The Forsyte Saga John Galsworthy (hot novels to read TXT) đ
- Author: John Galsworthy
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The sight of the ballroom, with its gleaming floor, gave her a feeling of joy, of triumph, for she loved dancing, and when dancing she floated, so light was she, like a strenuous, eager little spirit. He would surely ask her to dance, and if he danced with her it would all be as it was before. She looked about her eagerly.
The sight of Bosinney coming with Irene from the conservatory, with that strange look of utter absorption on his face, struck her too suddenly. They had not seenâ âno one should seeâ âher distress, not even her grandfather.
She put her hand on Jolyonâs arm, and said very low:
âI must go home, Gran; I feel ill.â
He hurried her away, grumbling to himself that he had known how it would be.
To her he said nothing; only when they were once more in the carriage, which by some fortunate chance had lingered near the door, he asked her: âWhat is it, my darling?â
Feeling her whole slender body shaken by sobs, he was terribly alarmed. She must have Blank tomorrow. He would insist upon it. He could not have her like this.â ââ ⊠There, there!
June mastered her sobs, and squeezing his hand feverishly, she lay back in her corner, her face muffled in a shawl.
He could only see her eyes, fixed and staring in the dark, but he did not cease to stroke her hand with his thin fingers.
IX Evening at RichmondOther eyes besides the eyes of June and of Soames had seen âthose twoâ (as Euphemia had already begun to call them) coming from the conservatory; other eyes had noticed the look on Bosinneyâs face.
There are moments when Nature reveals the passion hidden beneath the careless calm of her ordinary moodsâ âviolent spring flashing white on almond-blossom through the purple clouds; a snowy, moonlit peak, with its single star, soaring up to the passionate blue; or against the flames of sunset, an old yew-tree standing dark guardian of some fiery secret.
There are moments, too, when in a picture-gallery, a work, noted by the casual spectator as â* * * Titianâ âremarkably fine,â breaks through the defences of some Forsyte better lunched perhaps than his fellows, and holds him spellbound in a kind of ecstasy. There are things, he feelsâ âthere are things here whichâ âwell, which are things. Something unreasoning, unreasonable, is upon him; when he tries to define it with the precision of a practical man, it eludes him, slips away, as the glow of the wine he has drunk is slipping away, leaving him cross, and conscious of his liver. He feels that he has been extravagant, prodigal of something; virtue has gone out of him. He did not desire this glimpse of what lay under the three stars of his catalogue. God forbid that he should know anything about the forces of Nature! God forbid that he should admit for a moment that there are such things! Once admit that, and where was he? One paid a shilling for entrance, and another for the programme.
The look which June had seen, which other Forsytes had seen, was like the sudden flashing of a candle through a hole in some imaginary canvas, behind which it was being movedâ âthe sudden flaming-out of a vague, erratic glow, shadowy and enticing. It brought home to onlookers the consciousness that dangerous forces were at work. For a moment they noticed it with pleasure, with interest, then felt they must not notice it at all.
It supplied, however, the reason of Juneâs coming so late and disappearing again without dancing, without even shaking hands with her lover. She was ill, it was said, and no wonder.
But here they looked at each other guiltily. They had no desire to spread scandal, no desire to be ill-natured. Who would have? And to outsiders no word was breathed, unwritten law keeping them silent.
Then came the news that June had gone to the seaside with old Jolyon.
He had carried her off to Broadstairs, for which place there was just then a feeling, Yarmouth having lost caste, in spite of Nicholas, and no Forsyte going to the sea without intending to have an air for his money such as would render him bilious in a week. That fatally aristocratic tendency of the first Forsyte to drink Madeira had left his descendants undoubtedly accessible.
So June went to the sea. The family awaited developments; there was nothing else to do.
But how farâ âhow far had âthose twoâ gone? How far were they going to go? Could they really be going at all? Nothing could surely come of it, for neither of them had any money. At the most a flirtation, ending, as all such attachments should, at the proper time.
Soamesâ sister, Winifred Dartie, who had imbibed with the breezes of Mayfairâ âshe lived in Green Streetâ âmore fashionable principles in regard to matrimonial behaviour than were current, for instance, in Ladbroke Grove, laughed at the idea of there being anything in it. The âlittle thingââ âIrene was taller than herself, and it was real testimony to the solid worth of a Forsyte that she should always thus be a âlittle thingââ âthe little thing was bored. Why shouldnât she amuse herself? Soames was rather tiring; and as to Mr. Bosinneyâ âonly that buffoon George would have called him the Buccaneerâ âshe maintained that he was very chic.
This dictumâ âthat Bosinney was chicâ âcaused quite a sensation. It failed to convince. That he was âgood-looking in a wayâ they were prepared to admit, but that anyone could call a man with his pronounced cheekbones, curious eyes, and soft felt hats âchicâ was only another instance of Winifredâs extravagant way of running after something new.
It was that famous summer when extravagance was fashionable, when the very earth was extravagant, chestnut-trees spread with blossom, and flowers drenched in perfume, as they had never been before; when roses blew in every garden; and for the swarming stars the nights had hardly space; when every day and all day long the sun, in full armour, swung his brazen shield above the
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