The crisis was past, he would now compose himself to his normal degree of anxiety; and, assuring his father that he was sleeping in the house, Soames pressed his hand, and went up to his room.

The following afternoon witnessed the greatest crowd Timothy’s had known for many a year.  On national occasions, such as this, it was, indeed, almost impossible to avoid going there.  Not that there was any danger or rather only just enough to make it necessary to assure each other that there was none.

Nicholas was there early.  He had seen Soames the night before—­Soames had said it was bound to come.  This old Kruger was in his dotage—­why, he must be seventy-five if he was a day!

(Nicholas was eighty-two.) What had Timothy said?  He had had a fit after Majuba.  These Boers were a grasping lot!  The dark-haired Francie, who had arrived on his heels, with the contradictious touch which became the free spirit of a daughter of Roger, chimed in: 

“Kettle and pot, Uncle Nicholas.  What price the Uitlanders?” What price, indeed!  A new expression, and believed to be due to her brother George.

Aunt Juley thought Francie ought not to say such a thing.  Dear Mrs. MacAnder’s boy, Charlie MacAnder, was one, and no one could call him grasping.  At this Francie uttered one of her mots, scandalising, and so frequently repeated: 

“Well, his father’s a Scotchman, and his mother’s a cat.”

Aunt Juley covered her ears, too late, but Aunt Hester smiled; as for Nicholas, he pouted—­witticism of which he was not the author was hardly to his taste.  Just then Marian Tweetyman arrived, followed almost immediately by young Nicholas.  On seeing his son, Nicholas rose.

“Well, I must be going,” he said, “Nick here will tell you what’ll win the race.”  And with this hit at his eldest, who, as a pillar of accountancy, and director of an insurance company, was no more addicted to sport than his father had ever been, he departed.  Dear Nicholas!  What race was that?  Or was it only one of his jokes?  He was a wonderful man for his age!  How many lumps would dear Marian take?  And how were Giles and Jesse?  Aunt Juley supposed their Yeomanry would be very busy now, guarding the coast, though of course the Boers had no ships.  But one never knew what the French might do if they had the chance, especially since that dreadful Fashoda scare, which had upset Timothy so terribly that he had made no investments for months afterwards.  It was the ingratitude of the Boers that was so dreadful, after everything had been done for them—­Dr. Jameson imprisoned, and he was so nice, Mrs. MacAnder had always said.  And Sir Alfred Milner sent out to talk to them—­such a clever man!  She didn’t know what they wanted.

But at this moment occurred one of those sensations—­so precious at Timothy’s—­which great occasions sometimes bring forth: 

“Miss June Forsyte.”