Complete Project Gutenberg John Galsworthy WorksGalsworthy, John
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Complete Project Gutenberg John Galsworthy Works
Galsworthy, John
English literature -- 20th century; Literature -- Collections
What June had taken for personal interest was only the impersonal
excitement of every Forsyte who hears of something eligible in danger of
passing into other hands. But she refused to see the disappearance of
her chance, and continued to press her point.
"You ought to go into the country, Uncle James. I wish I had a lot of
money, I wouldn't live another day in London."
James was stirred to the depths of his long thin figure; he had no idea
his niece held such downright views.
"Why don't you go into the country?" repeated June; "it would do you a
lot of good."
"Why?" began James in a fluster. "Buying land--what good d'you suppose I
can do buying land, building houses?--I couldn't get four per cent. for
my money!"
"What does that matter? You'd get fresh air."
"Fresh air!" exclaimed James; "what should I do with fresh air,"
"I should have thought anybody liked to have fresh air," said June
scornfully.
James wiped his napkin all over his mouth.
"You don't know the value of money," he said, avoiding her eye.
"No! and I hope I never shall!" and, biting her lip with inexpressible
mortification, poor June was silent.
Why were her own relations so rich, and Phil never knew where the money
was coming from for to-morrow's tobacco. Why couldn't they do something
for him? But they were so selfish. Why couldn't they build
country-houses? She had all that naive dogmatism which is so pathetic,
and sometimes achieves such great results. Bosinney, to whom she turned
in her discomfiture, was talking to Irene, and a chill fell on June's
spirit. Her eyes grew steady with anger, like old Jolyon's when his
will was crossed.
James, too, was much disturbed. He felt as though someone had threatened
his right to invest his money at five per cent. Jolyon had spoiled her.
None of his girls would have said such a thing. James had always been
exceedingly liberal to his children, and the consciousness of this made
him feel it all the more deeply. He trifled moodily with his
strawberries, then, deluging them with cream, he ate them quickly; they,
at all events, should not escape him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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