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Updated: June 13, 2025
"How are you?" murmured Val. "I'm very well," replied Monsieur Profond, smiling with a certain inimitable slowness. "A good devil," Holly had called him. Well! He looked a little like a devil, with his dark, clipped, pointed beard; a sleepy one though, and good-humoured, with fine eyes, unexpectedly intelligent. "Here's a gentleman wants to know you cousin of yours Mr. George Forsyde."
There she was the little wretch looking back at him in her dreamy mood, the mood he loved best because he felt so much safer when she looked like that. He was still gazing when the scent of a cigar impinged on his nostrils, and a voice said: "Well, Mr. Forsyde, what you goin' to do with this small lot?" That Belgian chap, whose mother as if Flemish blood were not enough had been Armenian!
And Fleur gazed promptly into the fireplace with an air of seeing a fire which was not there. Monsieur Profond came from the window. He was in full fig, with a white waistcoat and a white flower in his buttonhole. "Well, Miss Forsyde," he said, "I'm awful pleased to see you. Mr. Forsyde well? I was sayin' to-day I want to see him have some pleasure. He worries."
Forsyde." However suspiciously regarded, he still frequented Winifred's evergreen little house in Green Street, with a good-natured obtuseness which no one mistook for naivete; a word hardly applicable to Monsieur Prosper Profond.
But I should like to know that you haven't heard it all wrong." "His first wife," murmured Monsieur Profond. Choking back the words, "He was never married before," she said: "Well, what about her?" "Mr. George Forsyde was tellin' me about your father's first wife marryin' his cousin Jolyon afterward. It was a small bit unpleasant, I should think. I saw their boy nice boy!" Fleur looked up.
Heavy drops fell on to her frills, and to avoid them she crossed over under the eyes of the Iseeum Club. Chancing to look up she saw Monsieur Profond with a tall stout man in the bay window. Turning into Green Street she heard her name called, and saw "that prowler" coming up. He took off his hat a glossy "bowler" such as she particularly detested: "Good-evenin'! Miss Forsyde.
Isn't there a small thing I can do for you?" "Yes, pass by on the other side." "I say! Why do you dislike me?" "It looks like it." "Well, then, because you make me feel life isn't worth living." Monsieur Profond smiled. "Look here, Miss Forsyde, don't worry. It'll be all right. Nothing lasts." "Things do last," cried Fleur; "with me anyhow especially likes and dislikes."
How dared he have anything to break, and yet how dared he break it? "Good-night, Miss Forsyde! Remember me to Mrs. Dartie. I'm not so bad really. Good-night!" Fleur left him standing there with his hat raised. Stealing a look round, she saw him stroll immaculate and heavy back toward his Club. 'He can't even love with conviction, she thought. 'What will Mother do?
He could not take his eyes off the dark past master what he said was so deliberate and discouraging such heavy, queer, smiled-out words. Jon was thinking of butterflies, when he heard him say: "I want to see Mr. Soames Forsyde take an interest in 'orses." "Old Soames! He's too dry a file!" With all his might Jon tried not to grow red, while the dark past master went on.
He could not take his eyes off the dark past master what he said was so deliberate and discouraging such heavy, queer, smiled-out words. Jon was thinking of butterflies, when he heard him say: "I want to see Mr. Soames Forsyde take an interest in 'orses." "Old Soames! He's too dry a file!" With all his might Jon tried not to grow red, while the dark past master went on.
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