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Updated: June 15, 2025
Soames, soon after the divorce, married Fleur's mother, and she was born. That is the story, Jon. I have told it you, because by the affection which we see you have formed for this man's daughter you are blindly moving towards what must utterly destroy your mother's happiness, if not your own.
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 words: "It was Fleur's father that she married," everything seemed to spin before him.
The Juno, the handkerchief, Fleur's eyes, her questions, and now this delay in her return the symptoms seemed to him so sinister that, faithful to his nature, he could not part with them. "I think you take too much care," said Winifred; "if I were you, I should tell her of that old matter. It's no good thinking that girls in these days are as they used to be.
She don't care two snaps for Mike, an' I reckon he don't want no looking after anyway." "No, indeed," answered the other; "I take the best of care of him. Miss Panney must be dreadful afraid of our young lady, eh?" "That's jes' what she is," said Phoebe. "I wonder she didn't take Mr. Hav'ley along with her when she went to the seashore." La Fleur's eyes sparkled.
A voice said cheerfully: "Bit thick, isn't it, sir?" The young man who had handed him his handkerchief was again passing. Soames nodded. "I don't know what we're coming to." "Oh! That's all right, sir," answered the young man cheerfully; "they don't either." Fleur's voice said: "Hallo, Father! Here you are!" precisely as if he had been keeping her waiting.
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?
He caught up the letter and read on again: "horror and aversion alive in her to-day ... your children ... grandchildren ... of a man who once owned your mother as a man might own a slave...." He got up from his bed. This cruel shadowy past, lurking there to murder his love and Fleur's, was true, or his father could never have written it.
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.
Without money of her own, and with only a stepmother closely related to Jezebel she was very unhappy in her home life. It was Fleur's father that she married, my cousin Soames Forsyte. He had pursued her very tenaciously and to do him justice was deeply in love with her. Within a week she knew the fearful mistake she had made. It was not his fault; it was her error of judgment her misfortune."
This house his father said in that death-bed letter had been built for his mother to live in with Fleur's father! He put out his hand in the half-dark, as if to grasp the shadowy hand of the dead. He clenched, trying to feel the thin vanished fingers of his father; to squeeze them, and reassure him that he he was on his father's side. Tears, prisoned within him, made his eyes feel dry and hot.
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