Two days of rain,and summer set in bland and sunny.Old Jolyon walked and talked with Holly.At first he felt taller and full of a new vigour;then he felt restless.Almost every afternoon they would enter the coppice,and walk as far as the log.'Well,she's not there!'he would think,'of course not!'And he would feel a little shorter,and drag his feet walking up the hill home,with his hand clapped to his left side.Now and then the thought would move in him:'Did she come--or did I dream it?'and he would stare at space,while the dog Balthasar stared at him.Of course she would not come again!He opened the letters from Spain with less excitement.They were not returning till July;he felt,oddly,that he could bear it.Every day at dinner he screwed up his eyes and looked at where she had sat.She was not there,so he unscrewed his eyes again.
On the seventh afternoon he thought:'I must go up and get some boots.'He ordered Beacon,and set out.Passing from Putney towards Hyde Park he reflected:'I might as well go to Chelsea and see her.'And he called out:"Just drive me to where you took that lady the other night."The coachman turned his broad red face,and his juicy lips answered:"The lady in grey,sir?""Yes,the lady in grey."What other ladies were there!Stodgy chap!
The carriage stopped before a small three-storied block of flats,standing a little back from the river.With a practised eye old Jolyon saw that they were cheap.'I should think about sixty pound a year,'he mused;and entering,he looked at the name-board.The name 'Forsyte'was not on it,but against 'First Floor,Flat C'were the words:'Mrs.Irene Heron.'Ah!She had taken her maiden name again!And somehow this pleased him.He went upstairs slowly,feeling his side a little.He stood a moment,before ringing,to lose the feeling of drag and fluttering there.She would not be in!And then Boots!The thought was black.What did he want with boots at his age?He could not wear out all those he had.
"Your mistress at home?"
"Yes,sir."
"Say Mr.Jolyon Forsyte."
"Yes,sir,will you come this way?"
Old Jolyon followed a very little maid--not more than sixteen one would say--into a very small drawing-room where the sun-blinds were drawn.It held a cottage piano and little else save a vague fragrance and good taste.'He stood in the middle,with his top hat in his hand,and thought:'I expect she's very badly off!'
There was a mirror above the fireplace,and he saw himself reflected.An old-looking chap!He heard a rustle,and turned round.She was so close that his moustache almost brushed her forehead,just under her hair.
"I was driving up,"he said."Thought I'd look in on you,and ask you how you got up the other night."And,seeing her smile,he felt suddenly relieved.She was really glad to see him,perhaps.
"Would you like to put on your hat and come for a drive in the Park?"But while she was gone to put her hat on,he frowned.The Park!
James and Emily!Mrs.Nicholas,or some other member of his precious family would be there very likely,prancing up and down.
And they would go and wag their tongues about having seen him with her,afterwards.Better not!He did not wish to revive the echoes of the past on Forsyte 'Change.'He removed a white hair from the lapel of his closely-buttoned-up frock coat,and passed his hand over his cheeks,moustache,and square chin.It felt very hollow there under the cheekbones.He had not been eating much lately--he had better get that little whippersnapper who attended Holly to give him a tonic.But she had come back and when they were in the carriage,he said:
"Suppose we go and sit in Kensington Gardens instead?"and added with a twinkle:"No prancing up and down there,"as if she had been in the secret of his thoughts.
Leaving the carriage,they entered those select precincts,and strolled towards the water.
"You've gone back to your maiden name,I see,"he said:"I'm not sorry."She slipped her hand under his arm:"Has June forgiven me,Uncle Jolyon?"He answered gently:"Yes--yes;of course,why not?""And have you?"
"I?I forgave you as soon as I saw how the land really lay."And perhaps he had;his instinct had always been to forgive the beautiful.
She drew a deep breath."I never regretted--I couldn't.Did you ever love very deeply,Uncle Jolyon?"At that strange question old Jolyon stared before him.Had he?He did not seem to remember that he ever had.But he did not like to say this to the young woman whose hand was touching his arm,whose life was suspended,as it were,by memory of a tragic love.And he thought:'If I had met you when I was young I--I might have made a fool of myself,perhaps.'And a longing to escape in generalities beset him.
"Love's a queer thing,"he said,"fatal thing often.It was the Greeks--wasn't it?--made love into a goddess;they were right,Idare say,but then they lived in the Golden Age.""Phil adored them."
Phil!The word jarred him,for suddenly--with his power to see all round a thing,he perceived why she was putting up with him like this.She wanted to talk about her lover!Well!If it was any pleasure to her!And he said:"Ah!There was a bit of the sculptor in him,I fancy.""Yes.He loved balance and symmetry;he loved the whole-hearted way the Greeks gave themselves to art."Balance!The chap had no balance at all,if he remembered;as for symmetry--clean-built enough he was,no doubt;but those queer eyes of his,and high cheek-bones--Symmetry?
"You're of the Golden Age,too,Uncle Jolyon.
Old Jolyon looked round at her.Was she chaffing him?No,her eyes were soft as velvet.Was she flattering him?But if so,why?
There was nothing to be had out of an old chap like him.
"Phil thought so.He used to say:'But I can never tell him that Iadmire him."'
Ah!There it was again.Her dead lover;her desire to talk of him!
And he pressed her arm,half resentful of those memories,half grateful,as if he recognised what a link they were between herself and him.
