"We think she's got rather a 'having' nature."
"'Having?' I don't know what you mean. She—she—" he pushed his dessert plate away, got up, and went to the window.
Holly, too, got up, and put her arm round his waist.
"Don't be angry, Jon dear. We can't all see people in the same light, can we? I believe each of us only has about one or two people who can see the best that's in us, and bring it out. For you I think it's your mother. I once saw her looking at a letter of yours; it was wonderful to see her face. I think she's the most beautiful woman I ever saw—Age doesn't seem to touch her."
Jon's face softened, then again became tense. He recognised the intention of those words. Everybody was against him and Fleur! It all strengthened her appeal:
"Make sure of me—marry me, Jon!"
Here, where he had passed that wonderful week with her—the tug of her enchantment, the ache in his heart increased with every minute that she was not there to make the room, the garden, the very air magical. Would he ever be able to live down here, not seeing her? And he closed up utterly, going early to bed. It would not make him healthy, wealthy, and wise, but it closeted him with memory of Fleur in her fancy frock. He heard Val's arrival—the Ford discharging cargo, then the stillness of the summer night stole back—with only the bleating of very distant sheep, and a night-jar's harsh purring. He leaned far out. Cold moon—warm air—the Downs like silver! Small wings, a stream bubbling, the rambler roses! God-how empty all of it without her! In the Bible it was written: Thou shalt leave father and mother and cleave to—Fleur!
Let him have pluck, and go and tell them! They couldn't stop him marrying her—they wouldn't want to stop him when they knew how he felt. Yes! He would go! Bold and open—Fleur was wrong!
The night-jar ceased, the sheep were silent; the only sound in the darkness was the bubbling of the stream. And Jon in his bed slept, freed from the worst of life's evils—indecision.