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.
“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.”