r information? Nobody tells
me."

Young Nicholas remarked in his mild voice that Nick (his eldest) was now
going to drill regularly.

"Ah!" muttered James, and stared before him--his thoughts were on Val.
"He's got to look after his mother," he said, "he's got no time for
drilling and that, with that father of his." This cryptic saying
produced silence, until he spoke again.

"What did June want here?" And his eyes rested with suspicion on all of
them in turn. "Her father's a rich man now." The conversation turned
on Jolyon, and when he had been seen last. It was supposed that he
went abroad and saw all sorts of people now that his wife was dead; his
water-colours were on the line, and he was a successful man. Francie
went so far as to say:

"I should like to see him again; he was rather a dear."

Aunt Juley recalled how he had gone to sleep on the sofa one day, where
James was sitting. He had always been very amiable; what did Soames
think?

Knowing that Jolyon was Irene's trustee, all felt the delicacy of this
question, and looked at Soames with interest. A faint pink had come up
in his cheeks.

"He's going grey," he said.

Indeed! Had Soames seen him? Soames nodded, and the pink vanished.

James said suddenly: "Well--I don't know, I can't tell."

It so exactly expressed the sentiment of everybody present that there
was something behind everything, that nobody responded. But at this
moment Aunt Hester returned.

"Timothy," she said in a low voice, "Timothy has bought a map, and he's
put in--he's put in three flags."

Timothy had...! A sigh went round the company.

If Timothy had indeed put in three flags already, well!--it showed what
the nation could do when it was roused. The war was as good as over.

CHAPTER XIII--JOLYON FINDS OUT WHERE HE IS

Jolyon stood at the window in Holly's old night nursery, converted into
a studio, not because it had a north light, but for its view over the
prospect away to the Grand Stand at Epsom. He shifted to the side window
which overlooked the stableyard, and whistled down to the dog Balthasar
who lay for ever under the clock tower. The old dog looked up and wagged
his tail. 'Poor old boy!' thought Jolyon, shifting back to the other
window.

He had been restless all this week, since his attempt to prosecute
trusteeship, uneasy in his conscience which was ever acute, disturbed
in his sense of compassion which was easily excited, and with a queer
sensation a