d came, and walked back to her seat
without another word, but she could not help the tears of rage rolling
down her face. The house had been mercifully darkened for a crisis, and
no one could see her trouble.

Yet in this world of Forsytes let no man think himself immune from
observation.

In the third row behind, Euphemia, Nicholas's youngest daughter, with
her married-sister, Mrs. Tweetyman, were watching.

They reported at Timothy's, how they had seen June and her fiance at the
theatre.

"In the stalls?" "No, not in the...." "Oh! in the dress circle, of
course. That seemed to be quite fashionable nowadays with young people!"

Well--not exactly. In the.... Anyway, that engagement wouldn't last
long. They had never seen anyone look so thunder and lightningy as that
little June! With tears of enjoyment in their eyes, they related how she
had kicked a man's hat as she returned to her seat in the middle of an
act, and how the man had looked. Euphemia had a noted, silent laugh,
terminating most disappointingly in squeaks; and when Mrs. Small,
holding up her hands, said: "My dear! Kicked a ha-at?" she let out such
a number of these that she had to be recovered with smelling-salts. As
she went away she said to Mrs. Tweetyman:

"Kicked a--ha-at! Oh! I shall die."

For 'that little June' this evening, that was to have been 'her treat,'
was the most miserable she had ever spent. God knows she tried to stifle
her pride, her suspicion, her jealousy!

She parted from Bosinney at old Jolyon's door without breaking down; the
feeling that her lover must be conquered was strong enough to sustain
her till his retiring footsteps brought home the true extent of her
wretchedness.

The noiseless 'Sankey' let her in. She would have slipped up to her own
room, but old Jolyon, who had heard her entrance, was in the dining-room
doorway.

"Come in and have your milk," he said. "It's been kept hot for you.
You're very late. Where have you been?"

June stood at the fireplace, with a foot on the fender and an arm on the
mantelpiece, as her grandfather had done when he came in that night of
the opera. She was too near a breakdown to care what she told him.

"We dined at Soames's."

"H'm! the man of property! His wife there and Bosinney?"

"Yes."

Old Jolyon's glance was fixed on her with the penetrating gaze from
which it was difficult to hide; but she was not looking at him, and
when she turned her face, he dropped his scrutiny