never dressed, and she had blue eyes of
melting sapphire."

At this juncture Nicholas took his leave.

"Mrs. Nick is awfully strict," said Francie with a laugh.

"She has six children," said Aunt Juley; "it's very proper she should be
careful."

"Was Uncle Soames awfully fond of her?" pursued the inexorable Imogen,
moving her dark luscious eyes from face to face.

Aunt Hester made a gesture of despair, just as Aunt Juley answered:

"Yes, your Uncle Soames was very much attached to her."

"I suppose she ran off with someone?"

"No, certainly not; that is--not precisely.'

"What did she do, then, Auntie?"

"Come along, Imogen," said Winifred, "we must be getting back."

But Aunt Juley interjected resolutely: "She--she didn't behave at all
well."

"Oh, bother!" cried Imogen; "that's as far as I ever get."

"Well, my dear," said Francie, "she had a love affair which ended with
the young man's death; and then she left your uncle. I always rather
liked her."

"She used to give me chocolates," murmured Imogen, "and smell nice."

"Of course!" remarked Euphemia.

"Not of course at all!" replied Francie, who used a particularly
expensive essence of gillyflower herself.

"I can't think what we are about," said Aunt Juley, raising her hands,
"talking of such things!"

"Was she divorced?" asked Imogen from the door.

"Certainly not," cried Aunt Juley; "that is--certainly not."

A sound was heard over by the far door. Timothy had re-entered the back
drawing-room. "I've come for my map," he said. "Who's been divorced?"

"No one, Uncle," replied Francie with perfect truth.

Timothy took his map off the piano.

"Don't let's have anything of that sort in the family," he said. "All
this enlistin's bad enough. The country's breakin' up; I don't know what
we're comin' to." He shook a thick finger at the room: "Too many women
nowadays, and they don't know what they want."

So saying, he grasped the map firmly with both hands, and went out as if
afraid of being answered.

The seven women whom he had addressed broke into a subdued murmur, out of
which emerged Francie's, "Really, the Forsytes!" and Aunt Juley's: "He
must have his feet in mustard and hot water to-night, Hester; will you
tell Jane? The blood has gone to his head again, I'm afraid...."

That evening, when she and Hester were sitting alone after dinner, she
dropped a stitch in her crochet, and looked up:

"Hester, I can't think where I've he