The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

"I've noticed it a long time," went on Francie; "he's aged

tremendously."

Aunt Juley shook her head; her face seemed suddenly to have become one

immense pout.

"Poor dear Jolyon," she said, "somebody ought to see to it for him!"

There was again silence; then, as though in terror of being left

solitarily behind, all five visitors rose simultaneously, and took their

departure.

Mrs. Small, Aunt Hester, and their cat were left once more alone,

the sound of a door closing in the distance announced the approach of

Timothy.

That evening, when Aunt Hester had just got off to sleep in the back

bedroom that used to be Aunt Juley's before Aunt Juley took Aunt Ann's,

her door was opened, and Mrs. Small, in a pink night-cap, a candle in

her hand, entered: "Hester!" she said. "Hester!"

Aunt Hester faintly rustled the sheet.

"Hester," repeated Aunt Juley, to make quite sure that she had awakened

her, "I am quite troubled about poor dear Jolyon. What," Aunt Juley

dwelt on the word, "do you think ought to be done?"

Aunt Hester again rustled the sheet, her voice was heard faintly

pleading: "Done? How should I know?"

Aunt Juley turned away satisfied, and closing the door with extra

gentleness so as not to disturb dear Hester, let it slip through her

fingers and fall to with a 'crack.'

Back in her own room, she stood at the window gazing at the moon over

the trees in the Park, through a chink in the muslin curtains, close

drawn lest anyone should see. And there, with her face all round and

pouting in its pink cap, and her eyes wet, she thought of 'dear Jolyon,'

so old and so lonely, and how she could be of some use to him; and how

he would come to love her, as she had never been loved since--since poor

Septimus went away.