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Updated: May 8, 2025
He saw her touch things on the table as if they had some virtue in them, then face the window-grey from head to foot like a ghost. The least turn of her head, and she must see him! Her lips moved: "Oh! Jon!" She was speaking to herself; the tone of her voice troubled Jon's heart. He saw in her hand a little photograph. She held it toward the light, looking at it very small.
"When we come to Reading, Jon, get out first and go down to Caversham lock and wait for me. I'll send the car home and we'll walk by the towing-path." Jon seized her hand in gratitude, and they sat silent, with the world well lost, and one eye on the corridor. But the train seemed to run twice as fast now, and its sound was almost lost in that of Jon's sighing.
"Exactly what I thought when I saw you. I knew at once I should never love anybody else." Fleur laughed. "We're absurdly young. And love's young dream is out of date, Jon. Besides, it's awfully wasteful. Think of all the fun you might have. You haven't begun, even; it's a shame, really. And there's me. I wonder!" Confusion came on Jon's spirit.
Did the ghost of that grand passion linger in some corner of his heart? She slipped her hand under his arm. "Jon's father is quite ill and old; I saw him." "You ?" "Yes, I went there with Jon; I saw them both." "Well, and what did they say to you?" "Nothing. They were very polite." "They would be."
"Grape colour," came the whisper, "all grapes La Vendimia the vintage." Jon's fingers scarcely touched each side of the waist; he looked up, with adoring eyes. "Oh! Jon," it whispered; bent, kissed his forehead, pirouetted again, and, gliding out, was gone. Jon stayed on his knees, and his head fell forward against the bed. How long he stayed like that he did not know.
"Exactly what I thought when I saw you. I knew at once I should never love anybody else." Fleur laughed. "We're absurdly young. And love's young dream is out of date, Jon. Besides, it's awfully wasteful. Think of all the fun you might have. You haven't begun, even; it's a shame, really. And there's me. I wonder!" Confusion came on Jon's spirit.
Jon's eyes opened wide; all was pushing him towards historical research, when his sister's voice said gently from the doorway: "Come along, you two," and he rose, his heart pushing him towards 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 sun-dial threw a long shadow.
When she looked round with the finished note Fleur was still touching the poppies with her gloved finger. June licked a stamp. "Well, here it is. If you're not in love, of course, there's no more to be said. Jon's lucky." Fleur took the note. "Thanks awfully!" 'Cold-blooded little baggage! thought June. Jon, son of her father, to love, and not to be loved by the daughter of Soames!
Like that passage of the Cesar Franck Sonata so had been his life with her, a divine third movement. And now this business of Jon's this bad business! Drifted to the edge of consciousness, he hardly knew if it were in sleep that he smelled the scent of a cigar, and seemed to see a shape in the blackness before his closed eyes.
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.
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