June went out early, and wandered restlessly about in the heat. Her
little light figure that lately had moved so languidly about its
business, was all on fire. She bought herself some flowers. She
wanted--she meant to look her best. He would be there! She knew well
enough that he had a card. She would show him that she did not care. But
deep down in her heart she resolved that evening to win him back. She
came in flushed, and talked brightly all lunch; old Jolyon was there,
and he was deceived.
In the afternoon she was overtaken by a desperate fit of sobbing. She
strangled the noise against the pillows of her bed, but when at last
it ceased she saw in the glass a swollen face with reddened eyes, and
violet circles round them. She stayed in the darkened room till dinner
time.
All through that silent meal the struggle went on within her.
She looked so shadowy and exhausted that old Jolyon told 'Sankey' to
countermand the carriage, he would not have her going out.... She was to
go to bed! She made no resistance. She went up to her room, and sat in
the dark. At ten o'clock she rang for her maid.
"Bring some hot water, and go down and tell Mr. Forsyte that I feel
perfectly rested. Say that if he's too tired I can go to the dance by
myself."
The maid looked askance, and June turned on her imperiously. "Go," she
said, "bring the hot water at once!"
Her ball-dress still lay on the sofa, and with a sort of fierce care she
arrayed herself, took the flowers in her hand, and went down, her small
face carried high under its burden of hair. She could hear old Jolyon in
his room as she passed.
Bewildered and vexed, he was dressing. It was past ten, they would not
get there till eleven; the girl was mad. But he dared not cross her--the
expression of her face at dinner haunted him.
With great ebony brushes he smoothed his hair till it shone like silver
under the light; then he, too, came out on the gloomy staircase.
June met him below, and, without a word, they went to the carriage.
When, after that drive which seemed to last for ever, she entered
Roger's drawing-room, she disguised under a mask of resolution a very
torment of nervousness and emotion. The feeling of shame at what might
be called 'running after him' was smothered by the dread that he might
not be there, that she might not see him after all, and by that dogged
resolve--somehow, she did not know how--to win him back.