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Updated: June 15, 2025
Soames, whose attitude toward 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 very unpleasant, the whole thing very cynical. Winifred was "intrigued" by the dresses.
She she had these devotions for Bosinney for that boy's father for this boy! He touched Fleur's arm, and said: "Well, have you had enough?" "One more, Father, please." She would be sick! He went to the counter to pay. When he turned round again he saw Fleur standing near the door, holding a handkerchief which the boy had evidently just handed to her. "F.F.," he heard her say.
They discussed the nature of their homes and previous existences, which had a kind of fascinating unreality up on that lonely height. There remained but one thing solid in Jon's past his mother; but one thing solid in Fleur's her father; and of these figures, as though seen in the distance with disapproving faces, they spoke little.
"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.
"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.
When Jon rushed away with the letter in his hand, he ran along the terrace and round the corner of the house, in fear and confusion. Leaning against the creepered wall he tore open the letter. It was long very long! This added to his fear, and he began reading. When he came to the underlined words: "It was Fleur's father that she married," everything swam before him.
His fancy darted to that picture of "The Future Town," to that boy's and Fleur's first meeting; to the blueish trail of Prosper Profond's cigar, and Fleur in the window pointing down to where the fellow prowled. To the sight of Irene and that dead fellow sitting side by side in the Stand at Lord's. To her and that boy at Robin Hill.
Her father had turned from his picture, and was staring at his feet. He looked very grey. 'He has nice small feet, she thought, catching his eye, at once averted from her. "You're my only comfort," said Soames suddenly, "and you go on like this." Fleur's heart began to beat. "Like what, dear?" Again Soames gave her a look which, but for the affection in it, might have been called furtive.
To have such knowledge forced on him, at his time of life, about Fleur's mother I He picked the letter up from the carpet, tore it across, and then, when it hung together by just the fold at the back, stopped tearing, and reread it. He was taking at that moment one of the decisive resolutions of his life. He would not be forced into another scandal. No!
Thank goodness, the young fellow had shaved off his half-toothbrushes, and no longer looked like a mountebank! With a girl friend of Fleur's who was staying in the house, and a neighbouring youth or so, they made two couples after dinner, in the hall, to the music of the electric pianola, which performed Fox-trots unassisted, with a surprised shine on its expressive surface.
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