Fielding shrugged. “Oh, I've no wish to make mischief,” he said.
Randall gave a little croon of mirth. “You flatter yourself, my dear doctor, really you do! Pass on your information: it will brighten the Superintendent's dull life, and it won't hurt me.”
“In that case, why should I bother?” said Fielding, and with a nod of farewell turned and walked on to the house.
His errand was to warn its inmates against making any statement to the Press. He had returned from his afternoon round to find his own house besieged with reporters, and in consequence he was in no very pleasant mood. Finding his fiancée inclined to treat the peril of the Press as a minor matter, he said somewhat tartly that he wished she would consider his position a little. Mrs Matthews, wearing a worldly-wise smile, at once assured him that he had nothing to fear. “I saw one of the reporters myself,” she said gravely. “And I think I made him understand how we all feel about it. I talked to him—words seemed to be sent to me—and I think he realised, and was ashamed.”
Guy said uneasily: “I say, mother, you didn't give them any sort of statement, did you?”
“Dear boy, haven't I told you that I didn't?”
Guy said no more, but the doctor, when Stella saw him off, said: “Really, Stella, I do think you might have prevented your mother seeing that fellow! If you don't object to publicity, I do. This case is doing me quite enough harm as it is.”
“I expect,” said Stella, in a small, very steady voice, “it does you harm to be known to be engaged to me, doesn't it?”
“It's no use discussing that,” said Fielding. “I don't suppose it does me much good, but it can't be helped.”
“It might be,” said Stella, raising her eyes to his face.