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The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(188)



‘Yes.’

‘Not very nice, is it – of a friend?’

‘I don’t see any harm in it.’

‘The sort of thing, in fact, you’d like written about yourself?’

‘The sort of thing I should expect if I were doing the same thing.’

‘That’s not quite an answer, but let me put it like this: The sort of thing your father would like to read about. you, is it?’

‘My father would never read that column.’

‘Then it surprises you to hear that Mrs Mont’s father did? Do you write many of these cheery little paragraphs about your friends?’

‘Not many.’

‘Every now and then, eh? And do they remain your friends?’

‘It’s not easy in Society to tell who’s a friend and who isn’t.’

‘I quite agree, Miss Ferrar. You have admitted making one or two critical – that was your word, I think – remarks concerning Mrs Mont, in her own house. Do you go to many houses and talk disparagingly of your hostess?’

‘No; and in any case I don’t expect to be eavesdropped.’

‘I see; so long as you’re not found out, it’s all right, eh? Now, on this first Wednesday in October last, at Mrs Mont’s, in speaking to this gentleman, Mr Philip – er – Quinsey, did you use the word “snob” of your hostess?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Be careful. You heard the evidence of Mrs Ppynrryn and Mrs Maltese. Mrs Maltese said, you remember, that Mr Forsyte – that is Mrs Mont’s father – said to you on that occasion: “You called my daughter a snob in her own house, madam – be so kind as to withdraw; you are a traitress.” Is that a correct version?’

‘Probably.’

‘Do you suggest that he invented the word “snob”?’

‘I suggest he was mistaken.’

‘Not a nice word, is it – “snob”? Was there any other reason why he should call you a traitress?’

‘My remarks weren’t meant for his ears. I don’t remember exactly what I said.’

‘Well, we shall have Mr Forsyte in the Box to refresh your memory as to exactly what you said. But I put it to you that you called her a snob, not once but twice, during that little conversation?’

‘I’ve told you I don’t remember; he shouldn’t have listened.’

‘Very well! So you feel quite happy about having written that paragraph and said nasty things of Mrs Mont behind her back in her own drawing-room?’

Marjorie Ferrar grasped the Box till the blood tingled in her palms. His voice was maddening.

‘Yet it seems, Miss Ferrar, that you object to others saying nasty things about you in return. Who advised you to bring this action?’

‘My father first; and then my fiancé.’

‘Sir Alex MacGown. Does he move in the same circles as you?’

‘No; he moves in Parliamentary circles.’

‘Exactly; and he wouldn’t know, would he, the canons of conduct that rule in your circle?’

‘There are no circles so definite as that.’

‘Always willing to learn, Miss Ferrar. But tell me, do you know what Sir Alexander’s Parliamentary friends think about conduct and morality?’

‘I can guess. I don’t suppose there’s much difference.’

‘Are you suggesting, Miss Ferrar, that responsible public men take the same light-hearted view of conduct and morals as you?’

‘Aren’t you rather assuming, Sir James, that her view is light-hearted?’

‘As to conduct, my lord, I submit that her answers have shown the very light-hearted view she takes of the obligations incurred by the acceptance of hospitality, for instance. I’m coming to morals now.’

‘I think you’d better, before drawing your conclusions. What have public men to do with it?’

‘I’m suggesting, my lord, that this lady is making a great to-do about words which a public man, or any ordinary citizen, would have a perfect right to resent, but which she, with her views, has no right whatsoever to resent.’

‘You must prove her views then. Go on !’

Marjorie Ferrar, relaxed for a moment, gathered herself again. Her views !

‘Tell me, Miss Ferrar – we all know now the meaning of the word “stuffy” – are public men “stuffier” than you?’

‘They may say they are.’

‘You think them hypocrites?’

‘I don’t think anything at all about them.’

‘Though you’re going to marry one? You are complaining of the words: “She hasn’t a moral about her.” Have you read this novel Canthar?’ He was holding up a book.