The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

He had made up his mind to tell her that he was reconciled with her

father. In future bygones must be bygones. He would no longer live

alone, or practically alone, in this great house; he was going to give

it up, and take one in the country for his son, where they could all

go and live together. If June did not like this, she could have an

allowance and live by herself. It wouldn't make much difference to her,

for it was a long time since she had shown him any affection.

But when June came down, her face was pinched and piteous; there was a

strained, pathetic look in her eyes. She snuggled up in her old attitude

on the arm of his chair, and what he said compared but poorly with the

clear, authoritative, injured statement he had thought out with much

care. His heart felt sore, as the great heart of a mother-bird feels

sore when its youngling flies and bruises its wing. His words halted, as

though he were apologizing for having at last deviated from the path of

virtue, and succumbed, in defiance of sounder principles, to his more

natural instincts.

He seemed nervous lest, in thus announcing his intentions, he should

be setting his granddaughter a bad example; and now that he came to the

point, his way of putting the suggestion that, if she didn't like it,

she could live by herself and lump it, was delicate in the extreme.'

"And if, by any chance, my darling," he said, "you found you didn't get

on--with them, why, I could make that all right. You could have what you

liked. We could find a little flat in London where you could set up,

and I could be running to continually. But the children," he added, "are

dear little things!"

Then, in the midst of this grave, rather transparent, explanation of

changed policy, his eyes twinkled. "This'll astonish Timothy's weak

nerves. That precious young thing will have something to say about this,

or I'm a Dutchman!"

June had not yet spoken. Perched thus on the arm of his chair, with her

head above him, her face was invisible. But presently he felt her warm

cheek against his own, and knew that, at all events, there was nothing

very alarming in her attitude towards his news. He began to take

courage.

"You'll like your father," he said--"an amiable chap. Never was much

push about him, but easy to get on with. You'll find him artistic and

all that."

And old Jolyon bethought him of the dozen or so water-colour drawings

all carefully locked up in his bedroom; for now that his son was going

to become a man of property he did not think them quite such poor things

as heretofore.