And he peeped at them no more; but their soft, rapid talk came to
his ears, with the stuttering song of some bird who seemed trying to
remember the notes of spring: Joy--tragedy? Which--which?
And gradually their talk ceased; long silence followed.
'And where does Soames come in?' young Jolyon thought. 'People think she
is concerned about the sin of deceiving her husband! Little they know
of women! She's eating, after starvation--taking her revenge! And Heaven
help her--for he'll take his.'
He heard the swish of silk, and, spying round the laurel, saw them
walking away, their hands stealthily joined....
At the end of July old Jolyon had taken his grand-daughter to the
mountains; and on that visit (the last they ever paid) June recovered
to a great extent her health and spirits. In the hotels, filled with
British Forsytes--for old Jolyon could not bear a 'set of Germans,' as
he called all foreigners--she was looked upon with respect--the only
grand-daughter of that fine-looking, and evidently wealthy, old Mr.
Forsyte. She did not mix freely with people--to mix freely with people
was not June's habit--but she formed some friendships, and notably one
in the Rhone Valley, with a French girl who was dying of consumption.
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