“I can tell you a story about a golfer who went to Heaven,” said Randall, “but I'm afraid that exhausts my repertoire of higher and better things.”
“If you are trying to shock me, Randall, I can only ;fissure you that I am not shocked, but only very sad to think that you can joke about things which to me are sacred.”
“Aunt Zoë,” said Randall, “you never disappoint me.”
Edward Rumbold felt that it was time to intervene. He said: “The younger generation are most of them distressingly irreverent, Mrs Matthews. I met a "sweet young thing" the other day who propounded the most startling views on the Christian religion!” He drifted easily into anecdote, and succeeded in diverting not only Mrs Matthews, but Harriet Matthews as well.
Guy came away from the window as Mr Rumbold's story ended, and began to hand round the tea-cups. Stella entered the room almost immediately, nodded to Randall, and sat down on a floor-cushion by her mother.
Randall regarded her with a pained expression. “My little love, do you not see that I am present? Have you no exclamation of mingled dismay and loathing to greet me with?”
“I saw your car in the drive, so I knew what to expect,” retorted Stella. “I suppose you've come to hear about the Inquest. The police asked for an adjournment, so we're just where we were before.”
“If they're wise they'll give it up,” said Guy. “No one'll ever know the truth. Don't you think they'll chuck it fairly soon, Mr Rumbold?”
“I don't know, Guy. It depends how much they've got to go on.”
“They haven't got anything. Aunt Harriet saw to that, said Guy, with a little laugh.