Soames took a cup of tea from her, drank it quickly, and ate three of those macaroons for which Timothy’s was famous.  His faint, pale, supercilious smile had deepened just a little.  Really, his family remained hopelessly provincial, however much of London they might possess between them.  In these go-ahead days their provincialism stared out even more than it used to.  Why, old Nicholas was still a Free Trader, and a member of that antediluvian home of Liberalism, the Remove Club—­though, to be sure, the members were pretty well all Conservatives now, or he himself could not have joined; and Timothy, they said, still wore a nightcap.  Aunt Juley spoke again.  Dear Soames was looking so well, hardly a day older than he did when dear Ann died, and they were all there together, dear Jolyon, and dear Swithin, and dear Roger.  She paused and caught the tear which had climbed the pout on her right cheek.  Did he—­did he ever hear anything of Irene nowadays?  Aunt Hester visibly interposed her shoulder.  Really, Juley was always saying something!  The smile left Soames’ face, and he put his cup down.  Here was his subject broached for him, and for all his desire to expand, he could not take advantage.

Aunt Juley went on rather hastily: 

“They say dear Jolyon first left her that fifteen thousand out and out; then of course he saw it would not be right, and made it for her life only.”

Had Soames heard that?

Soames nodded.

“Your cousin Jolyon is a widower now.  He is her trustee; you knew that, of course?”

Soames shook his head.  He did know, but wished to show no interest.  Young Jolyon and he had not met since the day of Bosinney’s death.

“He must be quite middle-aged by now,” went on Aunt Juley dreamily.  “Let me see, he was born when your dear uncle lived in Mount Street; long before they went to Stanhope Gate in December.  Just before that dreadful Commune.  Over fifty!  Fancy that!  Such a pretty baby, and we were all so proud of him; the very first of you all.”  Aunt Juley sighed, and a lock of not quite her own hair came loose and straggled, so that Aunt Hester gave a little shiver.  Soames rose, he was experiencing a curious piece of self-discovery.  That old wound to his pride and self-esteem was not yet closed.  He had come thinking he could talk of it, even wanting to talk of his fettered condition, and—­behold! he was shrinking away from this reminder by Aunt Juley, renowned for her Malapropisms.

Oh, Soames was not going already!

Soames smiled a little vindictively, and said: 

“Yes.  Good-bye.  Remember me to Uncle Timothy!” And, leaving a cold kiss on each forehead, whose wrinkles seemed to try and cling to his lips as if longing to be kissed away, he left them looking brightly after him—­dear Soames, it had been so good of him to come to-day, when they were not feeling very....!