"Not at all," said June. "I want to let them stew in their own juice for
a bit. Have you come about Jon?"
"You said you thought we ought to be told. Well, I've found out."
"Oh!" said June blankly. "Not nice, is it?"
They were standing one on each side of the little bare table at which
June took her meals. A vase on it was full of Iceland poppies; the
girl raised her hand and touched them with a gloved finger. To her
new-fangled dress, frilly about the hips and tight below the knees, June
took a sudden liking--a charming colour, flax-blue.
'She makes a picture,' thought June. Her little room, with its
whitewashed walls, its floor and hearth of old pink brick, its black
paint, and latticed window athwart which the last of the sunlight was
shining, had never looked so charming, set off by this young figure,
with the creamy, slightly frowning face. She remembered with sudden
vividness how nice she herself had looked in those old days when her
heart was set on Philip Bosinney, that dead lover, who had broken from
her to destroy for ever Irene's allegiance to this girl's father. Did
Fleur know of that, too?
"Well," she said, "what are you going to do?"
It was some seconds before Fleur answered.
"I don't want Jon to suffer. I must see him once more to put an end to
it."
"You're going to put an end to it!"
"What else is there to do?"
The girl seemed to June, suddenly, intolerably spiritless.
"I suppose you're right," she muttered. "I know my father thinks so;
but--I should never have done it myself. I can't take things lying
down."
How poised and watchful that girl looked; how unemotional her voice
sounded!
"People will assume that I'm in love."
"Well, aren't you?"
Fleur shrugged her shoulders. 'I might have known it,' thought June;
'she's Soames' daughter--fish! And yet--he!'
"What do you want me to do then?" she said with a sort of disgust.
"Could I see Jon here to-morrow on his way down to Holly's? He'd come if
you sent him a line to-night. And perhaps afterward you'd let them know
quietly at Robin Hill that it's all over, and that they needn't tell Jon
about his mother."
"All right!" said June abruptly. "I'll write now, and you can post it.
Half-past two tomorrow. I shan't be in, myself."
She sat down at the tiny bureau which filled one corner. When she looked
round with the finished note Fleur was still touching the poppies with
her gloved finger.
June licked a stamp. "Well, here it is. If you're not in love, of
course, there's no more to be said. Jon's lucky."