The Forsyte Saga, Volume 3(39)

‘Well,’ said Hallorsen, after a pause, ‘I can’t write to The Times and say I was in error when I made that apology. I judge they wouldn’t stand for that. I had a sore head when I wrote that book. I told your sister so, and I tell you so now. I lost all sense of charity, and I have come to regret it.’

‘I don’t want charity. I want justice. Did I or did I not let you down?’

‘Why, there’s no question but that your failure to hold that pack together did in fact finish my chance.’

‘I admit that. Did I fail you from my fault, or from yours in giving me an impossible job?’

For a full minute the two men stood with their eyes on each other, and without a word. Then Hallorsen again held out his hand.

‘Put it there,’ he said; ‘my fault.’

Hubert’s hand went out impulsively, but stopped halfway.

‘One moment. Do you say that because it would please my sister?’

‘No, Sir; I mean it.’

Hubert took his hand.

‘That’s great,’ said Hallorsen. ‘We didn’t get on, Captain; but since I’ve stayed in one of your old homes here, I think I’ve grasped the reason why. I expected from you what you class Englishmen seemingly will never give – that’s the frank expression of your feelings. I judge one has to translate you, and I just couldn’t do it, so we went on in the dark about each other. And that’s the way to get raw.’

‘I don’t know why, but we got raw all right.’

‘Well, I wish it could come all over again.’

Hubert shivered. ‘I don’t.’

‘Now, Captain, will you lunch with me, and tell me how I can serve you? I will do anything you say to wipe out my mistake.’

For a moment Hubert did not speak, his face was unmoved, but his hands shook a little.

‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing.’

And they moved towards the grill-room.





Chapter Thirteen




IF one thing is more certain than another – which is extremely doubtful – it is that nothing connected with a Public Department will run as a private individual expects.

A more experienced and less simply faithful sister than Dinny would have let sleeping dogs lie. But she had as yet no experience of the fact that the usual effect of letters to those in high places is the precise opposite of what was intended by the sender. Arousing his amour-propre, which in the case of public men should be avoided, it caused Lord Saxenden to look no further into the matter. Did that young woman suppose for a moment that he didn’t see how this American chap was feeding out of her hand? In accordance, indeed, with the irony latent in human affairs, Hallorsen’s withdrawal of the charge had promoted in the authorities a more suspicious and judgematic attitude, and Hubert received, two days before his year of leave was up, an intimation to the effect that it was extended indefinitely and he was to go on half-pay, pending an inquiry into the matter raised in the House of Commons by Major Motley, M.P. A letter from that military civilian had appeared in reply to Hallorsen’s asking whether he was to assume that the shooting and flogging mentioned in his book had not really taken place, and if so, what explanation could this American gentleman afford of such an amazing discrepancy? This, in turn, had elicited from Hallorsen the answer that the facts were as stated in his book, but that his deductions from them had been erroneous, and that Captain Charwell had been perfectly justified in his actions.

On receiving intimation that his leave was extended, Hubert went up to the War Office. He obtained no comfort, beyond the non-official saying of an acquaintance that the Bolivian Authorities were ‘butting in.’ This news created little less than consternation at Condaford. None of the four young people, indeed, for the Tasburghs were still there, and Clare away in Scotland, appreciated the report at its full value, for none of them had as yet much knowledge of the extent to which officialdom can go when it starts out to do its duty; but to the General it had so sinister a significance that he went up to stay at his Club.

After tea that day in the billiard room, Jean Tasburgh, chalking her cue, said quietly:

‘What does that Bolivian news mean, Hubert?’

‘It may mean anything. I shot a Bolivian, you know.’

‘But he tried to kill you first.’

‘He did.’

She leaned her cue against the table; her hands brown, slim, and strong, gripped the cushion; suddenly she went up to him and put her hand through his arm. ‘Kiss me,’ she said; ‘I am going to belong to you.’

‘Jean!’

‘No, Hubert; no chivalry and that sort of nonsense. You shan’t have all this beastliness alone. I’m going to share it. Kiss me.’