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Updated: May 8, 2025
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.
"If you were, I don't believe I should like you." Jon slipped his hand tremulously under her arm. Fleur looked straight before her, and chanted: "Jon, Jon, the farmer's son, Stole a pig, and away he run!" Jon's arm crept round her waist. "This is rather sudden," said Fleur calmly; "do you often do it?" Jon dropped his arm.
And now the life of the whole district hung on a thin thread, the fate of which depended upon the whims of the weather. Jon's nose and cheekbones smarted from the cold; his shoes were frozen stiff, and pinched his feet, and his throat burned with the heat of anger rising from his breast.
"If you were, I don't believe I should like you." Jon slipped his hand tremulously under her arm. Fleur looked straight before her and chanted: "Jon, Jon, the farmer's son, Stole a pig, and away he run!" Jon's arm crept round her waist. "This is rather sudden," said Fleur calmly; "do you often do it?" Jon dropped his arm.
What was she going to say to him, who had in his heart such things to say to her? "I know Fleur came to-day. I'm not surprised." It was as though she had added: "She is her father's daughter!" And Jon's heart hardened. Irene went on quietly: "I have Father's letter. I picked it up that night and kept it. Would you like it back, dear?" Jon shook his head.
When, at some jolt, the young man's arm touched hers as if by accident, she only thought: 'If that were Jon's arm! When his cheerful voice, tempered by her proximity, murmured above the sound of the car's progress, she smiled and answered, thinking: 'If that were Jon's voice! and when once he said: "Fleur, you look a perfect angel in that dress!" she answered: "Oh, do you like it?" thinking: 'If only Jon could see it!
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!"
And she took out Jon's letters not flowery effusions, but haunted in their recital of things seen and done by a longing very agreeable to her, and all ending "Your devoted J." Fleur was not sentimental, her desires were ever concrete and concentrated, but what poetry there was in the daughter of Soames and Annette had certainly in those weeks of waiting gathered round her memories of Jon.
Fleur slipped out of his arms. "Oh! Very well!" And suddenly she burst into tears of disappointment, shame, and overstrain. Followed five minutes of acute misery. Jon's remorse and tenderness knew no bounds; but he did not promise. Despite her will to cry: "Very well, then, if you don't love me enough good-bye!" she dared not.
We can't all see people in the same light, can we? I believe each of us only has about one or two people who can see the best that's in us, and bring it out. For you I think it's your mother. I once saw her looking at a letter of yours; it was wonderful to see her face. I think she's the most beautiful woman I ever saw Age doesn't seem to touch her." Jon's face softened, then again became tense.
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