is knee, knitting in his head a poem so full of
feeling that it would not rhyme.

XII

CAPRICE

Fleur sped on. She had need of rapid motion; she was late, and wanted
all her wits about her when she got in. She passed the islands, the
station, and hotel, and was about to take the ferry, when she saw a
skiff with a young man standing up in it, and holding to the bushes.

"Miss Forsyte," he said; "let me put you across. I've come on purpose."

She looked at him in blank amazement.

"It's all right, I've been having tea with your people. I thought I'd
save you the last bit. It's on my way, I'm just off back to Pangbourne.
My name's Mont. I saw you at the picture-gallery--you remember--when
your father invited me to see his pictures."

"Oh!" said Fleur; "yes--the handkerchief."

To this young man she owed Jon; and, taking his hand, she stepped down
into the skiff. Still emotional, and a little out of breath, she sat
silent; not so the young man. She had never heard any one say so much
in so short a time. He told her his age, twenty-four, his weight, ten
stone eleven; his place of residence, not far away; described his
sensations under fire, and what it felt like to be gassed; criticised
the Juno, mentioned his own conception of that goddess; commented on
the Goya copy, said Fleur was not too awfully like it; sketched in
rapidly the condition of England; spoke of Monsieur Profond--or
whatever his name was--as "an awful sport"; thought her father had some
ripping pictures and some rather "dug-up"; hoped he might row down
again and take her on the river because he was quite trustworthy;
inquired her opinion of Tchekov, gave her his own; wished they could go
to the Russian ballet together some time--considered the name Fleur
Forsyte simply topping; cursed his people for giving him the name of
Michael on the top of Mont; outlined his father, and said that if she
wanted a good book she should read "Job"; his father was rather like
Job while Job still had land.

"But Job didn't have land," Fleur murmured; "he only had flocks and
herds and moved on."

"Ah!" answered Michael Mont, "I wish my gov'nor would move on. Not that
I want his land. Land's an awful bore in these days, don't you think?"

"We never have it in my family," said Fleur. "We have everything else.
I believe one of my great-uncles once had a sentimental farm in Dorset,
because we came from there originally, but it cost him more than it
made him ha