June went out early, and wandered restlessly about in the heat. Her

little light figure that lately had moved so languidly about its

business, was all on fire. She bought herself some flowers. She

wanted--she meant to look her best. He would be there! She knew well

enough that he had a card. She would show him that she did not care. But

deep down in her heart she resolved that evening to win him back. She

came in flushed, and talked brightly all lunch; old Jolyon was there,

and he was deceived.

In the afternoon she was overtaken by a desperate fit of sobbing. She

strangled the noise against the pillows of her bed, but when at last

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it ceased she saw in the glass a swollen face with reddened eyes, and

violet circles round them. She stayed in the darkened room till dinner

time.

All through that silent meal the struggle went on within her.

She looked so shadowy and exhausted that old Jolyon told 'Sankey' to

countermand the carriage, he would not have her going out.... She was to

go to bed! She made no resistance. She went up to her room, and sat in

the dark. At ten o'clock she rang for her maid.

"Bring some hot water, and go down and tell Mr. Forsyte that I feel

perfectly rested. Say that if he's too tired I can go to the dance by

myself."

The maid looked askance, and June turned on her imperiously. "Go," she

said, "bring the hot water at once!"

Her ball-dress still lay on the sofa, and with a sort of fierce care she

arrayed herself, took the flowers in her hand, and went down, her small

face carried high under its burden of hair. She could hear old Jolyon in

his room as she passed.

Bewildered and vexed, he was dressing. It was past ten, they would not

get there till eleven; the girl was mad. But he dared not cross her--the

expression of her face at dinner haunted him.

With great ebony brushes he smoothed his hair till it shone like silver

under the light; then he, too, came out on the gloomy staircase.

June met him below, and, without a word, they went to the carriage.

When, after that drive which seemed to last for ever, she entered

Roger's drawing-room, she disguised under a mask of resolution a very

torment of nervousness and emotion. The feeling of shame at what might

be called 'running after him' was smothered by the dread that he might

not be there, that she might not see him after all, and by that dogged

resolve--somehow, she did not know how--to win him back.




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