a second cousin--such a child, about six months
older and ten years younger than I am. Boys always fall in love with
their seniors, and girls with their juniors or with old men of forty.
Don't laugh, but his eyes are the truest things I ever saw; and he's
quite divinely silent! We had a most romantic first meeting in London
under the Vospovitch 'Juno.' And now he's sleeping in the next room and
the moonlight's on the blossom; and to-morrow morning, before anybody's
awake, we're going to walk off into Down fairyland. There's a feud
between our families, which makes it really exciting. Yes! and I may
have to use subterfuge and come on you for invitations--if so, you'll
know why! My father doesn't want us to know each other, but I can't
help that. Life's too short. He's got the most beautiful mother, with
lovely silvery hair and a young face with dark eyes. I'm staying with
his sister--who married my cousin; it's all mixed up, but I mean to
pump her to-morrow. We've often talked about love being a spoil-sport;
well, that's all tosh, it's the beginning of sport, and the sooner you
feel it, my dear, the better for you.

"Jon (not simplified spelling, but short for Jolyon, which is a name in
my family, they say) is the sort that lights up and goes out; about
five feet ten, still growing, and I believe he's going to be a poet. If
you laugh at me I've done with you for ever. I perceive all sorts of
difficulties, but you know when I really want a thing I get it. One of
the chief effects of love is that you see the air sort of inhabited,
like seeing a face in the moon; and you feel--you feel dancey and soft
at the same time, with a funny sensation--like a continual first sniff
of orange blossom--just above your stays. This is my first, and I feel
as if it were going to be my last, which is absurd, of course, by all
the laws of Nature and morality. If you mock me I will smite you, and
if you tell anybody I will never forgive you. So much so, that I almost
don't think I'll send this letter. Anyway, I'll sleep over it. So
good-night, my Cherry--oh!

Your FLEUR."

VIII

IDYLL ON GRASS

When those two young Forsytes emerged from the chine lane, and set
their faces East towards the sun, there was not a cloud in heaven, and
the Downs were dewy. They had come at a good bat up the slope and were
a little out of breath; if they had anything to say they did not say
it, but marched in the early awkwardness of unbreakfasted mor