“That’s their business,” replied Timothy.  “What have we kept the Army up for—­to eat their heads off in time of peace!  They ought to be ashamed of themselves, comin’ on the country to help them like this!  Let every man stick to his business, and we shall get on.”

And looking round him, he added almost angrily: 

“Volunteerin’, indeed!  Throwin’ good money after bad!  We must save!  Conserve energy that’s the only way.”  And with a prolonged sound, not quite a sniff and not quite a snort, he trod on Euphemia’s toe, and went out, leaving a sensation and a faint scent of barley-sugar behind him.

The effect of something said with conviction by one who has evidently made a sacrifice to say it is ever considerable.  And the eight Forsytes left behind, all women except young Nicholas, were silent for a moment round the map.  Then Francie said: 

“Really, I think he’s right, you know.  After all, what is the Army for?  They ought to have known.  It’s only encouraging them.”

“My dear!” cried Aunt Juley, “but they’ve been so progressive.  Think of their giving up their scarlet.  They were always so proud of it.  And now they all look like convicts.  Hester and I were saying only yesterday we were sure they must feel it very much.  Fancy what the Iron Duke would have said!”

“The new colour’s very smart,” said Winifred; “Val looks quite nice in his.”

Aunt Juley sighed.

“I do so wonder what Jolyon’s boy is like.  To think we’ve never seen him!  His father must be so proud of him.”

“His father’s in Paris,” said Winifred.

Aunt Hester’s shoulder was seen to mount suddenly, as if to ward off her sister’s next remark, for Juley’s crumpled cheeks had gushed.

“We had dear little Mrs. MacAnder here yesterday, just back from Paris.  And whom d’you think she saw there in the street?  You’ll never guess.”

“We shan’t try, Auntie,” said Euphemia.

“Irene!  Imagine!  After all this time; walking with a fair beard....”

“Auntie! you’ll kill me!  A fair beard....”

“I was going to say,” said Aunt Juley severely, “a fair-bearded gentleman.  And not a day older; she was always so pretty,” she added, with a sort of lingering apology.

“Oh! tell us about her, Auntie,” cried Imogen; “I can just remember her.  She’s the skeleton in the family cupboard, isn’t she?  And they’re such fun.”

Aunt Hester sat down.  Really, Juley had done it now!

“She wasn’t much of a skeleton as I remember her,” murmured Euphemia, “extremely well-covered.”

“My dear!” said Aunt Juley, “what a peculiar way of putting it—­not very nice.”

“No, but what was she like?” persisted Imogen.

“I’ll tell you, my child,” said Francie; “a kind of modern Venus, very well-dressed.”

Euphemia said sharply:  “Venus was never dressed, and she had blue eyes of melting sapphire.”