Her first impulse was to reply--her second, not to reply. These +impulses were constantly renewed in the days which followed, while +desperation grew within her. She was not her father's child for +nothing. The tenacity which had at once made and undone Soames was +her backbone, too, frilled and embroidered by French grace and +quickness. Instinctively she conjugated the verb "to have" always +with the pronoun "I." She concealed, however, all signs of her +growing desperation, and pursued such river pleasures as the winds +and rain of a disagreeable July permitted, as if she had no care in +the world; nor did any "sucking baronet" ever neglect the business of +a publisher more consistently than her attendant spirit, Michael +Mont. + +To Soames she was a puzzle. He was almost deceived by this careless +gaiety. Almost--because he did not fail to mark her eyes often fixed +on nothing, and the film of light shining from her bedroom window +late at night. What was she thinking and brooding over into small +hours when she ought to have been asleep? But he dared not ask what +was in her mind; and, since that one little talk in the billiard- +room, she said nothing to him. + +In this taciturn condition of affairs it chanced that Winifred +invited them to lunch and to go afterward to "a most amusing little +play, 'The Beggar's Opera'" and would they bring a man to make four? +Soames, whose attitude toward theatres was to go to nothing, +accepted, because Fleur's attitude was to go to everything. They +motored up, taking Michael Mont, who, being in his seventh heaven, +was found by Winifred "very amusing." "The Beggar's Opera" puzzled +Soames. The people were very unpleasant, the whole thing very +cynical. Winifred was "intrigued"--by the dresses. The music, too, +did not displease her. At the Opera, the night before, she had +arrived too early for the Russian Ballet, and found the stage +occupied by singers, for a whole hour pale or apoplectic from terror +lest by some dreadful inadvertence they might drop into a tune. +Michael Mont was enraptured with the whole thing. And all three +wondered what Fleur was thinking of it. But Fleur was not thinking +of it. Her fixed idea stood on the stage and sang with Polly +Peachum, mimed with Filch, danced with Jenny Diver, postured with +Lucy Lockit, kissed, trolled, and cuddled with Macheath. Her lips +might smile, her hands applaud, but the comic old masterpiece made no +more impression on her than if it had been pathetic, like a modern +"Revue." When they embarked in the car to return, she ached because +Jon was not sitting next her instead of Michael Mont. When, at some +jolt, the young man's arm touched hers as if by accident, she only +thought: 'If that were Jon's arm!' When his cheerful voice, tempered +by her proximity, murmured above the sound of the car's progress, she +smiled and answered, thinking: 'If that were Jon's voice!' and when +once he said, "Fleur, you look a perfect angel in that dress!" she +answered, "Oh, do you like it? thinking, 'If only Jon could see it!' + +During this drive she took a resolution. She would go to Robin Hill +and see him--alone; she would take the car, without word beforehand +to him or to her father. It was nine days since his letter, and she +could wait no longer. On Monday she would go! The decision made her +well disposed toward young Mont. With something to look forward to +she could afford to tolerate and respond. He might stay to dinner; +propose to her as usual; dance with her, press her hand, sigh--do +what he liked. He was only a nuisance when he interfered with her +fixed idea. She was even sorry for him so far as it was possible to +be sorry for anybody but herself just now. At dinner he seemed to +talk more wildly than usual about what he called "the death of the +close borough"--she paid little attention, but her father seemed +paying a good deal, with the smile on his face which meant +opposition, if not anger. + +"The younger generation doesn't think as you do, sir; does it, +Fleur?" + +Fleur shrugged her shoulders--the younger generation was just Jon, +and she did not know what he was thinking. + +"Young people will think as I do when they're my age, Mr. Mont. +Human nature doesn't change." + +"I admit that, sir; but the forms of thought change with the times. +The pursuit of self-interest is a form of thought that's going out." + +"Indeed! To mind one's own business is not a form of thought, Mr. +Mont, it's an instinct." + +Yes, when Jon was the business! + +"But what is one's business, sir? That's the point. Everybody's +business is going to be one's business. Isn't it, Fleur?" + +Fleur only smiled. + +"If not," added young Mont, "there'll be blood." + +"People have talked like that from time immemorial" + +"But you'll admit, sir, that the sense of property is dying out?" + +"I should say increasing among those who have none." + +"Well, look at me! I'm heir to an entailed estate. I don't want the +thing; I'd cut the entail to-morrow." + +"You're not married, and you don't know what you're talking about." + +Fleur saw the young man's eyes turn rather piteously upon her. + +"Do you really mean that marriage--?" he began. + +"Society is built on marriage," came from between her father's close +lips; "marriage and its consequences. Do you want to do away with +it?" + +Young Mont made a distracted gesture. Silence brooded over the +dinner table, covered with spoons bearing the Forsyte crest--a +pheasant proper--under the electric light in an alabaster globe. And +outside, the river evening darkened, charged with heavy moisture and +sweet scents. + +'Monday,' thought Fleur; 'Monday!' + + + + +VI + +DESPERATE + + +The weeks which followed the death of his father were sad and empty +to the only Jolyon Forsyte left. The necessary forms and ceremonies- +-the reading of the Will, valuation of the estate, distribution of +the legacies--were enacted over the head, as it were, of one not yet +of age. Jolyon was cremated. By his special wish no one attended +that ceremony, or wore black for him. The succession of his +property, controlled to some extent by old Jolyon's Will, left his +widow in possession of Robin Hill, with two thousand five hundred +pounds a year for life. Apart from this the two Wills worked +together in some complicated way to insure that each of Jolyon's +three children should have an equal share in their grandfather's and +father's property in the future as in the present, save only that +Jon, by virtue of his sex, would have control of his capital when he +was twenty-one, while June and Holly would only have the spirit of +theirs, in order that their children might have the body after them. +If they had no children, it would all come to Jon if he outlived +them; and since June was fifty, and Holly nearly forty, it was +considered in Lincoln's Inn Fields that but for the cruelty of income +tax, young Jon would be as warm a man as his grandfather when he +died. All this was nothing to Jon, and little enough to his mother. +It was June who did everything needful for one who had left his +affairs in perfect order. When she had gone, and those two were +alone again in the great house, alone with death drawing them +together, and love driving them apart, Jon passed very painful days +secretly disgusted and disappointed with himself. His mother would +look at him with such a patient sadness which yet had in it an +instinctive pride, as if she were reserving her defence. If she +smiled he was angry that his answering smile should be so grudging +and unnatural. He did not judge or condemn her; that was all too +remote--indeed, the idea of doing so had never come to him. No! he +was grudging and unnatural because he couldn't have what he wanted be +cause of her. There was one alleviation--much to do in connection +with his father's career, which could not be safely entrusted to +June, though she had offered to undertake it. Both Jon and his +mother had felt that if she took his portfolios, unexhibited drawings +and unfinished matter, away with her, the work would encounter such +icy blasts from Paul Post and other frequenters of her studio, that +it would soon be frozen out even of her warm heart. On its old- +fashioned plane and of its kind the work was good, and they could not +bear the thought of its subjection to ridicule. A one-man exhibition +of his work was the least testimony they could pay to one they had +loved; and on preparation for this they spent many hours together. +Jon came to have a curiously increased respect for his father. The +quiet tenacity with which he had converted a mediocre talent into +something really individual was disclosed by these researches. There +was a great mass of work with a rare continuity of growth in depth +and reach of vision. Nothing certainly went very deep, or reached +very high--but such as the work was, it was thorough, conscientious, +and complete. And, remembering his father's utter absence of "side" +or self-assertion, the chaffing humility with which he had always +spoken of his own efforts, ever calling himself "an amateur," Jon +could not help feeling that he had never really known his father. To + take himself seriously, yet never bore others by letting them know +that he did so, seemed to have been his ruling principle. There was +something in this which appealed to the boy, and made him heartily +endorse his mother's comment: "He had true refinement; he couldn't +help thinking of others, whatever he did. And when he took a +resolution which went counter, he did it with the minimum of +defiance--not like the Age, is it? Twice in his life he had to go +against everything; and yet it never made him bitter." Jon saw tears +running down her face, which she at once turned away from him. She +was so quiet about her loss that sometimes he had thought she didn't +feel it much. Now, as he looked at her, he felt how far he fell +short of the reserve power and dignity in both his father and his +mother. And, stealing up to her, he put his arm round her waist. +She kissed him swiftly, but with a sort of passion, and went out of +the room. + +The studio, where they had been sorting and labelling, had once been +Holly's schoolroom, devoted to her silkworms, dried lavender, music, +and other forms of instruction. Now, at the end of July, despite its +northern and eastern aspects, a warm and slumberous air came in +between the long-faded lilac linen curtains. To redeem a little the +departed glory, as of a field that is golden and gone, clinging to a +room which its master has left, Irene had placed on the paint-stained +table a bowl of red roses. This, and Jolyon's favourite cat, who +still clung to the deserted habitat, were the pleasant spots in that +dishevelled, sad workroom. Jon, at the north window, sniffing air +mysteriously scented with warm strawberries, heard a car drive up. +The lawyers again about some nonsense! Why did that scent so make +one ache? And where did it come from--there were no strawberry beds +on this side of the house. Instinctively he took a crumpled sheet of +paper from his pocket, and wrote down some broken words. A warmth +began spreading in his chest; he rubbed the palms of his hands +together. Presently he had jotted this: + +"If I could make a little song +A little song to soothe my heart! +I'd make it all of little things +The plash of water, rub of wings, +The puffing-off of dandies crown, +The hiss of raindrop spilling down, +The purr of cat, the trill of bird, +And ev'ry whispering I've heard +>From willy wind in leaves and grass, +And all the distant drones that pass. +A song as tender and as light +As flower, or butterfly in flight; +And when I saw it opening, +I'd let it fly and sing!" + +He was still muttering it over to himself at the window, when he +heard his name called, and, turning round, saw Fleur. At that +amazing apparition, he made at first no movement and no sound, while +her clear vivid glance ravished his heart. Then he went forward to +the table, saying, "How nice of you to come!" and saw her flinch as +if he had thrown something at her. + +"I asked for you," she said, "and they showed me up here. But I can +go away again." + +Jon clutched the paint-stained table. Her face and figure in its +frilly frock photographed itself with such startling vividness upon +his eyes, that if she had sunk through the floor he must still have +seen her. + +"I know I told you a lie, Jon. But I told it out of love." + +"Yes, oh! yes! That's nothing!" + +"I didn't answer your letter. What was the use--there wasn't +anything to answer. I wanted to see you instead." She held out both +her hands, and Jon grasped them across the table. He tried to say +something, but all his attention was given to trying not to hurt her +hands. His own felt so hard and hers so soft. She said almost +defiantly: + +"That old story--was it so very dreadful?" + +"Yes." In his voice, too, there was a note of defiance. + +She dragged her hands away. "I didn't think in these days boys were +tied to their mothers' apron-strings." + +Jon's chin went up as if he had been struck. + +"Oh! I didn't mean it, Jon. What a horrible thing to say!" Swiftly +she came close to him. "Jon, dear; I didn't mean it." + +"All right." + +She had put her two hands on his shoulder, and her forehead down on +them; the brim of her hat touched his neck, and he felt it quivering. +But, in a sort of paralysis, he made no response. She let go of his +shoulder and drew away. + +"Well, I'll go, if you don't want me. But I never thought you'd have +given me up." + +"I haven't," cried Jon, coming suddenly to life. "I can't. I'll try +again." + +Her eyes gleamed, she swayed toward him. "Jon--I love you! Don't +give me up! If you do, I don't know what--I feel so desperate. What +does it matter--all that past-compared with this?" + +She clung to him. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. But +while he kissed her he saw, the sheets of that letter fallen down on +the floor of his bedroom--his father's white dead face--his mother +kneeling before it. Fleur's whispered, "Make her! Promise! Oh! Jon, +try!" seemed childish in his ear. He felt curiously old. + +"I promise!" he muttered. "Only, you don't understand." + +"She wants to spoil our lives, just because--" + +"Yes, of what?" + +Again that challenge in his voice, and she did not answer. Her arms +tightened round him, and he returned her kisses; but even while he +yielded, the poison worked in him, the poison of the letter. Fleur +did not know, she did not understand--she misjudged his mother; she +came from the enemy's camp! So lovely, and he loved her so--yet, +even in her embrace, he could not help the memory of Holly's words: +"I think she has a 'having' nature," and his mother's "My darling +boy, don't think of me--think of yourself!" + +When she was gone like a passionate dream, leaving her image on his +eyes, her kisses on his lips, such an ache in his heart, Jon leaned +in the window, listening to the car bearing her away. Still the +scent as of warm strawberries, still the little summer sounds that +should make his song; still all the promise of youth and happiness in +sighing, floating, fluttering July--and his heart torn; yearning +strong in him; hope high in him yet with its eyes cast down, as if +ashamed. The miserable task before him! If Fleur was desperate, so +was he--watching the poplars swaying, the white clouds passing, the +sunlight on the grass. + +He waited till evening, till after their almost silent dinner, till +his mother had played to him and still he waited, feeling that she +knew what he was waiting to say. She kissed him and went up-stairs, +and still he lingered, watching the moonlight and the moths, and that +unreality of colouring which steals along and stains a summer night. +And he would have given anything to be back again in the past--barely +three months back; or away forward, years, in the future. The +present with this dark cruelty of a decision, one way or the other, +seemed impossible. He realised now so much more keenly what his +mother felt than he had at first; as if the story in that letter had +been a poisonous germ producing a kind of fever of partisanship, so +that he really felt there were two camps, his mother's and his-- +Fleur's and her father's. It might be a dead thing, that old tragic +ownership and enmity, but dead things were poisonous till time had +cleaned them away. Even his love felt tainted, less illusioned, more +of the earth, and with a treacherous lurking doubt lest Fleur, like +her father, might want to own; not articulate, just a stealing haunt, +horribly unworthy, which crept in and about the ardour of his +memories, touched with its tarnishing breath the vividness and grace +of that charmed face and figure--a doubt, not real enough to convince +him of its presence, just real enough to deflower a perfect faith. +And perfect faith, to Jon, not yet twenty, was essential. He still +had Youth's eagerness to give with both hands, to take with neither-- +to give lovingly to one who had his own impulsive generosity. Surely +she had! He got up from the window-seat and roamed in the big grey +ghostly room, whose walls were hung with silvered canvas. This house +his father said in that death-bed letter--had been built for his +mother to live in--with Fleur's father! He put out his hand in the +half-dark, as if to grasp the shadowy hand of the dead. He clenched, +trying to feel the thin vanished fingers of his father; to squeeze +them, and reassure him that he-he was on his father's side. Tears, +prisoned within him, made his eyes feel dry and hot. He went back to +the window. It was warmer, not so eerie, more comforting outside, +where the moon hung golden, three days off full; the freedom of the +night was comforting. If only Fleur and he had met on some desert +island without a past--and Nature for their house! Jon had still his +high regard for desert islands, where breadfruit grew, and the water +was blue above the coral. The night was deep, was free--there was +enticement in it; a lure, a promise, a refuge from entanglement, and +love! Milksop tied to his mother's...! His cheeks burned. He shut +the window, drew curtains over it, switched off the lighted sconce, +and went up-stairs. + +The door of his room was open, the light turned up; his mother, still +in her evening gown, was standing at the window. She turned and +said: + +"Sit down, Jon; let's talk." She sat down on the window-seat, Jon on +his bed. She had her profile turned to him, and the beauty and grace +of her figure, the delicate line of the brow, the nose, the neck, the +strange and as it were remote refinement of her, moved him. His +mother never belonged to her surroundings. She came into them from +somewhere--as it were! What was she going to say to him, who had in +his heart such things to say to her? + +"I know Fleur came to-day. I'm not surprised." It was as though she +had added: "She is her father's daughter!" And Jon's heart hardened. +Irene went on quietly: + +"I have Father's letter. I picked it up that night and kept it. +Would you like it back, dear?" + +Jon shook his head. + +"I had read it, of course, before he gave it to you. It didn't quite +do justice to my criminality." + +'Mother!" burst from Jon's lips. + +"He put it very sweetly, but I know that in marrying Fleur's father +without love I did a dreadful thing. An unhappy marriage, Jon, can +play such havoc with other lives besides one's own. You are +fearfully young, my darling, and fearfully loving. Do you think you +can possibly be happy with this girl?" + +Staring at her dark eyes, darker now from pain, Jon answered + +"Yes; oh! yes--if you could be." + +Irene smiled. + +"Admiration of beauty and longing for possession are not love. If +yours were another case like mine, Jon--where the deepest things are +stifled; the flesh joined, and the spirit at war!" + +"Why should it, Mother? You think she must be like her father, but +she's not. I've seen him." + +Again the smile came on Irene's lips, and in Jon something wavered; +there was such irony and experience in that smile. + +"You are a giver, Jon; she is a taker." + +That unworthy doubt, that haunting uncertainty again! He said with +vehemence: + +"She isn't--she isn't. It's only because I can't bear to make you +unhappy, Mother, now that Father--" He thrust his fists against his +forehead. + +Irene got up. + +"I told you that night, dear, not to mind me. I meant it. Think of +yourself and your own happiness! I can stand what's left--I've +brought it on myself." + +Again the word "Mother!" burst from Jon's lips. + +She came over to him and put her hands over his. + +"Do you feel your head, darling?" + +Jon shook it. What he felt was in his chest--a sort of tearing +asunder of the tissue there, by the two loves. + +"I shall always love you the same, Jon, whatever you do. You won't +lose anything." She smoothed his hair gently, and walked away. + +He heard the door shut; and, rolling over on the bed, lay, stifling +his breath, with an awful held-up feeling within him. + + + + +VII + +EMBASSY + + +Enquiring for her at tea time Soames learned that Fleur had been out +in the car since two. Three hours! Where had she gone? Up to +London without a word to him? He had never become quite reconciled +with cars. He had embraced them in principle--like the born +empiricist, or Forsyte, that he was--adopting each symptom of +progress as it came along with: "Well, we couldn't do without them +now." But in fact he found them tearing, great, smelly things. +Obliged by Annette to have one--a Rollhard with pearl-grey cushions, +electric light, little mirrors, trays for the ashes of cigarettes, +flower vases--all smelling of petrol and stephanotis--he regarded it +much as he used to regard his brother-in-law, Montague Dartie. The +thing typified all that was fast, insecure, and subcutaneously oily +in modern life. As modern life became faster, looser, younger, +Soames was becoming older, slower, tighter, more and more in thought +and language like his father James before him. He was almost aware +of it himself. Pace and progress pleased him less and less; there +was an ostentation, too, about a car which he considered provocative +in the prevailing mood of Labour. On one occasion that fellow Sims +had driven over the only vested interest of a working man. Soames +had not forgotten the behaviour of its master, when not many people +would have stopped to put up with it. He had been sorry for the dog, +and quite prepared to take its part against the car, if that ruffian +hadn't been so outrageous. With four hours fast becoming five, and +still no Fleur, all the old car-wise feelings he had experienced in +person and by proxy balled within him, and sinking sensations +troubled the pit of his stomach. At seven he telephoned to Winifred +by trunk call. No! Fleur had not been to Green Street. Then where +was she? Visions of his beloved daughter rolled up in her pretty +frills, all blood and dust-stained, in some hideous catastrophe, +began to haunt him. He went to her room and spied among her things. +She had taken nothing--no dressing-case, no Jewellery. And this, a +relief in one sense, increased his fears of an accident. Terrible to +be helpless when his loved one was missing, especially when he +couldn't bear fuss or publicity of any kind! What should he do if +she were not back by nightfall? + +At a quarter to eight he heard the car. A great weight lifted from +off his heart; he hurried down. She was getting out--pale and tired- +looking, but nothing wrong. He met her in the hall. + +"You've frightened me. Where have you been?" + +"To Robin Hill. I'm sorry, dear. I had to go; I'll tell you +afterward." And, with a flying kiss, she ran up-stairs. + +Soames waited in the drawing-room. To Robin Hill! What did that +portend? + +It was not a subject they could discuss at dinner--consecrated to the +susceptibilities of the butler. The agony of nerves Soames had been +through, the relief he felt at her safety, softened his power to +condemn what she had done, or resist what she was going to do; he +waited in a relaxed stupor for her revelation. Life was a queer +business. There he was at sixty-five and no more in command of +things than if he had not spent forty years in building up security- +always something one couldn't get on terms with! In the pocket of +his dinner-jacket was a letter from Annette. She was coming back in +a fortnight. He knew nothing of what she had been doing out there. +And he was glad that he did not. Her absence had been a relief. Out +of sight was out of mind! And now she was coming back. Another +worry! And the Bolderby Old Crome was gone--Dumetrius had got it-- +all because that anonymous letter had put it out of his thoughts. He +furtively remarked the strained look on his daughter's face, as if +she too were gazing at a picture that she couldn't buy. He almost +wished the War back. Worries didn't seem, then, quite so worrying. +>From the caress in her voice, the look on her face, he became certain +that she wanted something from him, uncertain whether it would be +wise of him to give it her. He pushed his savoury away uneaten, and +even joined her in a cigarette. + +After dinner she set the electric piano-player going. And he augured +the worst when she sat down on a cushion footstool at his knee, and +put her hand on his. + +"Darling, be nice to me. I had to see Jon--he wrote to me. He's +going to try what he can do with his mother. But I've been thinking. +It's really in your hands, Father. If you'd persuade her that it +doesn't mean renewing the past in any way! That I shall stay yours, +and Jon will stay hers; that you need never see him or her, and she +need never see you or me! Only you could persuade her, dear, because +only you could promise. One can't promise for other people. Surely +it wouldn't be too awkward for you to see her just this once now that +Jon's father is dead?" + +"Too awkward?" Soames repeated. "The whole thing's preposterous." + +"You know," said Fleur, without looking up, "you wouldn't mind seeing +her, really." + +Soames was silent. Her words had expressed a truth too deep for him +to admit. She slipped her fingers between his own--hot, slim, eager, +they clung there. This child of his would corkscrew her way into a +brick wall! + +"What am I to do if you won't, Father?" she said very softly. + +"I'll do anything for your happiness," said Soanies; "but this isn't +for your happiness." + +"Oh! it is; it is!" + +"It'll only stir things up," he said grimly. + +"But they are stirred up. The thing is to quiet them. To make her +feel that this is just our lives, and has nothing to do with yours or +hers. You can do it, Father, I know you can." + +"You know a great deal, then," was Soames' glum answer. + +"If you will, Jon and I will wait a year--two years if you like." + +"It seems to me," murmured Soames, "that you care nothing about what +I feel." + +Fleur pressed his hand against her cheek. + +"I do, darling. But you wouldn't like me to be awfully miserable." + +How she wheedled to get her ends! And trying with all his might to +think she really cared for him--he was not sure--not sure. All she +cared for was this boy! Why should he help her to get this boy, who +was killing her affection for himself? Why should he? By the laws +of the Forsytes it was foolish! There was nothing to be had out of +it--nothing! To give her to that boy! To pass her into the enemy's +camp, under the influence of the woman who had injured him so deeply! +Slowly--inevitably--he would lose this flower of his life! And +suddenly he was conscious that his hand was wet. His heart gave a +little painful jump. He couldn't bear her to cry. He put his other +hand quickly over hers, and a tear dropped on that, too. He couldn't +go on like this! "Well, well," he said, "I'll think it over, and do +what I can. Come, come!" If she must have it for her happiness--she +must; he couldn't refuse to help her. And lest she should begin to +thank him he got out of his chair and went up to the piano-player-- +making that noise! It ran down, as he reached it, with a faint buzz. +That musical box of his nursery days: "The Harmonious Blacksmith," +"Glorious Port"--the thing had always made him miserable when his +mother set it going on Sunday afternoons. Here it was again--the +same thing, only larger, more expensive, and now it played "The Wild, +Wild Women," and "The Policeman's Holiday," and he was no longer in +black velvet with a sky blue collar. 'Profond's right,' he thought, +'there's nothing in it! We're all progressing to the grave!' And +with that surprising mental comment he walked out. + +He did not see Fleur again that night. But, at breakfast, her eyes +followed him about with an appeal he could not escape--not that he +intended to try. No! He had made up his mind to the nerve-racking +business. He would go to Robin Hill--to that house of memories. +Pleasant memory--the last! Of going down to keep that boy's father +and Irene apart by threatening divorce. He had often thought, since, +that it had clinched their union. And, now, he was going to clinch +the union of that boy with his girl. 'I don't know what I've done,' +he thought, 'to have such things thrust on me!' He went up by train +and down by train, and from the station walked by the long rising +lane, still very much as he remembered it over thirty years ago. +Funny--so near London! Some one evidently was holding on to the land +there. This speculation soothed him, moving between the high hedges +slowly, so as not to get overheated, though the day was chill enough. +After all was said and done there was something real about land, it +didn't shift. Land, and good pictures! The values might fluctuate a +bit, but on the whole they were always going up--worth holding on to, +in a world where there was such a lot of unreality, cheap building, +changing fashions, such a "Here to-day and gone to-morrow" spirit. +The French were right, perhaps, with their peasant proprietorship, +though he had no opinion of the French. One's bit of land! +Something solid in it! He had heard peasant proprietors described as +a pig-headed lot; had heard young Mont call his father a pigheaded +Morning Poster--disrespectful young devil. Well, there were worse +things than being pig-headed or reading the Morning Post. There was +Profond and his tribe, and all these Labour chaps, and loud-mouthed +politicians and 'wild, wild women'! A lot of worse things! And +suddenly Soames became conscious of feeling weak, and hot, and shaky. +Sheer nerves at the meeting before him! As Aunt Juley might have +said--quoting "Superior Dosset"--his nerves were "in a proper +fautigue." He could see the house now among its trees, the house he +had watched being built, intending it for himself and this woman, +who, by such strange fate, had lived in it with another after all! +He began to think of Dumetrius, Local Loans, and other forms of +investment. He could not afford to meet her with his nerves all +shaking; he who represented the Day of Judgment for her on earth as +it was in heaven; he, legal ownership, personified, meeting lawless +beauty, incarnate. His dignity demanded impassivity during this +embassy designed to link their offspring, who, if she had behaved +herself, would have been brother and sister. That wretched tune, +"The Wild, Wild Women," kept running in his head, perversely, for +tunes did not run there as a rule. Passing the poplars in front of +the house, he thought: 'How they've grown; I had them planted!' +A maid answered his ring. + +"Will you say--Mr. Forsyte, on a very special matter." + +If she realised who he was, quite probably she would not see him. +'By George!' he thought, hardening as the tug came. 'It's a topsy- +turvy affair!' + +The maid came back. "Would the gentleman state his business, +please?" + +"Say it concerns Mr. Jon," said Soames. + +And once more he was alone in that hall with the pool of grey-white +marble designed by her first lover. Ah! she had been a bad lot--had +loved two men, and not himself! He must remember that when he came +face to face with her once more. And suddenly he saw her in the +opening chink between the long heavy purple curtains, swaying, as if +in hesitation; the old perfect poise and line, the old startled dark- +eyed gravity, the old calm defensive voice: "Will you come in, +please?" + +He passed through that opening. As in the picture-gallery and the +confectioner's shop, she seemed to him still beautiful. And this was +the first time--the very first--since he married her seven-and-thirty +years ago, that he was speaking to her without the legal right to +call her his. She was not wearing black--one of that fellow's +radical notions, he supposed. + +"I apologise for coming," he said glumly; "but this business must be +settled one way or the other." + +"Won't you sit down?" + +"No, thank you." + +Anger at his false position, impatience of ceremony between them, +mastered him, and words came tumbling out: + +"It's an infernal mischance; I've done my best to discourage it. I +consider my daughter crazy, but I've got into the habit of indulging +her; that's why I'm here. I suppose you're fond of your son." + +"Devotedly." + +"Well?" + +"It rests with him." + +He had a sense of being met and baffled. Always--always she had +baffled him, even in those old first married days. + +"It's a mad notion," he said. + +"It is." + +"If you had only--! Well--they might have been--" he did not finish +that sentence "brother and sister and all this saved," but he saw her +shudder as if he had, and stung by the sight he crossed over to the +window. Out there the trees had not grown--they couldn't, they were +old + +"So far as I'm concerned," he said, "you may make your mind easy. I +desire to see neither you nor your son if this marriage comes about. +Young people in these days are--are unaccountable. But I can't bear +to see my daughter unhappy. What am I to say to her when I go back?" + +"Please say to her as I said to you, that it rests with Jon." + +"You don't oppose it?" + +"With all my heart; not with my lips." + +Soames stood, biting his finger. + +"I remember an evening--" he said suddenly; and was silent. What was +there--what was there in this woman that would not fit into the four +corners of his hate or condemnation? "Where is he--your son?" + +"Up in his father's studio, I think." + +"Perhaps you'd have him down." + +He watched her ring the bell, he watched the maid come in. + +"Please tell Mr. Jon that I want him." + +"If it rests with him," said Soames hurriedly, when the maid was +gone, "I suppose I may take it for granted that this unnatural +marriage will take place; in that case there'll be formalities. Whom +do I deal with--Herring's?" + +Irene nodded. + +"You don't propose to live with them?" + +Irene shook her head. + +"What happens to this house?" + +"It will be as Jon wishes." + +"This house," said Soames suddenly: "I had hopes when I began it. If +they live in it--their children! They say there's such a thing as +Nemesis. Do you believe in it?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh! You do!" + +He had come back from the window, and was standing close to her, who, +in the curve of her grand piano, was, as it were, embayed. + +"I'm not likely to see you again," he said slowly. "Will you shake +hands"--his lip quivered, the words came out jerkily--"and let the +past die." He held out his hand. Her pale face grew paler, her eyes +so dark, rested immovably on his, her hands remained clasped in front +of her. He heard a sound and turned. That boy was standing in the +opening of the curtains. Very queer he looked, hardly recognisable +as the young fellow he had seen in the Gallery off Cork Street--very +queer; much older, no youth in the face at all--haggard, rigid, his +hair ruffled, his eyes deep in his head. Soames made an effort, and +said with a lift of his lip, not quite a smile nor quite a sneer: + +"Well, young man! I'm here for my daughter; it rests with you, it +seems--this matter. Your mother leaves it in your hands." + +The boy continued staring at his mother's face, and made no answer. + +"For my daughter's sake I've brought myself to come," said Soames. +"What am I to say to her when I go back?" + +Still looking at his mother, the boy said, quietly: + +"Tell Fleur that it's no good, please; I must do as my father wished +before he died." + +"Jon!" + +"It's all right, Mother." + +In a kind of stupefaction Soames looked from one to the other; then, +taking up hat and umbrella which he had put down on a chair, he +walked toward the curtains. The boy stood aside for him to go by. +He passed through and heard the grate of the rings as the curtains +were drawn behind him. The sound liberated something in his chest. + +'So that's that!' he thought, and passed out of the front door. + + + + +VIII + +THE DARK TUNE + + +As Soames walked away from the house at Robin Hill the sun broke +through the grey of that chill afternoon, in smoky radiance. So +absorbed in landscape painting that he seldom looked seriously for +effects of Nature out of doors--he was struck by that moody +effulgence--it mourned with a triumph suited to his own feeling. +Victory in defeat. His embassy had come to naught. But he was rid +of those people, had regained his daughter at the expense of--her +happiness. What would Fleur say to him? Would she believe he had +done his best? And under that sunlight faring on the elms, hazels, +hollies of the lane and those unexploited fields, Soames felt dread. +She would be terribly upset! He must appeal to her pride. That boy +had given her up, declared part and lot with the woman who so long +ago had given her father up! Soames clenched his hands. Given him +up, and why? What had been wrong with him? And once more he felt +the malaise of one who contemplates himself as seen by another--like +a dog who chances on his refection in a mirror and is intrigued and +anxious at the unseizable thing. + +Not in a hurry to get home, he dined in town at the Connoisseurs. +While eating a pear it suddenly occurred to him that, if he had not +gone down to Robin Hill, the boy might not have so decided. He +remembered the expression on his face while his mother was refusing +the hand he had held out. A strange, an awkward thought! Had Fleur +cooked her own goose by trying to make too sure? + +He reached home at half-past nine. While the car was passing in at +one drive gate he heard the grinding sputter of a motor-cycle passing +out by the other. Young Mont, no doubt, so Fleur had not been +lonely. But he went in with a sinking heart. In the cream-panelled +drawing-room she was sitting with her elbows on her knees, and her +chin on her clasped hands, in front of a white camellia plant which +filled the fireplace. That glance at her before she saw him renewed +his dread. What was she seeing among those white camellias? + +"Well, Father!" + +Soames shook his head. His tongue failed him. This was murderous +work! He saw her eyes dilate, her lips quivering. + +"What? What? Quick, Father!" + +"My dear," said Soames, "I--I did my best, but--" And again he shook +his head. + +Fleur ran to him, and put a hand on each of his shoulders. + +"She?" + +"No," muttered Soames; "he. I was to tell you that it was no use; he +must do what his father wished before he died." He caught her by the +waist. "Come, child, don't let them hurt you. They're not worth +your little finger." + +Fleur tore herself from his grasp. + +"You didn't you--couldn't have tried. You--you betrayed me, Father!" + +Bitterly wounded, Soames gazed at her passionate figure writhing +there in front of him. + +"You didn't try--you didn't--I was a fool! Iwon't believe he could-- +he ever could! Only yesterday he--! Oh! why did I ask you?" + +"Yes," said Soames, quietly, "why did you? I swallowed my feelings; +I did my best for you, against my judgment--and this is my reward. +Good-night!" + +With every nerve in his body twitching he went toward the door. + +Fleur darted after him. + +"He gives me up? You mean that? Father!" + +Soames turned and forced himself to answer: + +"Yes." + +"Oh!" cried Fleur. "What did you--what could you have done in those +old days?" + +The breathless sense of really monstrous injustice cut the power of +speech in Soames' throat. What had he done! What had they done to +him! + +And with quite unconscious dignity he put his hand on his breast, and +looked at her. + +"It's a shame!" cried Fleur passionately. + +Soames went out. He mounted, slow and icy, to his picture gallery, +and paced among his treasures. Outrageous! Oh! Outrageous! She +was spoiled! Ah! and who had spoiled her? He stood still before the +Goya copy. Accustomed to her own way in everything. Flower of his +life! And now that she couldn't have it! He turned to the window +for some air. Daylight was dying, the moon rising, gold behind the +poplars! What sound was that? Why! That piano thing! A dark tune, +with a thrum and a throb! She had set it going--what comfort could +she get from that? His eyes caught movement down there beyond the +lawn, under the trellis of rambler roses and young acacia-trees, +where the moonlight fell. There she was, roaming up and down. His +heart gave a little sickening jump. What would she do under this +blow? How could he tell? What did he know of her--he had only loved +her all his life--looked on her as the apple of his eye! He knew +nothing--had no notion. There she was--and that dark tune--and the +river gleaming in the moonlight! + +'I must go out,' he thought. + +He hastened down to the drawing-room, lighted just as he had left it, +with the piano thrumming out that waltz, or fox-trot, or whatever +they called it in these days, and passed through on to the verandah. + +Where could he watch, without her seeing him? And he stole down +through the fruit garden to the boat-house. He was between her and +the river now, and his heart felt lighter. She was his daughter, and +Annette's--she wouldn't do anything foolish; but there it was--he +didn't know! From the boat house window he could see the last acacia +and the spin of her skirt when she turned in her restless march. +That tune had run down at last--thank goodness! He crossed the floor +and looked through the farther window at the water slow-flowing past +the lilies. It made little bubbles against them, bright where a +moon-streak fell. He remembered suddenly that early morning when he +had slept on the house-boat after his father died, and she had just +been born--nearly nineteen years ago! Even now he recalled the +unaccustomed world when he woke up, the strange feeling it had given +him. That day the second passion of his life began--for this girl of +his, roaming under the acacias. What a comfort she had been to him! +And all the soreness and sense of outrage left him. If he could make +her happy again, he didn't care! An owl flew, queeking, queeking; a +bat flitted by; the moonlight brightened and broadened on the water. +How long was she going to roam about like this! He went back to the +window, and suddenly saw her coming down to the bank. She stood +quite close, on the landing-stage. And Soames watched, clenching his +hands. Should he speak to her? His excitement was intense. The +stillness of her figure, its youth, its absorption in despair, in +longing, in--itself. He would always remember it, moonlit like that; +and the faint sweet reek of the river and the shivering of the willow +leaves. She had everything in the world that he could give her, +except the one thing that she could not have because of him! The +perversity of things hurt him at that moment, as might a fish-bone in +his throat. + +Then, with an infinite relief, he saw her turn back toward the house. +What could he give her to make amends? Pearls, travel, horses, other +young men--anything she wanted--that he might lose the memory of her +young figure lonely by the water! There! She had set that tune +going again! Why--it was a mania! Dark, thrumming, faint, +travelling from the house. It was as though she had said: "If I +can't have something to keep me going, I shall die of this!" Soames +dimly understood. Well, if it helped her, let her keep it thrumming +on all night! And, mousing back through the fruit garden, he +regained the verandah. Though he meant to go in and speak to her +now, he still hesitated, not knowing what to say, trying hard to +recall how it felt to be thwarted in love. He ought to know, ought +to remember--and he could not! Gone--all real recollection; except +that it had hurt him horribly. In this blankness he stood passing +his handkerchief over hands and lips, which were very dry. By +craning his head he could just see Fleur, standing with her back to +that piano still grinding out its tune, her arms tight crossed on her +breast, a lighted cigarette between her lips, whose smoke half veiled +her face. The expression on it was strange to Soames, the eyes shone +and stared, and every feature was alive with a sort of wretched scorn +and anger. Once or twice he had seen Annette look like that--the +face was too vivid, too naked, not his daughter's at that moment. +And he dared not go in, realising the futility of any attempt at +consolation. He sat down in the shadow of the ingle-nook. + +Monstrous trick, that Fate had played him! Nemesis! That old +unhappy marriage! And in God's name-why? How was he to know, when +he wanted Irene so violently, and she consented to be his, that she +would never love him? The tune died and was renewed, and died again, +and still Soames sat in the shadow, waiting for he knew not what. +The fag of Fleur's cigarette, flung through the window, fell on the +grass; he watched it glowing, burning itself out. The moon had freed +herself above the poplars, and poured her unreality on the garden. +Comfortless light, mysterious, withdrawn--like the beauty of that +woman who had never loved him--dappling the nemesias and the stocks +with a vesture not of earth. Flowers! And his flower so unhappy! +Ah! Why could one not put happiness into Local Loans, gild its +edges, insure it against going down? + +Light had ceased to flow out now from the drawing-room window. All +was silent and dark in there. Had she gone up? He rose, and, +tiptoeing, peered in. It seemed so! He entered. The verandah kept +the moonlight out; and at first he could see nothing but the outlines +of furniture blacker than the darkness. He groped toward the farther +window to shut it. His foot struck a chair, and he heard a gasp. +There she was, curled and crushed into the corner of the sofa! His +hand hovered. Did she want his consolation? He stood, gazing at +that ball of crushed frills and hair and graceful youth, trying to +burrow its way out of sorrow. How leave her there? At last he +touched her hair, and said: + +"Come, darling, better go to bed. I'll make it up to you, somehow." +How fatuous! But what could he have said? + + + + +IX + +UNDER THE OAK-TREE + + +When their visitor had disappeared Jon and his mother stood without +speaking, till he said suddenly: + +"I ought to have seen him out." + +But Soames was already walking down the drive, and Jon went upstairs +to his father's studio, not trusting himself to go back. + +The expression on his mother's face confronting the man she had once +been married to, had sealed a resolution growing within him ever +since she left him the night before. It had put the finishing touch +of reality. To marry Fleur would be to hit his mother in the face; +to betray his dead father! It was no good! Jon had the least +resentful of natures. He bore his parents no grudge in this hour of +his distress. For one so young there was a rather strange power in +him of seeing things in some sort of proportion. It was worse for +Fleur, worse for his mother even, than it was for him. Harder than +to give up was to be given up, or to be the cause of some one you +loved giving up for you. He must not, would not behave grudgingly! +While he stood watching the tardy sunlight, he had again that sudden +vision of the world which had come to him the night before. Sea on +sea, country on country, millions on millions of people, all with +their own lives, energies, joys, griefs, and suffering--all with +things they had to give up, and separate struggles for existence. +Even though he might be willing to give up all else for the one thing +he couldn't have, he would be a fool to think his feelings mattered +much in so vast a world, and to behave like a cry-baby or a cad. He +pictured the people who had nothing--the millions who had given up +life in the War, the millions whom the War had left with life and +little else; the hungry children he had read of, the shattered men; +people in prison, every kind of unfortunate. And--they did not help +him much. If one had to miss a meal, what comfort in the knowledge +that many others had to miss it too? There was more distraction in +the thought of getting away out into this vast world of which he knew +nothing yet. He could not go on staying here, walled in and +sheltered, with everything so slick and comfortable, and nothing to +do but brood and think what might have been. He could not go back to +Wansdon, and the memories of Fleur. If he saw her again he could not +trust himself; and if he stayed here or went back there, he would +surely see her. While they were within reach of each other that must +happen. To go far away and quickly was the only thing to do. But, +however much he loved his mother, he did not want to go away with +her. Then feeling that was brutal, he made up his mind desperately +to propose that they should go to Italy. For two hours in that +melancholy room he tried to master himself, then dressed solemnly for +dinner. + +His mother had done the same. They ate little, at some length, and +talked of his father's catalogue. The show was arranged for October, +and beyond clerical detail there was nothing more to do. + +After dinner she put on a cloak and they went out; walked a little, +talked a little, till they were standing silent at last beneath the +oak-tree. Ruled by the thought: 'If I show anything, I show all,' +Jon put his arm through hers and said quite casually: + +"Mother, let's go to Italy." + +Irene pressed his arm, and said as casually: + +"It would be very nice; but I've been thinking you ought to see and +do more than you would if I were with you." + +"But then you'd be alone." + +"I was once alone for more than twelve years. Besides, I should like +to be here for the opening of Father's show." + +Jon's grip tightened round her arm; he was not deceived. + +"You couldn't stay here all by yourself; it's too big." + +"Not here, perhaps. In London, and I might go to Paris, after the +show opens. You ought to have a year at least, Jon, and see the +world." + +"Yes, I'd like to see the world and rough it. But I don't want to +leave you all alone." + +"My dear, I owe you that at least. If it's for your good, it'll be +for mine. Why not start tomorrow? You've got your passport." + +"Yes; if I'm going it had better be at once. Only--Mother--if--if I +wanted to stay out somewhere--America or anywhere, would you mind +coming presently?" + +"Wherever and whenever you send for me. But don't send until you +really want me." + +Jon drew a deep breath. + +"I feel England's choky." + +They stood a few minutes longer under the oak-tree--looking out to +where the grand stand at Epsom was veiled in evening. The branches +kept the moonlight from them, so that it only fell everywhere else-- +over the fields and far away, and on the windows of the creepered +house behind, which soon would be to let. + + + + +X + +FLEUR'S WEDDING + + +The October paragraphs describing the wedding of Fleur Forsyte to +Michael Mont hardly conveyed the symbolic significance of this event. +In the union of the great-granddaughter of "Superior Dosset" with the +heir of a ninth baronet was the outward and visible sign of that +merger of class in class which buttresses the political stability of +a realm. The time had come when the Forsytes might resign their +natural resentment against a "flummery" not theirs by birth, and +accept it as the still more natural due of their possessive +instincts. Besides, they had to mount to make room for all those so +much more newly rich. In that quiet but tasteful ceremony in Hanover +Square, and afterward among the furniture in Green Street, it had +been impossible for those not in the know to distinguish the Forsyte +troop from the Mont contingent--so far away was "Superior Dosset" +now. Was there, in the crease of his trousers, the expression of his +moustache, his accent, or the shine on his top-hat, a pin to choose +between Soames and the ninth baronet himself? Was not Fleur as self- +possessed, quick, glancing, pretty, and hard as the likeliest +Muskham, Mont, or Charwell filly present? If anything, the Forsytes +had it in dress and looks and manners. They had become "upper class" +and now their name would be formally recorded in the Stud Book, their +money joined to land. Whether this was a little late in the day, and +those rewards of the possessive instinct, lands and money, destined +for the melting-pot--was still a question so moot that it was not +mooted. After all, Timothy had said Consols were goin' up. Timothy, +the last, the missing link; Timothy, in extremis on the Bayswater +Road--so Francie had reported. It was whispered, too, that this +young Mont was a sort of socialist--strangely wise of him, and in the +nature of insurance, considering the days they lived in. There was +no uneasiness on that score. The landed classes produced that sort +of amiable foolishness at times, turned to safe uses and confined to +theory. As George remarked to his sister Francie: "They'll soon be +having puppies--that'll give him pause." + +The church with white flowers and something blue in the middle of the +East window looked extremely chaste, as though endeavouring to +counteract the somewhat lurid phraseology of a Service calculated to +keep the thoughts of all on puppies. Forsytes, Haymans, Tweetymans, +sat in the left aisle; Monts, Charwells; Muskhams in the right; while +a sprinkling of Fleur's fellow-sufferers at school, and of Mont's +fellow-sufferers in, the War, gaped indiscriminately from either +side, and three maiden ladies, who had dropped in on their way from +Skyward's brought up the rear, together with two Mont retainers and +Fleur's old nurse. In the unsettled state of the country as full a +house as could be expected. + +Mrs. Val Dartie, who sat with her husband in the third row, squeezed +his hand more than once during the performance. To her, who knew the +plot of this tragi-comedy, its most dramatic moment was well-nigh +painful. 'I wonder if Jon knows by instinct,' she thought--Jon, out +in British Columbia. She had received a letter from him only that +morning which had made her smile and say: + +"Jon's in British Columbia, Val, because he wants to be in +California. He thinks it's too nice there." + +"Oh!" said Val, "so he's beginning to see a joke again." + +"He's bought some land and sent for his mother." + +"What on earth will she do out there?" + +"All she cares about is Jon. Do you still think it a happy release?" + +Val's shrewd eyes narrowed to grey pin-points between their dark +lashes. + +"Fleur wouldn't have suited him a bit. She's not bred right." + +"Poor little Fleur!" sighed Holly. Ah! it was strange--this +marriage. The young man, Mont, had caught her on the rebound, of +course, in the reckless mood of one whose ship has just gone down. +Such a plunge could not but be--as Val put it--an outside chance. +There was little to be told from the back view of her young cousin's +veil, and Holly's eyes reviewed the general aspect of this Christian +wedding. She, who had made a love-match which had been successful, +had a horror of unhappy marriages. This might not be one in the end- +-but it was clearly a toss-up; and to consecrate a toss-up in this +fashion with manufactured unction before a crowd of fashionable free- +thinkers--for who thought otherwise than freely, or not at all, when +they were "dolled" up--seemed to her as near a sin as one could find +in an age which had abolished them. Her eyes wandered from the +prelate in his robes (a Charwell-the Forsytes had not as yet produced +a prelate) to Val, beside her, thinking--she was certain--of the +Mayfly filly at fifteen to one for the Cambridgeshire. They passed +on and caught the profile of the ninth baronet, in counterfeitment of +the kneeling process. She could just see the neat ruck above his +knees where he had pulled his trousers up, and thought: 'Val's +forgotten to pull up his!' Her eyes passed to the pew in front of +her, where Winifred's substantial form was gowned with passion, and +on again to Soames and Annette kneeling side by side. A little smile +came on her lips--Prosper Profond, back from the South Seas of the +Channel, would be kneeling too, about six rows behind. Yes! This +was a funny "small" business, however it turned out; still it was in +a proper church and would be in the proper papers to-morrow morning. + +They had begun a hymn; she could hear the ninth baronet across the +aisle, singing of the hosts of Midian. Her little finger touched +Val's thumb--they were holding the same hymn-book--and a tiny thrill +passed through her, preserved--from twenty years ago. He stooped and +whispered: + +"I say, d'you remember the rat?" The rat at their wedding in Cape +Colony, which had cleaned its whiskers behind the table at the +Registrar's! And between her little and third forgers she squeezed +his thumb hard. + +The hymn was over, the prelate had begun to deliver his discourse. +He told them of the dangerous times they lived in, and the awful +conduct of the House of Lords in connection with divorce. They were +all soldiers--he said--in the trenches under the poisonous gas of the +Prince of Darkness, and must be manful. The purpose of marriage was +children, not mere sinful happiness. + +An imp danced in Holly's eyes--Val's eyelashes were meeting. +Whatever happened; he must not snore. Her finger and thumb closed on +his thigh till he stirred uneasily. + +The discourse was over, the danger past. They were signing in the +vestry; and general relaxation had set in. + +A voice behind her said: + +"Will she stay the course?" + +"Who's that?" she whispered. + +"Old George Forsyte!" + +Holly demurely scrutinized one of whom she had often heard. Fresh +from South Africa, and ignorant of her kith and kin, she never saw +one without an almost childish curiosity. He was very big, and very +dapper; his eyes gave her a funny feeling of having no particular +clothes. + +"They're off!" she heard him say. + +They came, stepping from the chancel. Holly looked first in young +Mont's face. His lips and ears were twitching, his eyes, shifting +from his feet to the hand within his arm, stared suddenly before them +as if to face a firing party. He gave Holly the feeling that he was +spiritually intoxicated. But Fleur! Ah! That was different. The +girl was perfectly composed, prettier than ever, in her white robes +and veil over her banged dark chestnut hair; her eyelids hovered +demure over her dark hazel eyes. Outwardly, she seemed all there. +But inwardly, where was she? As those two passed, Fleur raised her +eyelids--the restless glint of those clear whites remained on Holly's +vision as might the flutter of caged bird's wings. + +In Green Street Winifred stood to receive, just a little less +composed than usual. Soames' request for the use of her house had +come on her at a deeply psychological moment. Under the influence of +a remark of Prosper Profond, she had begun to exchange her Empire for +Expressionistic furniture. There were the most amusing arrangements, +with violet, green, and orange blobs and scriggles, to be had at +Mealard's. Another month and the change would have been complete. +Just now, the very "intriguing" recruits she had enlisted, did not +march too well with the old guard. It was as if her regiment were +half in khaki, half in scarlet and bearskins. But her strong and +comfortable character made the best of it in a drawing-room which +typified, perhaps, more perfectly than she imagined, the semi- +bolshevized imperialism of her country. After all, this was a day of +merger, and you couldn't have too much of it! Her eyes travelled +indulgently among her guests. Soames had gripped the back of a buhl +chair; young Mont was behind that "awfully amusing" screen, which no +one as yet had been able to explain to her. The ninth baronet had +shied violently at a round scarlet table, inlaid under glass with +blue Australian butteries' wings, and was clinging to her Louis- +Quinze cabinet; Francie Forsyte had seized the new mantel-board, +finely carved with little purple grotesques on an ebony ground; +George, over by the old spinet, was holding a little sky-blue book as +if about to enter bets; Prosper Profond was twiddling the knob of the +open door, black with peacock-blue panels; and Annette's hands, close +by, were grasping her own waist; two Muskhams clung to the balcony +among the plants, as if feeling ill; Lady Mont, thin and brave- +looking, had taken up her long-handled glasses and was gazing at the +central light shade, of ivory and orange dashed with deep magenta, as +if the heavens had opened. Everybody, in fact, seemed holding on to +something. Only Fleur, still in her bridal dress, was detached from +all support, flinging her words and glances to left and right. + +The room was full of the bubble and the squeak of conversation. +Nobody could hear anything that anybody said; which seemed of little +consequence, since no one waited for anything so slow as an answer. +Modern conversation seemed to Winifred so different from the days of +her prime, when a drawl was all the vogue. Still it was "amusing," +which, of course, was all that mattered. Even the Forsytes were +talking with extreme rapidity--Fleur and Christopher, and Imogen, and +young Nicholas's youngest, Patrick. Soames, of course, was silent; +but George, by the spinet, kept up a running commentary, and Francie, +by her mantel-shelf. Winifred drew nearer to the ninth baronet. He +seemed to promise a certain repose; his nose was fine and drooped a +little, his grey moustaches too; and she said, drawling through her +smile: + +"It's rather nice, isn't it?" + +His reply shot out of his smile like a snipped bread pellet + +"D'you remember, in Frazer, the tribe that buries the bride up to the +waist?" + +He spoke as fast as anybody! He had dark lively little eyes, too, +all crinkled round like a Catholic priest's. Winifred felt suddenly +he might say things she would regret. + +"They're always so amusing--weddings," she murmured, and moved on to +Soames. He was curiously still, and Winifred saw at once what was +dictating his immobility. To his right was George Forsyte, to his +left Annette and Prosper Profond. He could not move without either +seeing those two together, or the reflection of them in George +Forsyte's japing eyes. He was quite right not to be taking notice. + +"They say Timothy's sinking;" he said glumly. + +"Where will you put him, Soames?" + +"Highgate." He counted on his fingers. "It'll make twelve of them +there, including wives. How do you think Fleur looks?" + +"Remarkably well." + +Soames nodded. He had never seen her look prettier, yet he could not +rid himself of the impression that this business was unnatural-- +remembering still that crushed figure burrowing into the corner of +the sofa. From that night to this day he had received from her no +confidences. He knew from his chauffeur that she had made one more +attempt on Robin Hill and drawn blank--an empty house, no one at +home. He knew that she had received a letter, but not what was in +it, except that it had made her hide herself and cry. He had +remarked that she looked at him sometimes when she thought he wasn't +noticing, as if she were wondering still what he had done--forsooth-- +to make those people hate him so. Well, there it was! Annette had +come back, and things had worn on through the summer--very miserable, +till suddenly Fleur had said she was going to marry young Mont. She +had shown him a little more affection when she told him that. And he +had yielded--what was the good of opposing it? God knew that he had +never wished to thwart her in anything! And the young man seemed +quite delirious about her. No doubt she was in a reckless mood, and +she was young, absurdly young. But if he opposed her, he didn't know +what she would do; for all he could tell she might want to take up a +profession, become a doctor or solicitor, some nonsense. She had no +aptitude for painting, writing, music, in his view the legitimate +occupations of unmarried women, if they must do something in these +days. On the whole, she was safer married, for he could see too well +how feverish and restless she was at home. Annette, too, had been in +favour of it--Annette, from behind the veil of his refusal to know +what she was about, if she was about anything. Annette had said: +"Let her marry this young man. He is a nice boy--not so highty- +flighty as he seems." Where she got her expressions, he didn't know- +-but her opinion soothed his doubts. His wife, whatever her conduct, +had clear eyes and an almost depressing amount of common sense. He +had settled fifty thousand on Fleur, taking care that there was no +cross settlement in case it didn't turn out well. Could it turn out +well? She had not got over that other boy--he knew. They were to go +to Spain for the honeymoon. He would be even lonelier when she was +gone. But later, perhaps, she would forget, and turn to him again! +Winifred's voice broke on his reverie. + +"Why! Of all wonders-June!" + +There, in a djibbah--what things she wore!--with her hair straying +from under a fillet, Soames saw his cousin, and Fleur going forward +to greet her. The two passed from their view out on to the stairway. + +"Really," said Winifred, "she does the most impossible things! Fancy +her coming!" + +"What made you ask her?" muttered Soames. + +"Because I thought she wouldn't accept, of course." + +Winifred had forgotten that behind conduct lies the main trend of +character; or, in other words, omitted to remember that Fleur was now +a "lame duck." + +On receiving her invitation, June had first thought, 'I wouldn't go +near them for the world!' and then, one morning, had awakened from a +dream of Fleur waving to her from a boat with a wild unhappy gesture. +And she had changed her mind. + +When Fleur came forward and said to her, "Do come up while I'm +changing my dress," she had followed up the stairs. The girl led the +way into Imogen's old bedroom, set ready for her toilet. + +June sat down on the bed, thin and upright, like a little spirit in +the sear and yellow. Fleur locked the door. + +The girl stood before her divested of her wedding dress. What a +pretty thing she was + +"I suppose you think me a fool," she said, with quivering lips, "when +it was to have been Jon. But what does it matter? Michael wants me, +and I don't care. It'll get me away from home." Diving her hand +into the frills on her breast, she brought out a letter. "Jon wrote +me this." + +June read: "Lake Okanagen, British Columbia. I'm not coming back to +England. Bless you always. Jon." + +"She's made safe, you see," said Fleur. + +June handed back the letter. + +"That's not fair to Irene," she said, "she always told Jon he could +do as he wished." + +Fleur smiled bitterly. "Tell me, didn't she spoil your life too?" +June looked up. "Nobody can spoil a life, my dear. That's nonsense. +Things happen, but we bob up." + +With a sort of terror she saw the girl sink on her knees and bury her +face in the djibbah. A strangled sob mounted to June's ears. + +"It's all right--all right," she murmured, "Don't! There, there!" + +But the point of the girl's chin was pressed ever closer into her +thigh, and the sound was dreadful of her sobbing. + +Well, well! It had to come. She would feel better afterward! June +stroked the short hair of that shapely head; and all the scattered +mother-sense in her focussed itself and passed through the tips of +her fingers into the girl's brain. + +"Don't sit down under it, my dear," she said at last. "We can't +control life, but we can fight it. Make the best of things. I've +had to. I held on, like you; and I cried, as you're crying now. And +look at me!" + +Fleur raised her head; a sob merged suddenly into a little choked +laugh. In truth it was a thin and rather wild and wasted spirit she +was looking at, but it had brave eyes. + +"All right!" she said. "I'm sorry. I shall forget him, I suppose, +if I fly fast and far enough." + +And, scrambling to her feet, she went over to the wash-stand. + +June watched her removing with cold water the traces of emotion. +Save for a little becoming pinkness there was nothing left when she +stood before the mirror. June got off the bed and took a pin-cushion +in her hand. To put two pins into the wrong places was all the vent +she found for sympathy. + +"Give me a kiss," she said when Fleur was ready, and dug her chin +into the girl's warm cheek. + +"I want a whiff," said Fleur; "don't wait." + +June left her, sitting on the bed with a cigarette between her lips +and her eyes half closed, and went down-stairs. In the doorway of +the drawing-room stood Soames as if unquiet at his daughter's +tardiness. June tossed her head and passed down on to the half- +landing. Her cousin Francie was standing there. + +"Look!" said June, pointing with her chin at Soames. "That man's +fatal!" + +"How do you mean," said Francie, "fatal?" + +June did not answer her. "I shan't wait to see them off," she said. +"Good-bye!" + +"Good-bye!" said Francie, and her eyes, of a Celtic grey, goggled. +That old feud! Really, it was quite romantic! + +Soames, moving to the well of the staircase, saw June go, and drew a +breath of satisfaction. Why didn't Fleur come? They would miss +their train. That train would bear her away from him, yet he could +not help fidgeting at the thought that they would lose it. And then +she did come, running down in her tan-coloured frock and black velvet +cap, and passed him into the drawing-room. He saw her kiss her +mother, her aunt, Val's wife, Imogen, and then come forth, quick and +pretty as ever. How would she treat him at this last moment of her +girlhood? He couldn't hope for much! + +Her lips pressed the middle of his cheek. + +"Daddy!" she said, and was past and gone! Daddy! She hadn't called +him that for years. He drew a long breath and followed slowly down. +There was all the folly with that confetti stuff and the rest of it +to go through with yet. But he would like just to catch her smile, +if she leaned out, though they would hit her in the eye with the +shoe, if they didn't take care. Young Mont's voice said fervently in +his ear: + +"Good-bye, sir; and thank you! I'm so fearfully bucked." + +"Good-bye," he said; "don't miss your train." + +He stood on the bottom step but three, whence he could see above the +heads--the silly hats and heads. They were in the car now; and there +was that stuff, showering, and there went the shoe. A flood of +something welled up in Soames, and--he didn't know--he couldn't see! + + + + +XI + +THE LAST OF THE OLD FORSYTES + +When they came to prepare that terrific symbol Timothy Forsyte--the +one pure individualist left, the only man who hadn't heard of the +Great War--they found him wonderful--not even death had undermined +his soundness. + +To Smither and Cook that preparation came like final evidence of what +they had never believed possible--the end of the old Forsyte family +on earth. Poor Mr. Timothy must now take a harp and sing in the +company of Miss Forsyte, Mrs. Julia, Miss Hester; with Mr. Jolyon, +Mr. Swithin, Mr. James, Mr. Roger, and Mr. Nicholas of the party. +Whether Mrs. Hayman would be there was more doubtful, seeing that she +had been cremated. Secretly Cook thought that Mr. Timothy would be +upset--he had always been so set against barrel organs. How many +times had she not said: "Drat the thing! There it is again! +Smither, you'd better run up and see what you can do." And in her +heart she would so have enjoyed the tunes, if she hadn't known that +Mr. Timothy would ring the bell in a minute and say: "Here, take him +a halfpenny and tell him to move on." Often they had been obliged to +add threepence of their own before the man would go--Timothy had ever +underrated the value of emotion. Luckily he had taken the organs for +blue-bottles in his last years, which had been a comfort, and they +had been able to enjoy the tunes. But a harp! Cook wondered. It +was a change! And Mr. Timothy had never liked change. But she did +not speak of this to Smither, who did so take a line of her own in +regard to heaven that it quite put one about sometimes. + +She cried while Timothy was being prepared, and they all had sherry +afterward out of the yearly Christmas bottle, which would not be +needed now. Ah! dear! She had been there five-and-forty years and +Smither three-and-forty! And now they would be going to a tiny house +in Tooting, to live on their savings and what Miss Hester had so +kindly left them--for to take fresh service after the glorious past-- +No! But they would like just to see Mr. Soames again, and Mrs. +Dartie, and Miss Francie, and Miss Euphemia. And even if they had to +take their own cab, they felt they must go to the funeral. For six +years Mr. Timothy had been their baby, getting younger and younger +every day, till at last he had been too young to live. + +They spent the regulation hours of waiting in polishing and dusting, +in catching the one mouse left, and asphyxiating the last beetle so +as to leave it nice, discussing with each other what they would buy +at the sale. Miss Ann's workbox; Miss Juley's (that is Mrs. Julia's) +seaweed album; the fire-screen Miss Hester had crewelled; and Mr. +Timothy's hair--little golden curls, glued into a black frame. Oh! +they must have those--only the price of things had gone up so! + +It fell to Soames to issue invitations for the funeral. He had them +drawn up by Gradman in his office--only blood relations, and no +flowers. Six carriages were ordered. The Will would be read +afterward at the house. + +He arrived at eleven o'clock to see that all was ready. At a quarter +past old Gradman came in black gloves and crape on his hat. He and +Soames stood in the drawing-room waiting. At half-past eleven the +carriages drew up in a long row. But no one else appeared. Gradman +said: + +"It surprises me, Mr. Soames. I posted them myself." + +"I don't know," said Soames; "he'd lost touch with the family." +Soames had often noticed in old days how much more neighbourly his +family were to the dead than to the living. But, now, the way they +had flocked to Fleur's wedding and abstained from Timothy's funeral, +seemed to show some vital change. There might, of course, be another +reason; for Soames felt that if he had not known the contents of +Timothy's Will, he might have stayed away himself through delicacy. +Timothy had left a lot of money, with nobody in particular to leave +it to. They mightn't like to seem to expect something. + +At twelve o'clock the procession left the door; Timothy alone in the +first carriage under glass. Then Soames alone; then Gradman alone; +then Cook and Smither together. They started at a walk, but were +soon trotting under a bright sky. At the entrance to Highgate +Cemetery they were delayed by service in the Chapel. Soames would +have liked to stay outside in the sunshine. He didn't believe a word +of it; on the other hand, it was a form of insurance which could not +safely be neglected, in case there might be something in it after +all. + +They walked up two and two--he and Gradman, Cook and Smither--to the +family vault. It was not very distinguished for the funeral of the +last old Forsyte. + +He took Gradman into his carriage on the way back to the Bayswater +Road with a certain glow in his heart. He had a surprise in pickle +for the old chap who had served the Forsytes four-and-fifty years-a +treat that was entirely his doing. How well he remembered saying to +Timothy the day--after Aunt Hester's funeral: "Well; Uncle Timothy, +there's Gradman. He's taken a lot of trouble for the family. What +do you say to leaving him five thousand?" and his surprise, seeing +the difficulty there had been in getting Timothy to leave anything, +when Timothy had nodded. And now the old chap would be as pleased as +Punch, for Mrs. Gradman, he knew, had a weak heart, and their son had +lost a leg in the War. It was extraordinarily gratifying to Soames +to have left him five thousand pounds of Timothy's money. They sat +down together in the little drawing-room, whose walls--like a vision +of heaven--were sky-blue and gold with every picture-frame +unnaturally bright, and every speck of dust removed from every piece +of furniture, to read that little masterpiece--the Will of Timothy. +With his back to the light in Aunt Hester's chair, Soames faced +Gradman with his face to the light, on Aunt Ann's sofa; and, crossing +his legs, began: + +"This is the last Will and Testament of me Timothy Forsyte of The +Bower Bayswater Road, London I appoint my nephew Soames Forsyte of +The Shelter Mapleduram and Thomas Gradman of 159 Folly Road Highgate +(hereinafter called my Trustees) to be the trustees and executors of +this my Will To the said Soames Forsyte I leave the sum of one +thousand pounds free of legacy duty and to the said Thomas Gradman I +leave the sum of five thousand pounds free of legacy duty." + +Soames paused. Old Gradman was leaning forward, convulsively +gripping a stout black knee with each of his thick hands; his mouth +had fallen open so that the gold fillings of three teeth gleamed; his +eyes were blinking, two tears rolled slowly out of them. Soames read +hastily on. + +"All the rest of my property of whatsoever description I bequeath to +my Trustees upon Trust to convert and hold the same upon the +following trusts namely To pay thereout all my debts funeral expenses +and outgoings of any kind in connection with my Will and to hold the +residue thereof in trust for that male lineal descendant of my father +Jolyon Forsyte by his marriage with Ann Pierce who after the decease +of all lineal descendants whether male or female of my said father by +his said marriage in being at the time of my death shall last attain +the age of twenty-one years absolutely it being my desire that my +property shall be nursed to the extreme limit permitted by the laws +of England for the benefit of such male lineal descendant as +aforesaid." + +Soames read the investment and attestation clauses, and, ceasing, +looked at Gradman. The old fellow was wiping his brow with a large +handkerchief, whose brilliant colour supplied a sudden festive tinge +to the proceedings. + +"My word, Mr. Soames!" he said, and it was clear that the lawyer in +him had utterly wiped out the man: "My word! Why, there are two +babies now, and some quite young children--if one of them lives to be +eighty--it's not a great age--and add twenty-one--that's a hundred +years; and Mr. Timothy worth a hundred and fifty thousand pound net +if he's worth a penny. Compound interest at five per cent. doubles +you in fourteen years. In fourteen years three hundred thousand-six +hundred thousand in twenty-eight--twelve hundred thousand in forty- +two--twenty-four hundred thousand in fifty-six--four million eight +hundred thousand in seventy--nine million six hundred thousand in +eighty-four--Why, in a hundred years it'll be twenty million! And we +shan't live to use it! It is a Will!" + +Soames said dryly: "Anything may happen. The State might take the +lot; they're capable of anything in these days." + +"And carry five," said Gradman to himself. "I forgot--Mr. Timothy's +in Consols; we shan't get more than two per cent. with this income +tax. To be on the safe side, say eight millions. Still, that's a +pretty penny." + +Soames rose and handed him the Will. "You're going into the City. +Take care of that, and do what's necessary. Advertise; but there are +no debts. When's the sale?" + +"Tuesday week," said Gradman. "Life or lives in bein' and twenty-one +years afterward--it's a long way off. But I'm glad he's left it in +the family...." + +The sale--not at Jobson's, in view of the Victorian nature of the +effects--was far more freely attended than the funeral, though not by +Cook and Smither, for Soames had taken it on himself to give them +their heart's desires. Winifred was present, Euphemia, and Francie, +and Eustace had come in his car. The miniatures, Barbizons, and J. +R. drawings had been bought in by Soames; and relics of no marketable +value were set aside in an off-room for members of the family who +cared to have mementoes. These were the only restrictions upon +bidding characterised by an almost tragic languor. Not one piece of +furniture, no picture or porcelain figure appealed to modern taste. +The humming birds had fallen like autumn leaves when taken from where +they had not hummed for sixty years. It was painful to Soames to see +the chairs his aunts had sat on, the little grand piano they had +practically never played, the books whose outsides they had gazed at, +the china they had dusted, the curtains they had drawn, the hearth- +rug which had warmed their feet; above all, the beds they had lain +and died in--sold to little dealers, and the housewives of Fulham. +And yet--what could one do? Buy them and stick them in a lumber- +room? No; they had to go the way of all flesh and furniture, and be +worn out. But when they put up Aunt Ann's sofa and were going to +knock it down for thirty shillings, he cried out, suddenly: "Five +pounds!" The sensation was considerable, and the sofa his. + +When that little sale was over in the fusty saleroom, and those +Victorian ashes scattered, he went out into the misty October +sunshine feeling as if cosiness had died out of the world, and the +board "To Let" was up, indeed. Revolutions on the horizon; Fleur in +Spain; no comfort in Annette; no Timothy's on the Bayswater Road. In +the irritable desolation of his soul he went into the Goupenor +Gallery. That chap Jolyon's watercolours were on view there. He +went in to look down his nose at them--it might give him some faint +satisfaction. The news had trickled through from June to Val's wife, +from her to Val, from Val to his mother, from her to Soames, that the +house--the fatal house at Robin Hill--was for sale, and Irene going +to join her boy out in British Columbia, or some such place. For one +wild moment the thought had come to Soames: 'Why shouldn't I buy it +back? I meant it for my!' No sooner come than gone. Too lugubrious +a triumph; with too many humiliating memories for himself and Fleur. +She would never live there after what had happened. No, the place +must go its way to some peer or profiteer. It had been a bone of +contention from the first, the shell of the feud; and with the woman +gone, it was an empty shell. "For Sale or To Let." With his mind's +eye he could see that board raised high above the ivied wall which he +had built. + +He passed through the first of the two rooms in the Gallery. There +was certainly a body of work! And now that the fellow was dead it +did not seem so trivial. The drawings were pleasing enough, with +quite a sense of atmosphere, and something individual in the brush +work. 'His father and my father; he and I; his child and mine!' +thought Soames. So it had gone on! And all about that woman! +Softened by the events of the past week, affected by the melancholy +beauty of the autumn day, Soames came nearer than he had ever been to +realisation of that truth--passing the understanding of a Forsyte +pure--that the body of Beauty has a spiritual essence, uncapturable +save by a devotion which thinks not of self. After all, he was near +that truth in his devotion to his daughter; perhaps that made him +understand a little how he had missed the prize. And there, among +the drawings of his kinsman, who had attained to that which he had +found beyond his reach, he thought of him and her with a tolerance +which surprised him. But he did not buy a drawing. + +Just as he passed the seat of custom on his return to the outer air +he met with a contingency which had not been entirely absent from his +mind when he went into the Gallery--Irene, herself, coming in. So +she had not gone yet, and was still paying farewell visits to that +fellow's remains! He subdued the little involuntary leap of his +subconsciousness, the mechanical reaction of his senses to the charm +of this once-owned woman, and passed her with averted eyes. But when +he had gone by he could not for the life of him help looking back. +This, then, was finality--the heat and stress of his life, the +madness and the longing thereof, the only defeat he had known, would +be over when she faded from his view this time; even such memories +had their own queer aching value. + +She, too, was looking back. Suddenly she lifted her gloved hand, her +lips smiled faintly, her dark eyes seemed to speak. It was the turn +of Soames to make no answer to that smile and that little farewell +wave; he went out into the fashionable street quivering from head to +foot. He knew what she had meant to say: "Now that I am going for +ever out of the reach of you and yours--forgive me; I wish you well." +That was the meaning; last sign of that terrible reality--passing +morality, duty, common sense--her aversion from him who had owned her +body, but had never touched her spirit or her heart. It hurt; yes-- +more than if she had kept her mask unmoved, her hand unlifted. + +Three days later, in that fast-yellowing October, Soames took a taxi- +cab to Highgate Cemetery and mounted through its white forest to the +Forsyte vault. Close to the cedar, above catacombs and columbaria, +tall, ugly, and individual, it looked like an apex of the competitive +system. He could remember a discussion wherein Swithin had advocated +the addition to its face of the pheasant proper. The proposal had +been rejected in favour of a wreath in stone, above the stark words: +"The family vault of Jolyon Forsyte: 1850." It was in good order. +All trace of the recent interment had been removed, and its sober +grey gloomed reposefully in the sunshine. The whole family lay there +now, except old Jolyon's wife, who had gone back under a contract to +her own family vault in Suffolk; old Jolyon himself lying at Robin +Hill; and Susan Hayman, cremated so that none knew where she might +be. Soames gazed at it with satisfaction--massive, needing little +attention; and this was important, for he was well aware that no one +would attend to it when he himself was gone, and he would have to be +looking out for lodgings soon. He might have twenty years before +him, but one never knew. Twenty years without an aunt or uncle, with +a wife of whom one had better not know anything, with a daughter gone +from home. His mood inclined to melancholy and retrospection. + +This cemetery was full, they said--of people with extraordinary +names, buried in extraordinary taste. Still, they had a fine view up +here, right over London. Annette had once given him a story to read +by that Frenchman, Maupassant, most lugubrious concern, where all the +skeletons emerged from their graves one night, and all the pious +inscriptions on the stones were altered to descriptions of their +sins. Not a true story at all. He didn't know about the French, but +there was not much real harm in English people except their teeth and +their taste, which was certainly deplorable. "The family vault of +Jolyon Forsyte: 1850." A lot of people had been buried here since +then--a lot of English life crumbled to mould and dust! The boom of +an airplane passing under the gold-tinted clouds caused him to lift +his eyes. The deuce of a lot of expansion had gone on. But it all +came back to a cemetery--to a name and a date on a tomb. And he +thought with a curious pride that he and his family had done little +or nothing to help this feverish expansion. Good solid middlemen, +they had gone to work with dignity to manage and possess. "Superior +Dosset," indeed, had built in a dreadful, and Jolyon painted in a +doubtful, period, but so far as he remembered not another of them all +had soiled his hands by creating anything--unless you counted Val +Dartie and his horse-breeding. Collectors, solicitors, barristers, +merchants, publishers, accountants, directors, land agents, even +soldiers--there they had been! The country had expanded, as it were, +in spite of them. They had checked, controlled, defended, and taken +advantage of the process and when you considered how "Superior +Dosset" had begun life with next to nothing, and his lineal +descendants already owned what old Gradman estimated at between a +million and a million and a half, it was not so bad! And yet he +sometimes felt as if the family bolt was shot, their possessive +instinct dying out. They seemed unable to make money--this fourth +generation; they were going into art, literature, farming, or the +army; or just living on what was left them--they had no push and no +tenacity. They would die out if they didn't take care. + +Soames turned from the vault and faced toward the breeze. The air up +here would be delicious if only he could rid his nerves of the +feeling that mortality was in it. He gazed restlessly at the crosses +and the urns, the angels, the "immortelles," the flowers, gaudy or +withering; and suddenly he noticed a spot which seemed so different +from anything else up there that he was obliged to walk the few +necessary yards and look at it. A sober corner, with a massive +queer-shaped cross of grey rough-hewn granite, guarded by four dark +yew-trees. The spot was free from the pressure of the other graves, +having a little box-hedged garden on the far side, and in front a +goldening birch-tree. This oasis in the desert of conventional +graves appealed to the aesthetic sense of Soames, and he sat down +there in the sunshine. Through those trembling gold birch leaves he +gazed out at London, and yielded to the waves of memory. He thought +of Irene in Montpellier Square, when her hair was rusty-golden and +her white shoulders his--Irene, the prize of his love-passion, +resistant to his ownership. He saw Bosinney's body lying in that +white mortuary, and Irene sitting on the sofa looking at space with +the eyes of a dying bird. Again he thought of her by the little +green Niobe in the Bois de Boulogne, once more rejecting him. His +fancy took him on beside his drifting river on the November day when +Fleur was to be born, took him to the dead leaves floating on the +green-tinged water and the snake-headed weed for ever swaying and +nosing, sinuous, blind, tethered. And on again to the window opened +to the cold starry night above Hyde Park, with his father lying dead. +His fancy darted to that picture of "the future town," to that boy's +and Fleur's first meeting; to the bluish trail of Prosper Profond's +cigar, and Fleur in the window pointing down to where the fellow +prowled. To the sight of Irene and that dead fellow sitting side by +side in the stand at Lord's. To her and that boy at Robin Hill. To +the sofa, where Fleur lay crushed up in the corner; to her lips +pressed into his cheek, and her farewell "Daddy." And suddenly he +saw again Irene's grey-gloved hand waving its last gesture of +release. + +He sat there a long time dreaming his career, faithful to the scut of +his possessive instinct, warming himself even with its failures. + +"To Let"--the Forsyte age and way of life, when a man owned his soul, +his investments, and his woman, without check or question. And now +the State had, or would have, his investments, his woman had herself, +and God knew who had his soul. "To Let"--that sane and simple creed! + +The waters of change were foaming in, carrying the promise of new +forms only when their destructive flood should have passed its full. +He sat there, subconscious of them, but with his thoughts resolutely +set on the past--as a man might ride into a wild night with his face +to the tail of his galloping horse. Athwart the Victorian dykes the +waters were rolling on property, manners, and morals, on melody and +the old forms of art--waters bringing to his mouth a salt taste as of +blood, lapping to the foot of this Highgate Hill where Victorianism +lay buried. And sitting there, high up on its most individual spot, +Soames--like a figure of Investment--refused their restless sounds. +Instinctively he would not fight them--there was in him too much +primeval wisdom, of Man the possessive animal. They would quiet down +when they had fulfilled their tidal fever of dispossessing and +destroying; when the creations and the properties of others were +sufficiently broken and defected--they would lapse and ebb, and fresh +forms would rise based on an instinct older than the fever of change- +-the instinct of Home. + +"Je m'en fiche," said Prosper Profond. Soames did not say "Je m'en +fiche"--it was French, and the fellow was a thorn in his side--but +deep down he knew that change was only the interval of death between +two forms of life, destruction necessary to make room for fresher +property. What though the board was up, and cosiness to let?--some +one would come along and take it again some day. + +And only one thing really troubled him, sitting there--the melancholy +craving in his heart--because the sun was like enchantment on his +face and on the clouds and on the golden birch leaves, and the wind's +rustle was so gentle, and the yewtree green so dark, and the sickle +of a moon pale in the sky. + +He might wish and wish and never get it--the beauty and the loving in +the world! + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of AWAKENING and TO LET +by John Galsworthy. + |