To Let by John Galsworthy (bookstand for reading .TXT) 📕

Half-Past Two To-Morrow. 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 Towards The

Door.

"Good-Bye!"

"Good-Bye! ... Little Piece Of     Fashion!" Muttered June, Closing The

Door. "That Family!" And She Marched Back Towards Her Studio. Boris

Strumolowski Had Regained His Christlike 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.'

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 Afterwards 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?"

"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

Towards 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 School-Fellows.

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 Week-End 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.