“My dear,” she said, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.  Your Uncle Soames is a match for anybody.  He’s a very clever man, and good-looking and wealthy, and most considerate and careful, and not at all old, considering everything.”

Imogen, turning her luscious glance from one to the other of the ’old dears,’ only smiled.

“I hope,” said Aunt Juley quite severely, “that you will marry as good a man.”

“I shan’t marry a good man, Auntie,” murmured Imogen; “they’re dull.”

“If you go on like this,” replied Aunt Juley, still very much upset, “you won’t marry anybody.  We’d better not pursue the subject;” and turning to Winifred, she said:  “How is Montague?”

That evening, while they were waiting for dinner, she murmured: 

“I’ve told Smither to get up half a bottle of the sweet champagne, Hester.  I think we ought to drink dear James’ health, and—­and the health of Soames’ wife; only, let’s keep that quite secret.  I’ll Just say like this, ‘And you know, Hester!’ and then we’ll drink.  It might upset Timothy.”

“It’s more likely to upset us,” said Aunt Nester.  “But we must, I suppose; for such an occasion.”

“Yes,” said Aunt Juley rapturously, “it is an occasion!  Only fancy if he has a dear little boy, to carry the family on!  I do feel it so important, now that Irene has had a son.  Winifred says George is calling Jolyon ‘The Three-Decker,’ because of his three families, you know!  George is droll.  And fancy!  Irene is living after all in the house Soames had built for them both.  It does seem hard on dear Soames; and he’s always been so regular.”

That night in bed, excited and a little flushed still by her glass of wine and the secrecy of the second toast, she lay with her prayer-book opened flat, and her eyes fixed on a ceiling yellowed by the light from her reading-lamp.  Young things!  It was so nice for them all!  And she would be so happy if she could see dear Soames happy.  But, of course, he must be now, in spite of what Imogen had said.  He would have all that he wanted:  property, and wife, and children!  And he would live to a green old age, like his dear father, and forget all about Irene and that dreadful case.  If only she herself could be here to buy his children their first rocking-horse!  Smither should choose it for her at the stores, nice and dappled.  Ah! how Roger used to rock her until she fell off!  Oh dear! that was a long time ago!  It was!  ’In my Father’s house are many mansions—­’A little scrattling noise caught her ear—­’but no mice!’ she thought mechanically.  The noise increased.  There! it was a mouse!  How naughty of Smither to say there wasn’t!  It would be eating through the wainscot before they knew where they were, and they would have to have the builders in.  They were such destructive things!  And she lay, with her eyes just moving, following in her mind that little scrattling sound, and waiting for sleep to release her from it.