low
Soames, for instance, would have a fit if you tried to borrow a tenner
from him, or, if he didn't have a fit, he looked at you with his cursed
supercilious smile, as if you were a lost soul because you were in want
of money.

And that wife of his (Dartie's mouth watered involuntarily), he had
tried to be on good terms with her, as one naturally would with any
pretty sister-in-law, but he would be cursed if the (he mentally used
a coarse word)--would have anything to say to him--she looked at him,
indeed, as if he were dirt--and yet she could go far enough, he wouldn't
mind betting. He knew women; they weren't made with soft eyes and
figures like that for nothing, as that fellow Soames would jolly
soon find out, if there were anything in what he had heard about this
Buccaneer Johnny.

Rising from his chair, Dartie took a turn across the room, ending in
front of the looking-glass over the marble chimney-piece; and there he
stood for a long time contemplating in the glass the reflection of his
face. It had that look, peculiar to some men, of having been steeped in
linseed oil, with its waxed dark moustaches and the little distinguished
commencements of side whiskers; and concernedly he felt the promise of a
pimple on the side of his slightly curved and fattish nose.

In the meantime old Jolyon had found the remaining chair in Timothy's
commodious drawing-room. His advent had obviously put a stop to the
conversation, decided awkwardness having set in. Aunt Juley, with her
well-known kindheartedness, hastened to set people at their ease again.

"Yes, Jolyon," she said, "we were just saying that you haven't been here
for a long time; but we mustn't be surprised. You're busy, of course?
James was just saying what a busy time of year...."

"Was he?" said old Jolyon, looking hard at James. "It wouldn't be half
so busy if everybody minded their own business."

James, brooding in a small chair from which his knees ran uphill,
shifted his feet uneasily, and put one of them down on the cat, which
had unwisely taken refuge from old Jolyon beside him.

"Here, you've got a cat here," he said in an injured voice, withdrawing
his foot nervously as he felt it squeezing into the soft, furry body.

"Several," said old Jolyon, looking at one face and another; "I trod on
one just now."

A silence followed.

Then Mrs. Small, twisting her fingers and gazing round with 'pathetic
calm', asked: "And how is dear June?"

A twinkle