at dinner afterwards.  And Smither had told her more than once that she had picked books off the floor in doing the room.  Still, with all that, they did feel that heaven could not be quite so cosy as the rooms in which they and Timothy had been waiting so long.  Aunt Hester, especially, could not bear the thought of the exertion.  Any change, or rather the thought of a change—­for there never was any—­always upset her very much.  Aunt Juley, who had more spirit, sometimes thought it would be quite exciting; she had so enjoyed that visit to Brighton the year dear Susan died.  But then Brighton one knew was nice, and it was so difficult to tell what heaven would be like, so on the whole she was more than content to wait.

On the morning of James’ birthday, August the 5th, they felt extraordinary animation, and little notes passed between them by the hand of Smither while they were having breakfast in their beds.  Smither must go round and take their love and little presents and find out how Mr. James was, and whether he had passed a good night with all the excitement.  And on the way back would Smither call in at Green Street—­it was a little out of her way, but she could take the bus up Bond Street afterwards; it would be a nice little change for her—­and ask dear Mrs. Dartie to be sure and look in before she went out of town.

All this Smither did—­an undeniable servant trained many years ago under Aunt Ann to a perfection not now procurable.  Mr. James, so Mrs. James said, had passed an excellent night, he sent his love; Mrs. James had said he was very funny and had complained that he didn’t know what all the fuss was about.  Oh! and Mrs. Dartie sent her love, and she would come to tea.

Aunts Juley and Hester, rather hurt that their presents had not received special mention—­they forgot every year that James could not bear to receive presents, ‘throwing away their money on him,’ as he always called it—­were ‘delighted’; it showed that James was in good spirits, and that was so important for him.  And they began to wait for Winifred.  She came at four, bringing Imogen, and Maud, just back from school, and ’getting such a pretty girl, too,’ so that it was extremely difficult to ask for news about Annette.  Aunt Juley, however, summoned courage to enquire whether Winifred had heard anything, and if Soames was anxious.

“Uncle Soames is always anxious, Auntie,” interrupted Imogen; “he can’t be happy now he’s got it.”

The words struck familiarly on Aunt Juley’s ears.  Ah! yes; that funny drawing of George’s, which had not been shown them!  But what did Imogen mean?  That her uncle always wanted more than he could have?  It was not at all nice to think like that.

Imogen’s voice rose clear and clipped: 

“Imagine!  Annette’s only two years older than me; it must be awful for her, married to Uncle Soames.”

Aunt Juley lifted her hands in horror.