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The Forsyte Saga, Volume III.
Awakening
To Let

written by "Galsworthy, John, 1867-1933"
.... "And won't you sit down, please?" The Austrian shook her head. "Your father a very nice old man—the most nice old man I ever see. Miss Forsyte tell me all about him. Is he better?" Her words fell on Jon like a reproach. "Oh Yes, I think he's all right." "I like to see him again," said the Austrian, putting a hand on her heart; "he have veree kind heart." "Yes," said Jon. And again her words seemed to him a reproach. "He never give no trouble to no one, and smile so gentle." "Yes, doesn't he?" "He look at Miss Forsyte so funny sometimes. I tell him all my story; he so sympatisch. Your mother—she nice and well?" "Yes, very." "He have her photograph on his dressing-table. Veree beautiful" Jon gulped down his tea. This woman, with her concerned face and her reminding words, was like the first and second murderers. "Thank you," he said; "I must go now. May—may I leave this with you?" He put a ten-shilling note on the tray with a doubting hand and gained the door. He heard the Austrian gasp, and hurried out. He had just time to catch his train, and all the way to Victoria looked at every face that passed, as lovers will, hoping against hope. On reaching Worthing he put his luggage into the local train, and set out across the Downs for Wansdon, trying to walk off his aching irresolution. So long as he went full bat, he could enjoy the beauty of those green slopes, stopping now and again to sprawl on the grass, admire the perfection of a wild rose or listen to a lark's song. 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. He had a hurried bath and...

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