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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. He had a hurried bath and came down to find Holly alone Val had gone to Town and would not be back till the last train.
But the train seemed to run twice as fast now, and its sound was almost lost in that of Jon's sighing. "We're getting near," said Fleur; "the towing-path's awfully exposed. One more! Oh! Jon, don't forget me." Jon answered with his kiss.
Is it not an honour to be asked to save a whole district from ruin? Oh, so all this is being done to honour me! said the old man, roaring with laughter. Perhaps you believe me to be in my second childhood. Not at all! Old Brandur can still see beyond the tip of his nose. The cold-heartedness shown by the old man's laughter at the distress of his fellowmen roused Jon's ire.
That was Jon's thought. She watched them closely; but the half-breed knew that she was watching, and the two said nothing more to each other. But Pierre said, in a careless way: "It is good he have that sleep. He was played out, quite." Jon replied, a secret triumph at her heart: "But what about his orders, the papers he was to carry to Archangel's Rise?
"The young are tired of us, our gods and our ideals. Off with their heads, they say smash their idols! And let's get back to nothing! And, by Jove, they've done it! Jon's a poet. He'll be going in, too, and stamping on what's left of us. Property, beauty, sentiment all smoke. We mustn't own anything nowadays, not even our feelings. They stand in the way of Nothing."
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. Everybody everybody was against him and Fleur! It all strengthened the appeal of her words: "Make sure of me marry me, Jon!"
"The young are tired of us, our gods and our ideals. Off with their heads, they say smash their idols! And let's get back to-nothing! And, by Jove, they've done it! Jon's a poet. He'll be going in, too, and stamping on what's left of us. Property, beauty, sentiment all smoke. We mustn't own anything nowadays, not even our feelings. They stand in the way of Nothing."
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.
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!
That doesn't help matters any. It isn't his fault that they are all on the brink of ruin. Quite true, answered Gudrun. He is not to blame for that, and lying awake nights doesn't help matters, but that is Jon's disposition. He's tired to death of all the work for the Council and the everlasting fault-finding.
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