hanged this last year. What do you think, Aunt Hester?"

Aunt Hester made a little movement of recoil: "Oh, ask your Aunt Julia!"
she said; "I know nothing about it."

No one else was afraid of assenting, and James muttered gloomily at the
floor: "He's not half the man he was."

"I've noticed it a long time," went on Francie; "he's aged
tremendously."

Aunt Juley shook her head; her face seemed suddenly to have become one
immense pout.

"Poor dear Jolyon," she said, "somebody ought to see to it for him!"

There was again silence; then, as though in terror of being left
solitarily behind, all five visitors rose simultaneously, and took their
departure.

Mrs. Small, Aunt Hester, and their cat were left once more alone,
the sound of a door closing in the distance announced the approach of
Timothy.

That evening, when Aunt Hester had just got off to sleep in the back
bedroom that used to be Aunt Juley's before Aunt Juley took Aunt Ann's,
her door was opened, and Mrs. Small, in a pink night-cap, a candle in
her hand, entered: "Hester!" she said. "Hester!"

Aunt Hester faintly rustled the sheet.

"Hester," repeated Aunt Juley, to make quite sure that she had awakened
her, "I am quite troubled about poor dear Jolyon. What," Aunt Juley
dwelt on the word, "do you think ought to be done?"

Aunt Hester again rustled the sheet, her voice was heard faintly
pleading: "Done? How should I know?"

Aunt Juley turned away satisfied, and closing the door with extra
gentleness so as not to disturb dear Hester, let it slip through her
fingers and fall to with a 'crack.'

Back in her own room, she stood at the window gazing at the moon over
the trees in the Park, through a chink in the muslin curtains, close
drawn lest anyone should see. And there, with her face all round and
pouting in its pink cap, and her eyes wet, she thought of 'dear Jolyon,'
so old and so lonely, and how she could be of some use to him; and how
he would come to love her, as she had never been loved since--since poor
Septimus went away.

CHAPTER VIII--DANCE AT ROGER'S

Roger's house in Prince's Gardens was brilliantly alight. Large numbers
of wax candles had been collected and placed in cut-glass chandeliers,
and the parquet floor of the long, double drawing-room reflected these
constellations. An appearance of real spaciousness had been secured by
moving out all the furniture on to the upper landings, and enclosing
the room with those strange a