either to me nor to you, my daughters; but for this noble
Englishman, what shall we say? Give thanks to God for a great heart. He
comes--not for country, not for fame, not for money, but to help the weak
and the oppressed. Let us drink, then, to him; let us drink again and
again to heroic Forsyte!" In the midst of the dead silence, Swithin
caught the look of suppliant mockery in Rozsi's eyes. He glanced at the
Hungarian. Was he laughing at him? But Boleskey, after drinking up his
wine, had sunk again into his seat; and there suddenly, to the surprise
of all, he began to snore. Margit rose and, bending over him like a
mother, murmured: "He is tired--it is the ride!" She raised him in her
strong arms, and leaning on her shoulder Boleskey staggered from the
room. Swithin and Rozsi were left alone. He slid his hand towards her
hand that lay so close, on the rough table-cloth. It seemed to await his
touch. Something gave way in him, and words came welling up; for the
moment he forgot himself, forgot everything but that he was near her. Her
head dropped on his shoulder, he breathed the perfume of her hair.
"Good-night!" she whispered, and the whisper was like a kiss; yet before
he could stop her she was gone. Her footsteps died away in the passage,
but Swithin sat gazing intently at a single bright drop of spilt wine
quivering on the table's edge. In that moment she, in her helplessness
and emotion, was all in all to him--his life nothing; all the real
things--his conventions, convictions, training, and himself--all seemed
remote, behind a mist of passion and strange chivalry. Carefully with a
bit of bread he soaked up the bright drop; and suddenly he thought: 'This
is tremendous!' For a long time he stood there in the window, close to
the dark pine-trees.

XI

In the early morning he awoke, full of the discomfort of this strange
place and the medley of his dreams. Lying, with his nose peeping over
the quilt, he was visited by a horrible suspicion. When he could bear it
no longer, he started up in bed. What if it were all a plot to get him
to marry her? The thought was treacherous, and inspired in him a faint
disgust. Still, she might be ignorant of it! But was she so innocent?
What innocent girl would have come to his room like that? What innocent
girl? Her father, who pretended to be caring only for his country? It
was not probable that any man was such a fool; it was all part of the
game-a s