At this juncture Nicholas took his leave.

“Mrs. Nick is awfully strict,” said Francie with a laugh.

“She has six children,” said Aunt Juley; “it’s very proper she should be careful.”

“Was Uncle Soames awfully fond of her?” pursued the inexorable Imogen, moving her dark luscious eyes from face to face.

Aunt Hester made a gesture of despair, just as Aunt Juley answered: 

“Yes, your Uncle Soames was very much attached to her.”

“I suppose she ran off with someone?”

“No, certainly not; that is—­not precisely.’

“What did she do, then, Auntie?”

“Come along, Imogen,” said Winifred, “we must be getting back.”

But Aunt Juley interjected resolutely:  “She—­she didn’t behave at all well.”

“Oh, bother!” cried Imogen; “that’s as far as I ever get.”

“Well, my dear,” said Francie, “she had a love affair which ended with the young man’s death; and then she left your uncle.  I always rather liked her.”

“She used to give me chocolates,” murmured Imogen, “and smell nice.”

“Of course!” remarked Euphemia.

“Not of course at all!” replied Francie, who used a particularly expensive essence of gillyflower herself.

“I can’t think what we are about,” said Aunt Juley, raising her hands, “talking of such things!”

“Was she divorced?” asked Imogen from the door.

“Certainly not,” cried Aunt Juley; “that is—­certainly not.”

A sound was heard over by the far door.  Timothy had re-entered the back drawing-room.  “I’ve come for my map,” he said.  “Who’s been divorced?”

“No one, Uncle,” replied Francie with perfect truth.

Timothy took his map off the piano.

“Don’t let’s have anything of that sort in the family,” he said.  “All this enlistin’s bad enough.  The country’s breakin’ up; I don’t know what we’re comin’ to.”  He shook a thick finger at the room:  “Too many women nowadays, and they don’t know what they want.”

So saying, he grasped the map firmly with both hands, and went out as if afraid of being answered.

The seven women whom he had addressed broke into a subdued murmur, out of which emerged Francie’s, “Really, the Forsytes!” and Aunt Juley’s:  “He must have his feet in mustard and hot water to-night, Hester; will you tell Jane?  The blood has gone to his head again, I’m afraid....”

That evening, when she and Hester were sitting alone after dinner, she dropped a stitch in her crochet, and looked up: 

“Hester, I can’t think where I’ve heard that dear Soames wants Irene to come back to him again.  Who was it told us that George had made a funny drawing of him with the words, ’He won’t be happy till he gets it’?”

“Eustace,” answered Aunt Hester from behind The Times; “he had it in his pocket, but he wouldn’t show it us.”

Aunt Juley was silent, ruminating.  The clock ticked, The Times crackled, the fire sent forth its rustling purr.  Aunt Juley dropped another stitch.