The Forsyte Saga - Volume 3
Page 54"Spiritualism--queer word, when the more they manifest the more they
prove that they've got hold of matter."
"How?" said Holly.
"Why! Look at their photographs of auric presences. You must have
something material for light and shade to fall on before you can take
a photograph. No, it'll end in our calling all matter spirit, or all
spirit matter--I don't know which."
"But don't you believe in survival, Dad?"
Jolyon had looked at her, and the sad whimsicality of his face impressed
her deeply.
"Well, my dear, I should like to get something out of death. I've been
telepathy, sub-consciousness, and emanation from the storehouse of
this world can't account for just as well. Wish I could! Wishes father
thought but they don't breed evidence." Holly had pressed her lips again
to his forehead with the feeling that it confirmed his theory that all
matter was becoming spirit--his brow felt, somehow, so insubstantial.
But the most poignant memory of that little visit had been watching,
unobserved, her stepmother reading to herself a letter from Jon. It
was--she decided--the prettiest sight she had ever seen. Irene, lost as
it were in the letter of her boy, stood at a window where the light fell
on her face and her fine grey hair; her lips were moving, smiling, her
was pressed against her breast. Holly withdrew as from a vision of
perfect love, convinced that Jon must be nice.
When she saw him coming out of the station with a kit-bag in either
hand, she was confirmed in her predisposition. He was a little like
Jolly, that long-lost idol of her childhood, but eager-looking and less
formal, with deeper eyes and brighter-coloured hair, for he wore no hat;
altogether a very interesting "little" brother!
His tentative politeness charmed one who was accustomed to assurance in
the youthful manner; he was disturbed because she was to drive him home,
instead of his driving her. Shouldn't he have a shot? They hadn't a car
landed up a bank, so she oughtn't to mind his trying. His laugh, soft
and infectious, was very attractive, though that word, she had heard,
was now quite old-fashioned. When they reached the house he pulled out
a crumpled letter which she read while he was washing--a quite short
letter, which must have cost her father many a pang to write.
"MY DEAR,
"You and Val will not forget, I trust, that Jon knows nothing of family
history. His mother and I think he is too young at present. The boy is
very dear, and the apple of her eye. Verbum sapientibus,