To Let

day had stretched the crossing threads of tenacity almost to snapping-point. Never had Fleur been so "FINE," Holly so watchful, Val so stable-se

concealing it was "skittles," chafed and fretted, yet obeyed, taking what relief he could in the few moments when they wer

home on SATURDAY you could come up on Sunday and take me down, and just get

no

you," he said; "onl

er little finge

our people. We've simply got to be secret at present, if we want to be tog

not bear this subterfuge about a feeling

lf lost in a dream of Paddington station, when he heard a tiny sound, as of a finger-nail tapping on his doo

ed against the door. The apparition wore white muslin on its head, a fichu round its bare neck over a wine-coloured dress, ful

"but I haven't got it here. It's my Goya dress. And

a dr

pirouetted. "To

and took the sk

e whisper, "all grapes-

d each side of the waist; he

issed his forehead, pirouetted a

figure stood and smiled and whispered, a faint perfume of narcissus lingering in the air. And his forehead where it had been kissed had a little cool place between the brows, like the imprint of a flower. Love filled his soul, that love of boy for

his inner tissue, there was something of the old founder of his family, a secret tenacity of soul, a dread of showing his feelings, a determination not to know when he was beaten. Sensitive, imaginative, affectionate boys get a bad time at school, but Jon had instinctively kept his nature dark, and been but normally unhappy there. Only with his mother had he, up till then, been absolutely frank and natural; and whe

f the confectioner's there, Jon. W

d a high colour

ully jol

m pres

him. Could fear go with a smile? If so, there was fear in her face. And out of Jon tumbled quite other words, about farming, Holly, and the Downs. Talking fast, he waited for her to come back to Fleur. But she did not. Nor did his father mention her, thoug

r in that fancy dress, swaying, whispering, stooping, kissing his forehead. Once, while he listened, he forgot himself and glanced at his father in that other easy chair. What was Dad looking like that for? The expression on his face was so sad and puzzling. It filled him with a sort of remorse, so th

ther came into his room. She

one wonderfully. I always think they look beautiful under a

ather, when he was ali

in '92-very old-eig

her lik

re subtle, and no

dfather's portrait

lame ducks.' But

his Mother's arm. "Tell me ab

o, dear; that's for your fath

," said Jon, with a

which neither knew whether the arm or

; to me she's always lovely. Look at those cypress shadows! Jon, Fath

ly with his Mother! A fortnight ago it would have been perfection; now it filled him

Ought I-now I've just begun

swered, cool

ow than when you've begun farming serio

her waist, still sli

o leave Father?" he said

ou ought to see Italy at least be

er were not speaking frankly, no more than he himself. They wanted to keep him from

a good sleep and think it o

od feeling exactly as he used to when he was a naughty little boy; sore

in her own room, passed through the dr

el

hink it ov

wore a little drawn smi

ne with it. After all, Jon has the instincts

understand; th

could have

re always more of a realist th

You and I would tell our stories to the world witho

whether the world

not disappr

he'd say: 'My mother once married WITHOUT LOVE! How cou

hand, and said w

appen, and drop all our cursed intolerance. But you know if the boy is really in love, he won't forget, even if he goes to Italy.

try, a

g his wife for two months-he secretly hoped for the devil; yet if she wished for the deep sea he must put up with it. After all, it

will,