On Forsyte ‘Change

“You see what you’ve done!” And, together, they examined the pieces, while Aunt Juley’s heart took a resolution. They might talk as they liked: Finding was keeping; and if Timothy didn’t like it, he could lump it! The sensation was terrific. Someone, however, was knocking on the door.

“Oh! Smither,” said Aunt Juley, “you see what the little dog has done?” And she held up the sponge-bag defiantly.

“Aoh!” said Smither; “its teeth ARE sharp. Would you go down, ma’am? Mr. and Mrs. James Forsyte are in the drawing-room. Shall I take the little dog now? I daresay it’d like a run.”

“Not to the Police Station, Smither. I found it, and I’m going to keep it.”

“I’m sure, Ma’am. It’ll be company for me and Cook, now that Tommy’s gone. It’s took quite a fancy to us.”

With a pang of jealousy Aunt Juley said: “I take all the responsibility. Go with Smither, Pommy!”

Caught up in her arms, the little dog lolled its head over the edge of Smither and gazed back sentimentally as it was borne away. And, again, all that was maternal in Aunt Juley swelled, beneath the dark violet of her bosom sprinkled with white hairs.

“Say I am coming down.” And she began plucking off the white hairs.

Outside the drawing-room door she paused; then went in, weak at the knees. Between his Dundreary whiskers James was telling a story. His long legs projected so that she had to go round; his long lips stopped to say:

“How are you, Juley? They tell me you’ve found a dog,” and resumed the story. It was all about a man who had been bitten and had insisted on being cauterised until he couldn’t sit down, and the dog hadn’t been mad after all, so that it was all wasted, and that was what came of dogs. He didn’t know what use they were except to make a mess.

Emily said: “Pomeranians are all the rage. They look so amusing in a carriage.”

Aunt Hester murmured that Jolyon had an Italian greyhound at Stanhope Gate.

“That snippetty whippet!” said Swithin—perhaps the first use of the term: “There’s no body in THEM.”

“You’re not going to KEEP this dog?” said James. “You don’t know what it might have.”

Very red, Aunt Juley said sharply: “Fiddle-de-dee, James!”

“Well, you might have an action brought against you. They tell me there’s a Home for Lost Dogs. Your proper course is to turn it out.”

“Turn out your grandmother!” snapped Aunt Juley; she was not afraid of James.

“Well, it’s not your property. You’ll be getting up against the Law.”

“Fiddle the Law!”

This epoch-making remark was received in silence. Nobody knew what had come to Juley.

“Well,” said James, with finality, “don’t say I didn’t tell you. What does Timothy say—he’ud have a fit.”

“If he wants to have a fit, he must,” said Aunt Juley. “I shan’t stop him.”

“What are you going to do with the puppies?” said Swithin: “Ten to one she’ll have puppies.”

“You see, Juley,” said Aunt A

Aunt Juley’s agitation was such that she took up a fan from the little curio table beside her, and began to wave it before her flushed face.

“You’re all against me,” she said: “Puppies, indeed! A little thing like that!”

Swithin rose. “Good-bye to you all. I’m going to see Nicholas. Good-bye, Juley. You come for a drive with me some day. I’ll take you to the Lost Dogs’ Home.” Throwing out his chest, he manoeuvred to the door, and could be heard descending the stairs to the accompaniment of the drawing-room bell.

James said mechanically: “He’s a fu

It was as much his permanent impression of his twin brother as was Swithin’s: “He’s a poor stick, James!”

Emily, who was bored, began talking to Aunt Hester about the new fashion of eating oysters before the soup. Of course it was very foreign, but they said the Prince was doing it; James wouldn’t have it; but personally she thought it rather elegant. She should see! James had begun to tell Aunt A

“I think,” she said, suddenly, “I shall go round to Stanhope Gate, and ask dear Jolyon.”

“What do you want to do that for?” said James, taking hold of a whisker. “He’ll send you away with a flea in your ear.”

Whether or no this possibility deterred her, Aunt Juley did not rise, but she ceased fa

But James had now exhausted his weekly budget. “Well, Emily,” he said, “you’ll be wanting to get home. We can’t keep the horses any longer.”

The accuracy of this formula had never been put to the proof, for Emily always rose at once with the words:

“Good-bye, dears. Give our love to Timothy.” She had pecked their cheeks and gone out of the room before James could remember what—as he would tell her in the carriage—he had specially gone there to ask them.

When they had departed, Aunt Hester, having looked from one to the other of her sisters, muffled ‘Lady Audley’s Secret’ in her shawl and tiptoed away. She knew what was coming. Aunt Juley took the solitaire board with hands that trembled. The moment had arrived! And she waited, making an occasional move with oozing fingers, and stealing glances at that upright figure in black silk with jet trappings and cameo brooch. On no account did she mean to be the first to speak; and she said, suddenly:

“There you sit, A

Aunt A

“You heard what Swithin and James said, Juley.”

“I will NOT turn the dog out,” said Aunt Juley. “I will not, and that’s flat.” The blood beat in her temples and she tapped a foot on the floor.

“If it were a really nice little dog, it would not have run away and got lost. Little dogs of that sex are not to be trusted. You ought to know that, at your age, Juley; now that we’re alone, I can talk to you plainly. It will have followers, of course.”

Aunt Juley put a finger into her mouth, sucked it, took it out, and said:

“I’m tired of being treated like a little girl.”

Aunt A

“I think you should take some calomel—getting into fantods like this! We have never had a dog.”

“I don’t want you to have one now,” said Aunt Juley; “I want it for myself. I—I—” She could not bring herself to express what was in her heart about being loved—it would be—would be gushing!

“It’s not right to keep what’s not your own,” said Aunt A

“I will put an advertisement in the paper; if the owner comes, I’ll give it up. But it followed me of its own accord. And it can live downstairs. Timothy need never see it.”

“It will spoil the carpets,” said Aunt A

“I’m sick of peace,” said Aunt Juley, rattling the board. “I’m sick of peace, and I’m sick of taking care of things till they—till you—till one belongs to them.”

Aunt A