Turning into South Square, he cannoned into a young man, whose head was craned back as if looking after someone he had parted from. Uncertain whether to apologize or to wait for an apology, Soames stood still.
The young man said abruptly: ‘Sorry, sir,’ and moved on; dark, neat-looking chap with a hungry look obviously unconnected with his stomach. Murmuring: ‘Not at all!’ Soames moved forward and rang his daughter’s bell. She opened to him herself. She was in hat and furs – just in. The young man recurred to Soames. Had he left her there? What a pretty face it was! He should certainly speak to her. If she once took to gadding about!
He put it off, however, till he was about to say ‘Good night’ – Michael having gone to the political meeting of a Labour candidate, as if he couldn’t find something better to do!
‘Now you’ve been married two years, my child, I suppose you’ll be looking towards the future. There’s a great deal of nonsense talked about children. The whole thing’s much simpler. I hope you feel that.’
Fleur was leaning back among the cushions of the settee, swinging her foot. Her eyes became a little restless, but her colour did not change.
‘Of course!’ she said; ‘only there’s no hurry, Dad.’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ Soames murmured. ‘The French and the royal family have a very sound habit of getting it over early. There’s many a slip and it keeps them out of mischief. You’re very attractive, my child – I don’t want to see you take too much to gad-about ways. You’ve got all sorts of friends.’
‘Yes,’ said Fleur.
‘You get on well with Michael, don’t you?’
‘Oh! yes.’
‘Well, then, why not? You must remember that your son will be a what-you-call-it.’
In those words he compromised with his instinctive dislike of titles and flummery of that nature.
‘It mightn’t be a son,’ said Fleur.
‘At your age that’s easily remedied.’
‘Oh, I don’t want a lot, Dad. One, perhaps, or two.’
‘Well,’ said Soames, ‘I should almost prefer a daughter, something like – well, something like you.’
Her softened eyes flew, restive, from his face to her foot, to the dog, all over the room.
‘I don’t know, it’s a tie – like digging your own grave in a way.’
‘I shouldn’t put it as high as that,’ murmured Soames, persuasively.
‘No man would, Dad.’
‘Your mother wouldn’t have got on at all without you,’ and recollection of how near her mother had been to not getting on at all with her – of how, but for him, she would have made a mess of it, reduced him to silent contemplation of the restive foot.
‘Well,’ he said, at last, ‘I thought I’d mention it. I – I’ve got your happiness at heart.’
Fleur rose and kissed his forehead.
‘I know, Dad,’ she said, ‘I’m a selfish pig. I’ll think about it. In fact, I – I have thought about it.’
‘That’s right,’ said Soames; ‘that’s right! You’ve a good head on you – it’s a great consolation to me. Good night, my dear!’
And he went up to his bed. If there was point in anything, it was in perpetuation of oneself, though, of course, that begged the question. ‘Wonder,’ he thought, ‘if I ought to have asked her whether that young man –!’ But young people were best left alone. The fact was, he didn’t understand them. His eye lighted on the paper bag containing those – those things he had bought. He had brought them up from his overcoat to get rid of them – but how? Put into the fire, they would make a smell. He stood at his dressing-table, took one up and looked at it. Good Lord! And, suddenly, rubbing the mouthpiece with his handkerchief, he began to blow the thing up. He blew until his cheeks were tired, and then, nipping the aperture, took a bit of the dental cotton he used on his teeth every night and tied it up. There the thing was! With a pettish gesture he batted the balloon. Off it flew – purple and extravagant, alighting on his bed. H’m! He took up the other, and did the same to it. Purple and green! The deuce! If anyone came in and saw! He threw up the window, batted them, balloon after balloon, into the night, and shut the window down. There they’d be in the dark, floating about. His lips contracted in a nervous grin. People would see them in the morning. Well! What else could you do with things like that?
Chapter Thirteen
TENTERHOOKS
MICHAEL had gone to the Labour candidate’s meeting partly because he wanted to, and partly out of fellow feeling for ‘old Forsyte’, whom he was always conscious of having robbed. His father-in-law had been very decent about Fleur, and he liked the ‘old man’ to have her to himself when he could.