"I don't dislike you, Mr. Mont, but Fleur is everything to me:
Everything--do you understand?"
"Yes, sir, I know; but so she is to me."
"That's as may be. I'm glad you've told me, however. And now I think
there's nothing more to be said."
"I know it rests with her, sir."
"It will rest with her a long time, I hope."
"You aren't cheering," said Mont suddenly.
"No," said Soames, "my experience of life has not made me anxious to
couple people in a hurry. Good-night, Mr. Mont. I shan't tell Fleur what
you've said."
"Oh!" murmured Mont blankly; "I really could knock my brains out for
want of her. She knows that perfectly well."
"I dare say." And Soames held out his hand. A distracted squeeze, a
heavy sigh, and soon after sounds from the young man's motor-cycle
called up visions of flying dust and broken bones.
'The younger generation!' he thought heavily, and went out on to the
lawn. The gardeners had been mowing, and there was still the smell of
fresh-cut grass--the thundery air kept all scents close to earth. The
sky was of a purplish hue--the poplars black. Two or three boats passed
on the river, scuttling, as it were, for shelter before the storm.
'Three days' fine weather,' thought Soames, 'and then a storm!' Where
was Annette? With that chap, for all he knew--she was a young woman!
Impressed with the queer charity of that thought, he entered the
summerhouse and sat down. The fact was--and he admitted it--Fleur was
so much to him that his wife was very little--very little; French--had
never been much more than a mistress, and he was getting indifferent to
that side of things! It was odd how, with all this ingrained care for
moderation and secure investment, Soames ever put his emotional eggs
into one basket. First Irene--now Fleur. He was dimly conscious of it,
sitting there, conscious of its odd dangerousness. It had brought him
to wreck and scandal once, but now--now it should save him! He cared so
much for Fleur that he would have no further scandal. If only he could
get at that anonymous letter-writer, he would teach him not to meddle
and stir up mud at the bottom of water which he wished should remain
stagnant!... A distant flash, a low rumble, and large drops of rain
spattered on the thatch above him. He remained indifferent, tracing a
pattern with his finger on the dusty surface of a little rustic table.
Fleur's future! 'I want fair sailing for her,' he thought. 'Nothing else
matters at my time of life.' A lonely business--life! What you had you
never could keep to yourself! As you warned one off, you let another in.
One could make sure of nothing! He reached up and pulled a red
rambler rose from a cluster which blocked the window. Flowers grew and
dropped--Nature was a queer thing! The thunder rumbled and crashed,
travelling east along a river, the paling flashes flicked his eyes;
the poplar tops showed sharp and dense against the sky, a heavy shower
rustled and rattled and veiled in the little house wherein he sat,
indifferent, thinking.