, a resemblance to a turkey-cock coming upon his old
face.

"Exercise!" he said. "I take plenty: I never use the lift at the Club."

"I didn't know," James hurried out. "I know nothing about anybody;
nobody tells me anything...."

Swithin fixed him with a stare:

"What do you do for a pain there?"

James brightened.

"I take a compound...."

"How are you, uncle?"

June stood before him, her resolute small face raised from her little
height to his great height, and her hand outheld.

The brightness faded from James's visage.

"How are you?" he said, brooding over her. "So you're going to Wales
to-morrow to visit your young man's aunts? You'll have a lot of rain
there. This isn't real old Worcester." He tapped the bowl. "Now, that
set I gave your mother when she married was the genuine thing."

June shook hands one by one with her three great-uncles, and turned
to Aunt Ann. A very sweet look had come into the old lady's face, she
kissed the girl's check with trembling fervour.

"Well, my dear," she said, "and so you're going for a whole month!"

The girl passed on, and Aunt Ann looked after her slim little figure.
The old lady's round, steel grey eyes, over which a film like a bird's
was beginning to come, followed her wistfully amongst the bustling
crowd, for people were beginning to say good-bye; and her finger-tips,
pressing and pressing against each other, were busy again with the
recharging of her will against that inevitable ultimate departure of her
own.

'Yes,' she thought, 'everybody's been most kind; quite a lot of people
come to congratulate her. She ought to be very happy.' Amongst the
throng of people by the door, the well-dressed throng drawn from the
families of lawyers and doctors, from the Stock Exchange, and all the
innumerable avocations of the upper-middle class--there were only
some twenty percent of Forsytes; but to Aunt Ann they seemed all
Forsytes--and certainly there was not much difference--she saw only
her own flesh and blood. It was her world, this family, and she knew
no other, had never perhaps known any other. All their little secrets,
illnesses, engagements, and marriages, how they were getting on, and
whether they were making money--all this was her property, her delight,
her life; beyond this only a vague, shadowy mist of facts and persons of
no real significance. This it was that she would have to lay down when
it came to her turn to die; this which gave to her that imp