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Updated: June 15, 2025
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 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?
In saying this, I was making not so much La Fleur's eloge as my own, having been in love with one princess or another almost all my life, and I hope I shall go on so till I die, being firmly persuaded, that if ever I do a mean action, it must be in some interval betwixt one passion and another: whilst this interregnum lasts, I always perceive my heart locked up, I can scarce find in it to give Misery a sixpence; and therefore I always get out of it as fast as I can and the moment I am rekindled, I am all generosity and good-will again; and would do anything in the world, either for or with any one, if they will but satisfy me there is no sin in it.
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.
"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.
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.
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.
"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.
Soames, whose attitude towards 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 unpleasant, the whole thing cynical. Winifred was "intrigued" by the dresses. The music too did not displease her.
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."
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