rs the wife of Montague Dartie. Her
description was a masterpiece of understatement. Fleur's father's first
wife had been very foolish. There had been a young man who had got run
over, and she had left Fleur's father. Then, years after, when it might
all have come right again, she had taken up with their cousin Jolyon;
and, of course, her father had been obliged to have a divorce. Nobody
remembered anything of it now, except just the family. And, perhaps, it
had all turned out for the best; her father had Fleur; and Jolyon and
Irene had been quite happy, they said, and their boy was a nice boy.
"Val having Holly, too, is a sort of plaster, don't you know?" With
these soothing words, Winifred patted her niece's shoulder, thought:
"She's a nice, plump little thing!" and went back to Prosper Profond,
who, in spite of his indiscretion, was very "amusing" this evening.

For some minutes after her aunt had gone Fleur remained under influence
of bromide material and spiritual. But then reality came back. Her aunt
had left out all that mattered--all the feeling, the hate, the love,
the unforgivingness of passionate hearts. She, who knew so little of
life, and had touched only the fringe of love, was yet aware by
instinct that words have as little relation to fact and feeling as coin
to the bread it buys. 'Poor Father!' she thought. 'Poor me! Poor Jon!
But I don't care, I mean to have him!' From the window of her darkened
room she saw "that man" issue from the door below and "prowl" away. If
he and her mother--how would that affect her chance? Surely it must
make her father cling to her more closely, so that he would consent in
the end to anything she wanted, or become reconciled the sooner to what
she did without his knowledge.

She took some earth from the flower-box in the window, and with all her
might flung it after that disappearing figure. It fell short, but the
action did her good.

And a little puff of air came up from Green Street, smelling of petrol,
not sweet.

V

PURELY FORSYTE AFFAIRS

Soames, coming up to the City, with the intention of calling in at
Green Street at the end of his day and taking Fleur back home with him,
suffered from rumination. Sleeping partner that he was, he seldom
visited the City now, but he still had a room of his own at Cuthcott
Kingson & Forsyte's, and one special clerk and a half assigned to the
management of purely Forsyte affairs. They were somewhat in flux just
now--an