reported a man of thick and robust
appearance, not very tall, with a brown-red complexion, grey hair, and
little of the refinement of feature with which most of the Forsytes had
been endowed by 'Superior Dosset's' wife, a woman of some beauty and a
gentle temperament. It was known that he had taken surprising interest
in the war, sticking flags into a map ever since it began, and there was
uneasiness as to what would happen if the English were driven into the
sea, when it would be almost impossible for him to put the flags in the
right places. As to his knowledge of family movements or his views about
them, little was known, save that Aunt Hester was always declaring that
he was very upset. It was, then, in the nature of a portent when
Forsytes, arriving on the Sunday after the evacuation of Spion Kop,
became conscious, one after the other, of a presence seated in the only
really comfortable armchair, back to the light, concealing the lower part
of his face with a large hand, and were greeted by the awed voice of Aunt
Hester:

"Your Uncle Timothy, my dear."

Timothy's greeting to them all was somewhat identical; and rather, as it
were, passed over by him than expressed:

"How de do? How de do? 'Xcuse me gettin' up!"

Francie was present, and Eustace had come in his car; Winifred had
brought Imogen, breaking the ice of the restitution proceedings with the
warmth of family appreciation at Val's enlistment; and Marian Tweetyman
with the last news of Giles and Jesse. These with Aunt Juley and Hester,
young Nicholas, Euphemia, and--of all people!--George, who had come with
Eustace in the car, constituted an assembly worthy of the family's
palmiest days. There was not one chair vacant in the whole of the little
drawing-room, and anxiety was felt lest someone else should arrive.

The constraint caused by Timothy's presence having worn off a little,
conversation took a military turn. George asked Aunt Juley when she was
going out with the Red Cross, almost reducing her to a state of gaiety;
whereon he turned to Nicholas and said:

"Young Nick's a warrior bold, isn't he? When's he going to don the wild
khaki?"

Young Nicholas, smiling with a sort of sweet deprecation, intimated that
of course his mother was very anxious.

"The Dromios are off, I hear," said George, turning to Marian Tweetyman;
"we shall all be there soon. En avant, the Forsytes! Roll, bowl, or
pitch! Who's for a cooler?"

Aunt Juley gurgle