earlessness of her eyes gave her that.
And Mrs. Baynes, too, shrewdly recognized that behind the uncompromising
frankness of June's manner there was much of the Forsyte. If the girl
had been merely frank and courageous, Mrs. Baynes would have thought
her 'cranky,' and despised her; if she had been merely a Forsyte, like
Francie--let us say--she would have patronized her from sheer weight of
metal; but June, small though she was--Mrs. Baynes habitually admired
quantity--gave her an uneasy feeling; and she placed her in a chair
opposite the light.

There was another reason for her respect which Mrs. Baynes, too good a
churchwoman to be worldly, would have been the last to admit--she often
heard her husband describe old Jolyon as extremely well off, and was
biassed towards his granddaughter for the soundest of all reasons.
To-day she felt the emotion with which we read a novel describing a hero
and an inheritance, nervously anxious lest, by some frightful lapse of
the novelist, the young man should be left without it at the end.

Her manner was warm; she had never seen so clearly before how
distinguished and desirable a girl this was. She asked after old
Jolyon's health. A wonderful man for his age; so upright, and young
looking, and how old was he? Eighty-one! She would never have thought
it! They were at the sea! Very nice for them; she supposed June heard
from Phil every day? Her light grey eyes became more prominent as she
asked this question; but the girl met the glance without flinching.

"No," she said, "he never writes!"

Mrs. Baynes's eyes dropped; they had no intention of doing so, but they
did. They recovered immediately.

"Of course not. That's Phil all over--he was always like that!"

"Was he?" said June.

The brevity of the answer caused Mrs. Baynes's bright smile a moment's
hesitation; she disguised it by a quick movement, and spreading her
skirts afresh, said: "Why, my dear--he's quite the most harum-scarum
person; one never pays the slightest attention to what he does!"

The conviction came suddenly to June that she was wasting her time; even
were she to put a question point-blank, she would never get anything out
of this woman.

'Do you see him?' she asked, her face crimsoning.

The perspiration broke out on Mrs. Baynes' forehead beneath the powder.

"Oh, yes! I don't remember when he was here last--indeed, we haven't
seen much of him lately. He's so busy with your cousin's house; I'm
told it