The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(135)

Like most reputations, that of Marjorie Ferrar received more than its deserts. If you avow a creed of indulgence, you will be indulged by the credulous. In truth she had only had two love-affairs passing the limits of decorum; had smoked opium once, and been sick over it; and had sniffed cocaine just to see what it was like. She gambled only with discretion, and chiefly on racehorses; drank with strict moderation and a good head; smoked of course, but the purest cigarettes she could get, and through a holder. If she had learned suggestive forms of dancing, she danced them but once in a blue moon. She rarely rode at a five-bar gate, and that only on horses whose powers she knew.

To be in the know she read, of course, anything ‘extreme’, but would not go out of her way to do so. She had flown, but just to Paris. She drove a car well, and of course fast, but never to the danger of herself, and seldom to the real danger of the public. She had splendid health, and took care of it in private. She could always sleep at ten minutes’ notice, and when she sat up half the night, slept half the day. She was ‘in’ with the advanced theatre, but took it as it came. Her book of poems, which had received praise because they emanated from one of a class supposed to be unpoetic, was remarkable not so much for irregularity of thought as for irregularity of metre. She was, in sum, credited with a too strict observance of her expressed creed: ‘Take life in both hands, and eat it.’

This was why Sir Alexander MacGown’s lawyer sat on the edge of his chair in her studio the following morning, and gazed at her intently. He knew her renown better than Sir Alexander. Messrs Settlewhite and Stark liked to be on the right side of a matter before they took it up. How far would this young lady, with her very attractive appearance and her fast reputation, stand fire? For costs – they had Sir Alexander’s guarantee and the word ‘traitress’ was a good enough beginning; but in cases of word against word, it was ill predicting.

Her physiognomy impressed Mr Settlewhite favourably. She would not ‘get rattled’ in Court, if he was any judge; nor had she the Aubrey Beardsley cast of feature he had been afraid of, that might alienate a jury. No! an upstanding young woman with a good blue eye and popular hair. She would do, if her story were all right.

Marjorie Ferrar, in turn, scrutinized one who looked as if he might take things out of her hands. Long-faced, with grey deep eyes under long dark lashes, all his hair, and good clothes, he was as well preserved a man of sixty as she had ever seen.

‘What do you want me to tell you, Mr Settlewhite?’

‘The truth.’

‘Oh! but naturally. Well, I was just saying to Mr Quinsey that Mrs Mont was very eager to form a “salon”, and had none of the right qualities, and the old person who overheard me thought I was insulting her –’

‘That all?’

‘Well, I may have said she was fond of lions; and so she is.’

‘Yes; but why did he call you a traitress?’

‘Because she was his daughter and my hostess, I suppose.’

‘Will this Mr Quinsey confirm you?’

‘Philip Quinsey? – oh! rather! He’s in my pocket.’

‘Did anybody else overhear you running her down?’

She hesitated a second. ‘No.’

‘First lie!’ thought Mr Settlewhite, with his peculiar sweet-sarcastic smile. ‘What about an American?’

Marjorie Ferrar laughed. ‘He won’t say so, anyway.’

‘An admirer?’

‘No. He’s going back to America.’

‘Second lie!’ thought Mr Settlewhite. ‘But she tells them well.’

‘You want an apology you can show to those who overheard the insult; and what we can get, I suppose?’

‘Yes. The more the better.’

‘Speaking the truth there,’ thought Mr Settlewhite. ‘Are you hard up?’

‘Couldn’t well be harder.’

Mr Settlewhite put one hand on each knee, and reared his slim body.

‘You don’t want it to come into Court?’

‘No; though I suppose it might be rather fun.’

Mr Settlewhite smiled again.

‘That entirely depends on how many skeletons you have in your cupboard.’

Marjorie Ferrar also smiled.

‘I shall put everything in your hands,’ she said.

‘Not the skeletons, my dear young lady. Well, we’ll serve him and see how the cat jumps; but he’s a man of means and a lawyer.’

‘I think he’ll hate having anything about his daughter brought out in Court.’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Settlewhite, drily. ‘So should I.’

‘And she is a little snob, you know.’

‘Ah! Did you happen to use that word?’