"Of course, Auntie June"--so he called his half-sister "Auntie," did
he?--well, she must be fifty, if she was a day!--"it's jolly good of you
to encourage them. Only--hang it all!" Soames stole a glance. Irene's
startled eyes were bent watchfully on her boy. She--she had these
devotions--for Bosinney--for that boy's father--for this boy! He touched
Fleur's arm, and said:
"Well, have you had enough?"
"One more, Father, please."
She would be sick! He went to the counter to pay. When he turned round
again he saw Fleur standing near the door, holding a handkerchief which
the boy had evidently just handed to her.
"F. F.," he heard her say. "Fleur Forsyte--it's mine all right. Thank
you ever so."
Good God! She had caught the trick from what he'd told her in the
Gallery--monkey!
"Forsyte? Why--that's my name too. Perhaps we're cousins."
"Really! We must be. There aren't any others. I live at Mapledurham;
where do you?"
"Robin Hill."
Question and answer had been so rapid that all was over before he could
lift a finger. He saw Irene's face alive with startled feeling, gave the
slightest shake of his head, and slipped his arm through Fleur's.
"Come along!" he said.
She did not move.
"Didn't you hear, Father? Isn't it queer--our name's the same. Are we
cousins?"
"What's that?" he said. "Forsyte? Distant, perhaps."
"My name's Jolyon, sir. Jon, for short."
"Oh! Ah!" said Soames. "Yes. Distant. How are you? Very good of you.
Good-bye!"
He moved on.
"Thanks awfully," Fleur was saying. "Au revoir!"
"Au revoir!" he heard the boy reply.