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!
