At this Francie uttered one of her mots, scandalising, and so frequently repeated: "Well, his father's a Scotchman, and his mother's a cat." Aunt Juley covered her ears, too late, but Aunt Hester smiled; as for Nicholas, he pouted--witticism of which he was not the author was hardly to his taste.

Just then Marian Tweetyman arrived, followed almost immediately by young Nicholas.

On seeing his son, Nicholas rose.
"Well, I must be going," he said, "Nick here will tell you what'll win the race." And with this hit at his eldest, who, as a pillar of accountancy, and director of an insurance company, was no more addicted to sport than his father had ever been, he departed.

Dear Nicholas! What race was that?
Or was it only one of his jokes?
He was a wonderful man for his age! How many lumps would dear Marian take?
And how were Giles and Jesse?
Aunt Juley supposed their Yeomanry would be very busy now, guarding the coast, though of course the Boers had no ships.

But one never knew what the French might do if they had the chance, especially since that dreadful Fashoda scare, which had upset Timothy so terribly that he had made no investments for months afterwards.