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Updated: May 7, 2025
"I don't believe in fairies. I never see any." "Ha!" said his father. "Does Mum?" His father smiled his funny smile. "No; she only sees Pan." "What's Pan?" "The Goaty God who skips about in wild and beautiful places." "Was he in Glensofantrim?" "Mum said so." Little Jon took his heels up, and led on. "Did you see him?" "No; I only saw Venus Anadyomene."
"Oh! yes, he's a painter isn't he?" "Only water-colour," said Jon, with honesty. "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.
The thought passed through his mind: 'I've had a good long innings some pretty bitter moments this is the worst! Then he brought his hand out with the letter, and said with a sort of fatigue: "Well, Jon, if you hadn't come to-day, I was going to send you this. I wanted to spare you I wanted to spare your mother and myself, but I see it's no good. Read it, and I think I'll go into the garden."
"Darling, be nice to me. I had to see Jon he wrote to me. He's going to try what he can do with his mother. But I've been thinking. It's really in your hands, Father. If you'd persuade her that it doesn't mean renewing the past in any way! That I shall stay yours, and Jon will stay hers; that you need never see him or her, and she need never see you or me!
"People will assume that I'm in love." "Well, aren't you?" Fleur shrugged her shoulders. 'I might have known it, thought June; 'she's Soames' daughter fish! And yet he! "What do you want me to do then?" she said with a sort of disgust. "Could I see Jon here to-morrow on his way down to Holly's? He'd come if you sent him a line to-night.
"I shall find out all right." A long silence followed till Fleur said: "This is Maidenhead, stand by, Jon!" The train stopped. The remaining passenger got out. Fleur drew down her blind. "Quick!" she cried. "Hang out! Look as much of a beast as you can." Jon blew his nose, and scowled; never in all his life had he scowled like that! An old lady recoiled, a young one tried the handle.
He thought he had lost her, then almost ran into her standing quite still. "Isn't it jolly?" she cried, and Jon answered: "Rather!" She reached up, twisted off a blossom and, twirling it in her fingers, said: "I suppose I can call you Jon?" "I should think so just." "All right! But you know there's a feud between our families?" Jon stammered: "Feud? Why?" "It's ever so romantic and silly.
She went to sleep, thinking that he would suffer horribly if anybody hurt him; but who would hurt him? Jon, on the other hand, sat awake at his window with a bit of paper and a pencil, writing his first "real poem" by the light of a candle because there was not enough moon to see by, only enough to make the night seem fluttery and as if engraved on silver.
To say that Jon Forsyte accompanied his mother to Spain unwillingly would scarcely have been adequate. He went as a well-natured dog goes for a walk with its mistress, leaving a choice mutton-bone on the lawn. He went looking back at it. Forsytes deprived of their mutton-bones are wont to sulk. But Jon had little sulkiness in his composition. He adored his mother, and it was his first travel.
Jon would not take her as far as the farmyard; only to where she could see the field leading up to the gardens, and the house beyond. They turned in among the larches, and suddenly, at the winding of the path, came on Irene, sitting on an old log seat. There are various kinds of shocks: to the vertebrae; to the nerves; to moral sensibility; and, more potent and permanent, to personal dignity.
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