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

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

Comers 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, But 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

Towards 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.

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 Flaring 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

Reflection 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--I Won'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 Towards The     Door.

Fleur Darted After Him.

"He