The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(183)
‘She won’t, unless I do, and I won’t, unless she does.’
The marquess drank off his coffee.
‘Then what is there in the way? I dislike publicity, Marjorie. Look at that suit the other day. Anything of this nature in Society, nowadays, is a nail in our coffins.’
‘I’ll speak to Alec, if you like.’
‘Do! Has he red hair?’
‘No; black.’
‘Ah! What would you like for a wedding-present – lace?’
‘Oh! no, please, dear. Nobody’s wearing lace.’
With his head on one side, the marquess looked at her. ‘I can’t get that lace off,’ he seemed to say.
‘Perhaps you’d like a colliery. Electrified, it would pay in no time.’
Marjorie Ferrar laughed. ‘I know you’re hard up, Grandfather; but I’d rather not have a colliery, thanks. They’re so expensive. Just give me your blessing.’
‘I wonder,’ said the marquess, ‘if I could sell blessings? Your uncle Dangerfield has gone in for farming; he’s ruining me. If only he’d grow wheat by electricity; it’s the only way to make it pay at the present price. Well, if you’ve finished breakfast, goodbye. I must go to work.’
Marjorie Ferrar, who had indeed begun breakfast, stood up and pressed his hand. He was a dear old boy, if somewhat rapid!…
That same evening, in a box at the St Anthony, she had her opportunity, when MacGown was telling her about Soames’s visit.
‘Oh, dear! Why on earth didn’t you settle it, Alec? The whole thing’s a bore. I’ve had my grandfather at me about it.’
‘If they’ll apologize,’ said MacGown, ‘I’ll settle it tomorrow. But an apology they must make.’
‘And what about me? I don’t want to stand up to be shot at.’
‘There are some things one can’t sit down under, Marjorie. Their whole conduct has been infamous.’
Visited by a reckless impulse, she said:
‘What d’you suppose I’m really like, Alec?’
MacGown put his hand on her bare arm.
‘I don’t suppose I know.’
‘Well?’
‘Defiant.’
Curious summary! Strangely good in a way – only –!
‘You mean that I like to irritate people till they think I’m – what I’m not. But suppose’ – her eyes confronted his – ‘I really am.’
MacGown’s grasp tightened.
‘You’re not; and I won’t have it said.’
‘You think this case will whitewash my – defiance?’
‘I know what gossip is; and I know it buzzes about you. People who say things are going to be taught, once for all, that they can’t.’
Marjorie Ferrar turned her gaze towards the still life on the dropped curtain, laughed and said:
‘My dear man, you’re dangerously provincial.’
‘I know a straight line when I see one.’
‘Yes; but there aren’t any in London. You’d better hedge, Alec, or you’ll be taking a toss over me.’
MacGown said, simply: ‘I believe in you more than you believe in yourself.’
She was glad that the curtain rose just then, for she felt confused and rather touched.
Instead of confirming her desire to drop the case, that little talk gave her a feeling that by the case her marriage stood or fell. Alec would know where he was when it was over, and so would she! There would be precious little secret about her and she would either not be married to him, or at least not married under false pretences. Let it rip! It was, however, a terrible bore; especially the preparatory legal catechism she had now to undergo. What effect, for instance, had been produced among her friends and acquaintances by those letters? From the point of view of winning, the point was obviously not without importance. But how was she to tell? Two hostesses had cancelled week-end invitations: a rather prim countess, and a Canadian millionairess married to a decaying baronet. It had not occurred to her before that this was the reason, but it might have been. Apart from them she would have to say she didn’t know, people didn’t tell you to your face what they heard or thought of you. They were going to try and make her out a piece of injured innocence! Good Lord! What if she declared her real faith in Court, and left them all in the soup! Her real faith – what was it? Not to let a friend down; not to give a man away; not to funk; to do things differently from other people; to be always on the go; not to be ‘stuffy’; not to be dull! The whole thing was topsy-turvy! Well, she must keep her head!
Chapter Five
THE DAY
ON the day of the case Soames rose, in Green Street, with a sort of sick impatience. Why wasn’t it the day after?