The Forsyte Saga - Volume 3
Page 32"You don't care whether I do or not."
"Quite right. Well, she has; and I have mine--terribly expensive."
"H'm!" said Soames. "What does that chap Profond do in England?"
Annette raised the eyebrows she had just finished.
"He yachts."
"Ah!" said Soames; "he's a sleepy chap."
"Sometimes," answered Annette, and her face had a sort of quiet
enjoyment. "But sometimes very amusing."
"He's got a touch of the tar-brush about him."
Annette stretched herself.
"Tar-brush?" she said. "What is that? His mother was Armenienne."
"That's it, then," muttered Soames. "Does he know anything about
pictures?"
"He knows about everything--a man of the world."
"Well, get some one for Fleur. I want to distract her. She's going off
on Saturday to Val Dartie and his wife; I don't like it."
Since the reason could not be explained without going into family
history, Soames merely answered:
"Racketing about. There's too much of it."
"I like that little Mrs. Val; she is very quiet and clever."
"I know nothing of her except--This thing's new." And Soames took up a
creation from the bed.
Annette received it from him.
"Would you hook me?" she said.
Soames hooked. Glancing once over her shoulder into the glass, he saw
the expression on her face, faintly amused, faintly contemptuous, as
much as to say: "Thanks! You will never learn!" No, thank God, he wasn't
a Frenchman! He finished with a jerk, and the words: "It's too low
here." And he went to the door, with the wish to get away from her and
go down to Fleur again.
Annette stayed a powder-puff, and said with startling suddenness
He knew the expression--he had reason to. The first time she had used
it he had thought it meant "What a grocer you are!" and had not known
whether to be relieved or not when better informed. He resented the
word--he was not coarse! If he was coarse, what was that chap in the
room beyond his, who made those horrible noises in the morning when
he cleared his throat, or those people in the Lounge who thought it
well-bred to say nothing but what the whole world could hear at the top
of their voices--quacking inanity! Coarse, because he had said her dress
was low! Well, so it was! He went out without reply.
Coming into the Lounge from the far end, he at once saw Fleur where he
had left her. She sat with crossed knees, slowly balancing a foot in
silk stocking and grey shoe, sure sign that she was dreaming. Her eyes
showed it too--they went off like that sometimes. And then, in a moment,
she would come to life, and be as quick and restless as a monkey. And
she knew so much, so self-assured, and not yet nineteen. What was that
and showing their legs! The worst of them bad dreams, the best of them
powdered angels! Fleur was not a flapper, not one of those slangy,
ill-bred young females. And yet she was frighteningly self-willed, and
full of life, and determined to enjoy it. Enjoy! The word brought
no puritan terror to Soames; but it brought the terror suited to his
temperament. He had always been afraid to enjoy to-day for fear he
might not enjoy tomorrow so much. And it was terrifying to feel that his
daughter was divested of that safeguard. The very way she sat in that
chair showed it--lost in her dream. He had never been lost in a dream
himself--there was nothing to be had out of it; and where she got it
from he did not know! Certainly not from Annette! And yet Annette, as a
young girl, when he was hanging about her, had once had a flowery look.
Well, she had lost it now!