The Forsyte Saga, Volume 3(60)
‘So have I. Good luck!’
Leaving her in the hall, Dinny walked towards Oakley Street, and her mood was that of one who has failed to go as far as she has wished. She had touched on the uncharted, and recoiled. Her thoughts and feelings were like the twittering of Spring birds who have not yet shaped out their songs. That girl had roused in her some queer desire to be at grips with Life, without supplying the slightest notion of how to do it. It would be a relief even to be in love. How nice to know one’s mind, as Jean and Hubert seemed at once to have known it; as Hallorsen and Alan Tasburgh had declared they knew it. Existence seemed like a Shadow Show rather than Reality. And, greatly dissatisfied, she leaned her elbows on the river parapet, above the tide that was flowing up. Religious? In a sort of way. But what way? A passage in Hubert’s diary came back to her. ‘Anyone who believes he’s going to Heaven has a pull on chaps like me. He’s got a pension dangled.’ Was religion belief in reward? If so, it seemed vulgar. Belief in goodness for the sake of goodness, because goodness was beautiful, like a perfect flower, a starry night, a lovely tune! Uncle Hilary did a difficult job well for the sake of doing it well. Was he religious? She must ask him. A voice at her side said:
‘Dinny!’
She turned with a start, to see Alan Tasburgh standing there with a broad grin on his face.
‘I went to Oakley Street to ask for you and Jean; they told me you were at the Monts’. I was on my way there, and here you are, stupendous luck!’
‘I was wondering,’ said Dinny, ‘whether I’m religious.’
‘How queer! So was I!’
‘D’you mean whether you were or whether I was?’
‘As a matter of fact I look on us as one person.’
‘Do you? Well is one religious?’
‘At a pinch.’
‘Did you hear the news at Oakley Street?’
‘No.’
‘Captain Ferse is back there.’
‘Cripes!’
‘Precisely what everybody is saying! Did you see Diana?’
‘No; only the maid – seemed a bit flustered. Is the poor chap still cracked?’
‘No; but it’s awful for Diana.’
‘She ought to be got away.’
‘I’m going to stay there,’ said Dinny, suddenly, ‘if she’ll have me.’
‘I don’t like the idea of that.’
‘I daresay not; but I’m going to.’
‘Why? You don’t know her so very well.’
‘I’m sick of scrimshanking.’
Young Tasburgh stared.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘The sheltered life has not come your way. I want to begin to earn my corn.’
‘Then marry me.’
‘Really, Alan, I never met anyone with so few ideas.’
‘Better to have good ideas than many.’
Dinny walked on. ‘I’m going to Oakley Street now.’
They went along in silence till young Tasburgh said gravely:
‘What’s biting you, my very dear?’
‘My own nature; it doesn’t seem able to make trouble enough for me.’
‘I could do that for you perfectly.’
‘I am serious, Alan.’
‘That’s good. Until you are serious you will never marry me. But why do you want to be bitten?’
Dinny shrugged. ‘I seem to have an attack of Longfellow: “Life is real, life is earnest”; I suppose you can’t realize that being a daughter in the country doesn’t amount to very much.’
‘I won’t say what I was going to say.’
‘Oh, do!’
‘That’s easily cured. Become a mother in a town.’
‘This is where they used to blush,’ sighed Dinny. ‘I don’t want to turn everything into a joke, but it seems I do.’
Young Tasburgh slipped his hand through her arm.
‘If you can turn being the wife of a sailor into a joke, you will be the first.’
Dinny smiled. ‘I’m not going to marry anyone till it hurts not to. I know myself well enough for that.’
‘All right, Dinny; I won’t worry you.’
They moved on in silence; at the corner of Oakley Street she stopped.
‘Now, Alan, don’t come any further.’
‘I shall turn up at the Monts’ this evening and discover what’s happened to you. And if you want anything done – mind, anything – about Ferse, you’ve only to ’phone me at the Club. Here’s the number.’ He pencilled it on a card and handed it to her.
‘Shall you be at Jean’s wedding tomorrow?’
‘Sure thing! I give her away. I only wish –’
‘Good-bye!’ said Dinny.