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The Forsyte Saga, Volume 3(307)

By:John Galsworthy

‘And what damages do you say the co-respondent should be ordered to pay?’

‘We think that he should pay the costs of all the parties to the action.’

Through Dinny passed the thought: ‘The more one loves the more one pays.’ Barely listening to the Judge’s words, she whispered to her father, and slipped away.

Young Croom was leaning against the stone that framed the window, and she thought she had never seen so desolate a figure.

‘Well, Dinny?’

‘Lost. No damages, just all the costs. Come out, I want to talk to you.’

They went in silence.

‘Let’s go and sit on the Embankment.’

Young Croom laughed. ‘The Embankment! Marvellous!’

No other word passed between them till they were seated under a plane tree whose leaves were not yet fully unfurled in that cold spring.

‘Rotten!’ said Dinny.

‘I’ve been a complete fool all through, and there’s an end of it.’

‘Have you had anything to eat these last two days?’

‘I suppose so. I’ve drunk quite a lot, anyway.’

‘What are you going to do now, dear boy?’

‘See Jack Muskham, and try and get another job somewhere out of England.’

Dinny felt as if she had grasped a stick by the wrong end. She could only be helpful if she knew Clare’s feelings.

‘No one takes advice,’ she said, ‘but couldn’t you manage to do nothing at all for a month or so?’

‘I don’t know, Dinny.’

‘Have those mares come?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Surely you won’t give that job up before it’s even begun?’

‘It seems to me I’ve only got one job at the moment – to keep going somehow, somewhere.’

‘Don’t I know that feeling? But don’t do anything desperate! Promise! Good-bye, my dear, I must hurry back.’

She stood up and pressed his hand hard.

When she reached Dornford’s chambers, her father and Clare were already there, and ‘very young’ Roger with them.

Clare’s face looked as though the whole thing had happened to someone else.

The General was saying:

‘What will the total costs come to, Mr Forsyte?’

‘Not far short of a thousand, I should say.’

‘A thousand pounds for speaking the truth! We can’t possibly let young Croom pay more than his own share. He hasn’t a bob.’

‘Very young’ Roger took snuff.

‘Well,’ said the General, ‘I must go and put my wife out of her misery. We’re going back to Condaford this afternoon, Dinny. Coming?’

Dinny nodded.

‘Good! Many thanks, Mr Forsyte. Early in November, then – the decree? Good-bye!’

When he had gone Dinny said in a low voice:

‘Now that it’s over, what do you really think?’

‘As I did at first: If you’d been your sister we should have won.’

‘I want,’ said Dinny coldly, ‘to know whether you believe them or not?’

‘On the whole – yes.’

‘Is it impossible for a lawyer to go further than that?’

‘Very young’ Roger smiled.

‘No one tells the truth without mental reservations of some kind.’

‘Perfectly true,’ thought Dinny. ‘Could we have a taxi?’

In the cab Clare said: ‘Do something for me, Dinny. Bring me my things to the Mews.’

‘Of course.’

‘I don’t feel like Condaford. Did you see Tony?’

‘Yes.’

‘How is he?’

‘Rotten.’

‘Rotten!’ repeated Clare, bitterly. ‘How could I help what they sprung on me? I lied for him, anyway.’

Dinny, looking straight before her, said:

‘When you can, tell me exactly what your feeling towards him is.’

‘When I know myself, I will.’

‘You’ll want something to eat, darling.’

‘Yes, I’m hungry. I’ll stop here in Oxford Street. I shall be cleaning up when you come with my things. I feel as if I could sleep the clock round, and probably I shan’t sleep a wink. When you’re divorced, Dinny, don’t defend – you keep on thinking of better answers.’

Dinny squeezed her arm, and took the taxi on to South Square.





Chapter Thirty-four




MORE deadly than the atmosphere during a fight is that when it is over. You ‘keep on thinking of better answers,’ and you feel that life is not worth living. The primary law of existence having been followed to its logical and – win or lose – unsatisfying conclusion, the sand is out of your dolly, you loll and droop. Such were the sensations of Dinny, who had but understudied. Unable to feel that she could be of any real help, she fell back on pigs, and had been for a good week in this posture when she received a letter headed: