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Updated: May 8, 2025
Surely surely Jon's mother! The conviction came as a shock. And she stood still in a flurry of thought. Why, of course! Jon's father had married the woman her father had wanted to marry, had cheated him out of her, perhaps. Then, afraid of showing by her manner that she had lighted on his secret, she refused to think further, and, shaking out the silk handkerchief, entered the dining-room.
No wonder her father had hidden that photograph, so secretly behind her own-ashamed of having kept it! But could he hate Jon's mother and yet keep her photograph? She pressed her hands over her forehead, trying to see things clearly. Had they told Jon had her visit to Robin Hill forced them to tell him? Everything now turned on that! She knew, they all knew, except perhaps Jon!
"What! Not Euripides?" "Euripides? Oh! no, I can't bear Greek plays; they're so long. I think beauty's always swift. I like to look at one picture, for instance, and then run off. I can't bear a lot of things together. Look!" She held up her blossom in the moonlight. "That's better than all the orchard, I think." And, suddenly, with her other hand she caught Jon's.
Jon's eyes opened wide; all was pushing him toward historical research, when his sister's voice said gently from the doorway: "Come along, you two," and he rose, his heart pushing him toward something far more modern. Fleur having declared that it was "simply too wonderful to stay indoors," they all went out. Moonlight was frosting the dew, and an old sundial threw a long shadow.
"Look out for the corridor," she whispered; "and quick!" Her lips met his. And though their kiss only lasted perhaps ten seconds, Jon's soul left his body and went so far beyond, that, when he was again sitting opposite that demure figure, he was pale as death.
It's only because I can't bear to make you unhappy, Mother, now that Father " He thrust his fists against his forehead. Irene got up. "I told you that night, dear, not to mind me. I meant it. Think of yourself and your own happiness! I can stand what's left I've brought it on myself." Again the word "Mother!" burst from Jon's lips. She came over to him and put her hands over his.
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.
"Look out for the corridor," she whispered; "and quick!" Her lips met his. And though their kiss only lasted perhaps ten seconds, Jon's soul left his body and went so far beyond, that, when he was again sitting opposite that demure figure, he was pale as death.
Her dreams that night were endless and uneasy; she rose heavy and unrested, and went at once to the study of Whitaker's Almanac. A Forsyte is instinctively aware that facts are the real crux of any situation. She might conquer Jon's prejudice, but without exact machinery to complete their desperate resolve, nothing would happen.
She felt a sudden hunger for Jon's face, for his hands, and the feel of his lips again on hers. And pressing her arms tight across her breast she forced out a little light laugh. "O la! la! What a small fuss! as Profond would say. Father, I don't like that man." She saw him stop, and take something out of his breast pocket. "You don't?" he said. "Why?" "Nothing," murmured Fleur; "just caprice!"
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