On reaching home Fleur found an atmosphere so peculiar that it
penetrated even the perplexed aura of her own private life. Her mother
was inaccessibly entrenched in a brown study; her father contemplating
fate in the vinery. Neither of them had a word to throw to a dog. 'Is
it because of me?' thought Fleur. 'Or because of Profond?' To her mother
she said:
"What's the matter with Father?"
Her mother answered with a shrug of her shoulders.
To her father:
"What's the matter with Mother?"
Her father answered:
"Matter? What should be the matter?" and gave her a sharp look.
"By the way," murmured Fleur, "Monsieur Profond is going a 'small'
voyage on his yacht, to the South Seas."
Soames examined a branch on which no grapes were growing.
"This vine's a failure," he said. "I've had young Mont here. He asked me
something about you."
"Oh! How do you like him, Father?"
"He--he's a product--like all these young people."
"What were you at his age, dear?"
Soames smiled grimly.
"We went to work, and didn't play about--flying and motoring, and making
love."
"Didn't you ever make love?"
She avoided looking at him while she said that, but she saw him well
enough. His pale face had reddened, his eyebrows, where darkness was
still mingled with the grey, had come close together.
"I had no time or inclination to philander."
"Perhaps you had a grand passion."
Soames looked at her intently.
"Yes--if you want to know--and much good it did me." He moved away,
along by the hot-water pipes. Fleur tiptoed silently after him.
"Tell me about it, Father!"
Soames became very still.
"What should you want to know about such things, at your age?"
"Is she alive?"
He nodded.
"And married?"
"Yes."
"It's Jon Forsyte's mother, isn't it? And she was your wife first."
It was said in a flash of intuition. Surely his opposition came from his
anxiety that she should not know of that old wound to his pride. But
she was startled. To see some one so old and calm wince as if struck, to
hear so sharp a note of pain in his voice!
"Who told you that? If your aunt! I can't bear the affair talked of."
"But, darling," said Fleur, softly, "it's so long ago."
"Long ago or not, I...."
Fleur stood stroking his arm.
"I've tried to forget," he said suddenly; "I don't wish to be reminded."
And then, as if venting some long and secret irritation, he added: "In
these days people don't understand. Grand passion, indeed! No one knows
what it is."
"I do," said Fleur, almost in a whisper.