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

"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?"

"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've Not

Forgotten How He Let Me Go Out 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 More Than The     Most Elaborate Explanations. 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? 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. He Recognised The

Intention Of     Those Words. Everybody Was Against Him And Fleur! It All

Strengthened Her Appeal:

"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.

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.