Aunt Hester made a little movement of recoil: “Oh, ask your Aunt Julia!” she said; “I know nothing about it.”
No one else was afraid of assenting, and James muttered gloomily at the floor: “He’s not half the man he was.”
“I’ve noticed it a long time,” went on Francie; “he’s aged tremendously.”
Aunt Juley shook her head; her face seemed suddenly to have become one immense pout.
“Poor dear Jolyon,” she said, “somebody ought to see to it for him!”
There was again silence; then, as though in terror of being left solitarily behind, all five visitors rose simultaneously, and took their departure.
Mrs. Small, Aunt Hester, and their cat were left once more alone, the sound of a door closing in the distance announced the approach of Timothy.
That evening, when Aunt Hester had just got off to sleep in the back bedroom that used to be Aunt Juley’s before Aunt Juley took Aunt Ann’s, her door was opened, and Mrs. Small, in a pink night-cap, a candle in her hand, entered: “Hester!” she said. “Hester!”
Aunt Hester faintly rustled the sheet.
“Hester,” repeated Aunt Juley, to make quite sure that she had awakened her, “I am quite troubled about poor dear Jolyon. What,” Aunt Juley dwelt on the word, “do you think ought to be done?”