and went out into the air. Orion's Belt
was very bright. He passed along the terrace round the corner of the
house, till, through the window of the music-room, he could see Irene
at the piano, with lamplight falling on her powdery hair; withdrawn
into herself she seemed, her dark eyes staring straight before her, her
hands idle. Jolyon saw her raise those hands and clasp them over her
breast. 'It's Jon, with her,' he thought; 'all Jon! I'm dying out of
her--it's natural!'

And, careful not to be seen, he stole back.

Next day, after a bad night, he sat down to his task. He wrote with
difficulty and many erasures.

"MY DEAREST BOY,

"You are old enough to understand how very difficult it is for elders
to give themselves away to their young. Especially when--like your
mother and myself, though I shall never think of her as anything but
young--their hearts are altogether set on him to whom they must
confess. I cannot say we are conscious of having sinned exactly--people
in real life very seldom are, I believe, but most persons would say we
had, and at all events our conduct, righteous or not, has found us out.
The truth is, my dear, we both have pasts, which it is now my task to
make known to you, because they so grievously and deeply affect your
future. Many, very many years ago, as far back indeed as 1883, when she
was only twenty, your mother had the great and lasting misfortune to
make an unhappy marriage--no, not with me, Jon. Without money of her
own, and with only a stepmother--closely related to Jezebel--she was
very unhappy in her home life. IT WAS FLEUR'S FATHER THAT SHE MARRIED,
my cousin Soames Forsyte. He had pursued her very tenaciously and to do
him justice was deeply in love with her. Within a week she knew the
fearful mistake she had made. It was not his fault; it was her error of
judgment--her misfortune."

So far Jolyon had kept some semblance of irony, but now his subject
carried him away.

"Jon, I want to explain to you if I can--and it's very hard--how it is
that an unhappy marriage such as this can so easily come about. You
will of course say: 'If she didn't really love him how could she ever
have married him?' You would be quite right if it were not for one or
two rather terrible considerations. From this initial mistake of hers
all the subsequent trouble, sorrow, and tragedy have come, and so I
must make it clear to you if I can. You see, Jon, in those days and
even to this day--inde