”
“Yes.”
“Now, madam, wasn’t it simply that the sensation of this little quarrel was too precious to be burked? It would have been so easy, wouldn’t it, to have torn the letter up and said nothing about it? You don’t mean to suggest that it made you think any the worse of Miss Ferrar–you knew her too well, didn’t you?”
“Ye-es.”
“Exactly. As a friend of both parties you knew that these expressions were just spleen and not to be taken seriously.”
“I can’t say that.”
“Oh! You regarded them as serious? Am I to take it that you thought they touched the ham-bone? In other words, that they were true?”
“Certainly not.”
“Could they do Miss Ferrar any harm if they were palpably untrue?”
“I think they could.”
“Not with you–you were a friend?”
“Not with me.”
“But with other people, who would never have heard of them but for you. In fact, madam, you enjoyed the whole thing. Did you?”
“Enjoyed? No.”
“You regarded it as your duty to spread this letter? Don’t you enjoy doing your duty?”
The dry cackle within Soames stopped at his lips.
Foskisson down, and Bullfry up!
“It is, in fact, your experience, Mrs. Ppynrryn, as well as that of most of us not so well constituted, perhaps, as my learned friend, that duty is sometimes painful.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. Mrs. Edward Maltese.”
During the examination of this other young woman, who seemed to be dark and solid, Soames tried to estimate the comparative effect produced by Fleur and ‘that cat’ on the four jurymen whose eyes seemed to stray towards beauty. He had come to no definite conclusion, when Sir James Foskisson rose to cross-examine.
“Tell me, Mrs. Maltese, which do you consider the most serious allegation among those complained of?”
“The word ‘treacherous’ in my letter, and the expression ‘a snake of the first water’ in the letter to Mrs. Ppynrryn.”
“More serious than the others?”
“Yes.”
“That is where you can help me, madam. The circle you move in is not exactly the plaintiff’s, perhaps?”
“Not exactly.”
“Intersecting, um?”
“Yes.”
“Now, in which section, yours or the plaintiff’s, would you say the expression ‘she hasn’t a moral about her’ would be the more, or shall we say the less, damning?”
“I can’t say.”
“I only want your opinion. Do you think your section of Society as advanced as Miss Ferrar’s?”
“Perhaps not.”
“It’s well known, isn’t it, that her circle is very free and easy?”
“I suppose so.”
“Still, YOUR section is pretty advanced–I mean, you’re not ‘stuffy’?”
“Not what, Sir James?”
“Stuffy, my lord; it’s an expression a good deal used in modern Society.”
“What does it mean?”
“Strait-laced, my lord.”
“I see. Well, he’s asking you if you’re stuffy?”
“No, my lord. I hope not.”
“You hope not. Go on, Sir James.”
“Not being stuffy, you wouldn’t be exactly worried if somebody said to you: ‘My dear, you haven’t a moral about you’?”
“Not if it was said as charmingly as that.”
“Now come, Mrs. Maltese, does such an expression, said charmingly or the reverse, convey any blame to you or to your friends?”
“If the reverse, yes.”
“Am I to take it that the conception of morality in your circle is the same as in-my lord’s?”
“How is the witness to answer that, Sir James?”
“Well, in your circle are you shocked when your friends are divorced, or when they go off together for a week in Paris, say, or wherever they find convenient?”
“Shocked? Well, I suppose one needn’t be shocked by what one wouldn’t do oneself.”
“In fact, you’re not shocked?”
“I don’t know that I’m shocked by anything.”
“That would be being stuffy, wouldn’t it?”
“Perhaps.”
“Well, will you tell me then–if that’s the state of mind in your circle; and you said, you know, that your circle is less free and easy than the plaintiff’s–how it is possible that such words as ‘she hasn’t a moral about her’ can have done the plaintiff any harm?”
“The whole world isn’t in our circles.”
“No. I suggest that only a very small portion of the world is in your circles. But do you tell me that you or the plaintiff pay any–?”
“How can she tell, Sir James, what the plaintiff pays?”
“That YOU, then, pay any attention to what people outside your circle think?”
Soames moved his head twice. The fellow was doing it well. And his eye caught Fleur’s face turned towards the witness; a little smile was curling her lip.
“I don’t personally pay much attention even to what anybody IN my circle thinks.”
“Have you more independence of character than the plaintiff, should you say?”
“I dare say I’ve got as much.”
“Is she notoriously independent?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Maltese.”
Foskisson down, Bullfry up!
“I call the plaintiff, my lord.”
Soames uncrossed his legs.
Chapter VI.
IN THE BOX
Marjorie Ferrar stepped into the Box, not exactly nervous, and only just ‘made-up.’ The papers would record a black costume with chinchilla fur and a black hat. She kissed the air in front of the book, took a deep breath, and turned to Mr. Bullfry.
For the last five days she had resented more and more the way this case had taken charge of her. She had initiated it, and it had completely deprived her of initiative. She had, in fact, made the old discovery, that when the machinery of quarrel is once put in motion, much more than pressure of the starting button is required to stop its revolutions. She was feeling that it would serve Alec and the lawyers right if all went wrong.
The voice of Mr. Bullfry, carefully adjusted, soothed her. His questions were familiar, and with each answer her confidence increased, her voice sounded clear and pleasant in her ears. And she stood at ease, making her figure as boyish as she could. Her performance, she felt, was interesting to the judge, the jury, and all those people up there, whom she could dimly see. If only ‘that little snob’ had not been seated, expressionless, between her and her Counsel! When at length Mr. Bullfry sat down and Sir James Foskisson got up, she almost succumbed to the longing to powder her nose. Clasping the Box, she resisted it, and while he turned his papers, and hitched his gown, the first tremor of the morning passed down her spine. At least he might look at her when he spoke!
“Have you ever been party to an action before, Miss Ferrar?”
“No.”
“You quite understand, don’t you, that you are on your oath?”
“Quite.”
“You have told my friend that you had no animus against Mrs. Mont. Look at this marked paragraph in The Evening Sun of October 3rd. Did you write that?”
Marjorie Ferrar felt exactly as if she had stepped out of a conservatory into an East wind. Did they know everything, then?
“Yes; I wrote it.”
“It ends thus: ‘The enterprising little lady is losing no chance of building up her salon on the curiosity which ever surrounds any buccaneering in politics.’ Is the reference to Mrs. Mont?”
“Yes.”
“Not very nice, is it–of a friend?”
“I don’t see any harm in it.”
“The sort of thing, in fact, you’d like written about yourself?”
“The sort of thing I should expect if I were doing the same thing.”
“That’s not quite an answer, but let me put it like this: The sort of thing your father would like to read about you, is it?”
“My father would never read that column.”
“Then it surprises you to hear that Mrs. Mont’s father did? Do you write many of these cheery little paragraphs about your friends?”
“Not many.”
“Every now and then, eh? And do they remain your friends?”
“It’s not easy in Society to tell who’s a friend and who isn’t.”
“I quite agree, Miss Ferrar. You have admitted making one or two critical–that was your word, I think–remarks concerning Mrs. Mont, in her own house. Do you go to many houses and talk disparagingly of your hostess?”
“No; and in any case I don’t expect to be eavesdropped.”
“I see; so long as you’re not found out, it’s all right, eh? Now, on this first Wednesday in October last, at Mrs. Mont’s, in speaking to this gentleman, Mr. Philip–er–Quinsey, did you use the word ‘snob’ of your hostess?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Be careful. You heard the evidence of Mrs. Ppynrryn and Mrs. Maltese. Mrs. Maltese said, you remember, that Mr. Forsyte–that is Mrs. Mont’s father–said to you on that occasion: ‘You called my daughter a snob in her own house, madam–be so kind as to withdraw; you are a traitress.’ Is that a correct version?”
“Probably.”
“Do you suggest that he invented the word ‘snob’?”
“I suggest he was mistaken.”
“Not a nice word, is it–‘snob’? Was there any other reason why he should call you a traitress?”
“My remarks weren’t meant for his ears. I don’t remember exactly what I said.”
“Well, we shall have Mr. Forsyte in the box to refresh your memory as to exactly what you said. But I put it to you that you called her a snob, not once but twice, during that little conversation?”
“I’ve told you I don’t remember; he shouldn’t have listened.”
“Very well! So you feel quite happy about having written that paragraph and said nasty things of Mrs. Mont behind her back in her own drawing-room?”
Marjorie Ferrar grasped the Box till the blood tingled in her palms. His voice was maddening.
“Yet it seems, Miss Ferrar, that you object to others saying nasty things about you in return. Who advised you to bring this action?”
“My father first; and then my fiance.”
“Sir Alexander MacGown. Does he move in the same circles as you?”
“No; he moves in Parliamentary circles.”
“Exactly; and he wouldn’t know, would he, the canons of conduct that rule in your circle?”
“There are no circles so definite as that.”
“Always willing to learn, Miss Ferrar. But tell me, do you know what Sir Alexander’s Parliamentary friends think about conduct and morality?”
“I can guess. I don’t suppose there’s much difference.”
“Are you suggesting, Miss Ferrar, that responsible public men take the same light-hearted view of conduct and morals as you?”
“Aren’t you rather assuming, Sir James, that her view IS light-hearted?”
“As to conduct, my lord, I submit that her answers have shown the very light-hearted view she takes of the obligations incurred by the acceptance of hospitality, for instance. I’m coming to morals now.”
“I think you’d better, before drawing your conclusions. What have public men to do with it?”
“I’m suggesting, my lord, that this lady is making a great to-do about words which a public man, or any ordinary citizen, would have a perfect right to resent, but which she, with her views, has no right whatever to resent.”
“You must prove her views then. Go on!”
Marjorie Ferrar, relaxed for a moment, gathered herself again. Her views!
“Tell me, Miss Ferrar–we all know now the meaning of the word ‘stuffy’–are public men ‘stuffier’ than you?”
“They may say they are.”
“You think them hypocrites?”
“I don’t think anything at all about them.”
“Though you’re going to marry one? You are complaining of the words: ‘She hasn’t a moral about her.’ Have you read this novel ‘Can-thar’?” He was holding up a book.
“I think so.”
“Don’t you know?”
“I’ve skimmed it.”
“Taken off the cream, eh? Read it sufficiently to form an opinion?”
“Yes.”
“Would you agree with the view of it expressed in this letter to a journal?
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