On Forsyte ‘Change

“We’ll leave you to your wine, dear. Smither, my shawl, please.”

Upstairs in the drawing-room there was grave silence. Aunt Juley was trying to still her fluttering nerves; Aunt Hester trying to pretend that nothing had happened; Aunt A

Aunt Juley repeated, suddenly: “He followed me, A

“Without an intro—Without your inviting him?”

“I spoke to him, because he was lost.”

“You should think before you speak. Dogs take advantage.”

Aunt Juley’s face mutinied. “Well, I’m glad,” she said, “and that’s flat. Such a how-de-do!”

Aunt A

The clock struck three. Aunt A

“Come in!”

Still in her pink print frock, Cook entered, and behind her entered the dog, snowy white, with its coat all brushed and bushy, its ma

“I’ve brought it up, miss; it’s had its di

The three Aunts sat silent with their eyes now on the dog, now on the legs of the furniture.

“‘Twould ‘ave done your ’eart good to see it eat, miss. And it answers to the name of Pommy.”

“Fancy!” said Aunt Hester, with an effort. She did so hate things to be awkward.

Aunt A

“It doesn’t belong to us, Cook; and your master would never permit it. Smither shall go with it to the Police Station.”

As if struck by the words, the dog emerged from Cook’s skirt and approached the voice. It stood in a curve and began to oscillate its tail very slightly; its eyes, like bits of jet, gazed up. Aunt A

“Them Police Stations!” said Cook. “I’m sure it’s not been accustomed. It’s not as if it had a collar, miss.”

“Pommy!” said Aunt Juley.

The dog turned at the sound, sniffed her knees, and instantly returned to its contemplation of Aunt A

“Mr. Swithin Forsyte, miss,” said the voice of Smither.

Aunts Juley and Hester rose to greet their brother; Aunt A

“You can leave the little dog for the moment, Cook. Mr. Swithin will tell us what to do.”

Swithin, who had taken his time on the stairs which were narrow, made an entry. Tall, with his chest thrown forward, his square face puffy pale, his eyes light and round, the tiny grey imperial below his moustached lips gave to him the allure of a master of ceremonies, and the white dog, retreating to a corner, yapped loudly.

“What’s this?” said Swithin. “A dog?”

So might one entering a more modern drawing-room, have said: “What’s this—a camel?”

Repairing hastily to the corner, Aunt Juley admonished the dog with her finger. It shivered slightly and was silent. Aunt A

“Give dear Swithin his chair, Hester; we want your advice, Swithin. This little dog followed Juley home this morning—he was lost.”

Swithin seated himself with his knees apart, thus preserving the deportment of his body and the uncreased beauty of his waistcoat. His Wellington boots showed stiff beneath his almost light blue trousers. He said:

“Has Timothy had a fit?”

Dear Swithin—he was so droll!

“Not yet,” said Aunt Hester, who was sometimes almost naughty.

“Well, he will. Here, Juley, don’t stand there stuck. Bring the dog out, and let’s have a look at it. Dog! Why, it’s a bitch!”

This curiously male word, though spoken with distinction, caused a sensation such as would have accompanied a heavy fall of soot. The dog had been assumed by all to be of the politer sex, because of course one didn’t notice such things. Aunt Juley, indeed, whom past association with Septimus Small had rendered more susceptible, had conceived her doubts, but she had continued to be on the polite side.

“A bitch,” repeated Swithin; “you’ll have no end of trouble with it.”

“That is what we fear,” said Aunt A

“Stuff and nonsense!” said Swithin. “Come here, little tyke!”

And he stretched out a ringed hand smelling of dogskin—he had driven himself round in his phaeton.

Encouraged by Aunt Juley, the little dog approached, and sat cowering under the hand. Swithin lifted it by the ruff round its neck.

“Well-bred,” he said, putting it down.

“We can’t keep it,” said Aunt A

“If I were you,” said Swithin, “I’d put a notice in The Times: ‘Found, white Pomeranian bitch. Apply, The Nook, Bayswater Road.’ You might get a reward. Let’s look at its teeth.”

The little dog, who seemed in a ma

“It’s a puppy,” said Swithin. “Loo, loo, little tyke!”

This terrible incentive caused the dog to behave in a singular ma

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Swithin, “if it was worth money. Loo, loo!”

This time the little dog scurried round the entire room, avoiding the legs of chairs by a series of miracles, then, halting by a marqueterie stand, it stood on its hind legs and began to eat the pampas grass.

“Ring, Hester!” said Aunt A

Swithin, whose imperial was jutting in a fixed smile, said:

“Where’s Timothy? I should like to see it bite his legs.”

Aunt Juley, moved by maternal spasms, bent down and picked the dog up in her arms. She stood, pouting over its sharp nose and soft warm body, like the very figure of daring with the smell of soft soap in its nostrils.

“I will take it downstairs myself,” she said; “it shan’t be teased. Come, Pommy!”

The dog, who had no say whatever in the matter, put out a pink strip of tongue and licked her nose. Aunt Juley had the exquisite sensation of being loved; and, hastily, to conceal her feelings, bore it lolling over her arm away. She bore it upstairs, instead of down, to her room which was at the back of dear A