Under the influence, however, of
a cup of tea, which he seemed to stir indefinitely, he began to speak at
last. A new vista of life was thus opened up, a promised land of talk,
where he could find a harbour against the waves of anticipation and
regret; where he could soothe his soul with the opium of devising how to
round off his property and make eternal the only part of him that was to
remain alive.
Young Jolyon was a good listener; it was his great quality. He kept his
eyes fixed on his father's face, putting a question now and then.
The clock struck one before old Jolyon had finished, and at the sound of
its striking his principles came back. He took out his watch with a look
of surprise:
"I must go to bed, Jo," he said.
Young Jolyon rose and held out his hand to help his father up. The old
face looked worn and hollow again; the eyes were steadily averted.
"Good-bye, my boy; take care of yourself."
A moment passed, and young Jolyon, turning on his, heel, marched out
at the door. He could hardly see; his smile quavered. Never in all
the fifteen years since he had first found out that life was no simple
business, had he found it so singularly complicated.
CHAPTER III--DINNER AT SWITHIN'S
In Swithin's orange and light-blue dining-room, facing the Park, the
round table was laid for twelve.
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