The Forsyte Saga(336)

‘Father,’ said Jon slowly, ‘Fleur and I are engaged.’

‘Exactly!’ thought Jolyon, breathing with difficulty.

‘I know that you and Mother don’t like the idea. Fleur says that Mother was engaged to her father before you married her. Of course I don’t know what happened, but it must be ages ago. I’m devoted to her, Dad, and she says she is to me.’

Jolyon uttered a queer sound, half laugh, half groan.

‘You are nineteen, Jon, and I am seventy-two. How are we to understand each other in a matter like this, eh?’

‘You love Mother, Dad; you must know what we feel. It isn’t fair to us to let old things spoil our happiness, is it?’

Brought face to face with his confession, Jolyon resolved to do without it if by any means he could. He laid his hand on the boy’s arm.

‘Look, Jon! I might put you off with talk about your both being too young and not knowing your own minds, and all that, but you wouldn’t listen, besides, it doesn’t meet the case – Youth, unfortunately, cures itself. You talk lightly about “old things like that”, knowing nothing – as you say truly – of what happened. Now, have I ever given you reason to doubt my love for you, or my word?’

At a less anxious moment he might have been amused by the conflict his word aroused – the boy’s eager clasp, to reassure him on these points, the dread on his face of what that reassurance would bring forth; but he could only feel grateful for the squeeze.

‘Very well, you can believe what I tell you. If you don’t give up this love affair, you will make Mother wretched to the end of her days. Believe me, my dear, the past, whatever it was, can’t be buried – it can’t indeed.’

Jon got off the arm of the chair.

‘The girl’ – thought Jolyon – ‘there she goes – starting up before him – life itself – eager, pretty, loving!’

‘I can’t, Father, how can I – just because you say that? Of course I can’t!’

‘Jon, if you knew the story you would give this up without hesitation; you would have to! Can’t you believe me?’

‘How can you tell what I should think? Father, I love her better than anything in the world.’

Jolyon’s face twitched, and he said with painful slowness:

‘Better than your mother, Jon?’

From the boy’s face, and his clenched fists Jolyon realized the stress and struggle he was going through.

‘I don’t know,’ he burst out, ‘I don’t know! But to give Fleur up for nothing – for something I don’t understand, for something that I don’t believe can really matter half so much, will make me – make me –’

‘Make you feel as unjust, put a barrier – yes. But that’s better than going on with this.’

‘I can’t. Fleur loves me, and I love her. You want me to trust you, why don’t you trust me, Father? We wouldn’t want to know anything – we wouldn’t let it make any difference. It’ll only make us both love you and Mother all the more.’

Jolyon put his hand into his breast pocket, but brought it out again empty, and sat, clucking his tongue against his teeth.

‘Think what your mother’s been to you, Jon! She has nothing but you; I shan’t last much longer.’

‘Why not? It isn’t fair to – Why not?’

‘Well,’ said Jolyon, rather coldly, ‘because the doctors tell me I shan’t; that’s all.’

‘Oh! Dad!’ cried Jon, and burst into tears.

This downbreak of his son, whom he had not seen cry since he was ten, moved Jolyon terribly. He recognized to the full how fearfully soft the boy’s heart was, how much he would suffer in this business, and in life generally. And he reached out his hand helplessly – not wishing, indeed not daring to get up.

‘Dear man,’ he said, ‘don’t – or you’ll make me!’

Jon smothered down his paroxysm, and stood with face averted, very still.

‘What now?’ thought Jolyon. ‘What can I say to move him?’

‘By the way, don’t speak of that to Mother,’ he said; ‘she has enough to frighten her with this affair of yours. I know how you feel. But, Jon, you know her and me well enough to be sure we wouldn’t wish to spoil your happiness lightly. Why, my dear boy, we don’t care for anything but your happiness – at least, with me it’s just yours and Mother’s and with her just yours. It’s all the future for you both that’s at stake.’

Jon turned. His face was deadly pale; his eyes, deep in his head, seemed to burn.