"The younger generation doesn't think as you do, sir; does it, Fleur?"
Fleur shrugged her shoulders--the younger generation was just Jon, and
she did not know what he was thinking.
"Young people will think as I do when they're my age, Mr. Mont. Human
nature doesn't change."
"I admit that, sir; but the forms of thought change with the times. The
pursuit of self-interest is a form of thought that's going out."
"Indeed! To mind one's own business is not a form of thought, Mr. Mont,
it's an instinct."
Yes, when Jon was the business!
"But what is one's business, sir? That's the point. Everybody's business
is going to be one's business. Isn't it, Fleur?"
Fleur only smiled.
"If not," added young Mont, "there'll be blood."
"People have talked like that from time immemorial"
"But you'll admit, sir, that the sense of property is dying out?"
"I should say increasing among those who have none."
"Well, look at me! I'm heir to an entailed estate. I don't want the
thing; I'd cut the entail to-morrow."
"You're not married, and you don't know what you're talking about."
Fleur saw the young man's eyes turn rather piteously upon her.
"Do you really mean that marriage--?" he began.
"Society is built on marriage," came from between her father's close
lips; "marriage and its consequences. Do you want to do away with it?"
Young Mont made a distracted gesture. Silence brooded over the dinner
table, covered with spoons bearing the Forsyte crest--a pheasant
proper--under the electric light in an alabaster globe. And outside, the
river evening darkened, charged with heavy moisture and sweet scents.
'Monday,' thought Fleur; 'Monday!'