“No, darling, that is not to be thought of—not that I should consider my health for a moment if it weren't my duty to keep myself as well as possible for your sakes—but if I had my way I should install a competent housekeeper.”
“That's more or less what Aunt Harriet is,” said Guy.
“She is not in the least competent,” retorted Mrs Matthews. “And really her mania for using things up, and saving money on sheer necessities, like coal, will drive me into my grave! It's all very well for you two: you have your own lives, and your own amusements, but at my age I don't think I'm unreasonable to want a house of my own, where I can entertain my friends without having Harriet grudging every mouthful they eat, and wanting to turn off all the lights at eleven o'clock!”
“If you mind frightfully,” said Stella, “wouldn't your income run to a small flat, or something?”
“Not to be thought of!” said Mrs Matthews firmly. “I have to be very careful as it is.”
It was evident that she was a good deal moved, and Stella, who had not before realised how confidently she had expected to be left in sole possession of the Poplars, did what she could to console her. This was not very much, since honesty compelled her to admit that Miss Harriet Matthews was an impossible companion for anyone of Mrs Matthews' temperament. Honesty also compelled her to admit that Mrs Matthews herself was not the ideal housemate, but loyalty to her mother would not allow her to listen to her aunt's rambling complaints. Guy, though quite fond of his aunt, always defended his mother from any criticism levelled at her by any other person than himself or Stella, so Miss Matthews was in the unfortunate position of having a grievance with no one to whom she could air it. She went muttering about the house, gave vent to dark sayings at odd moments, and was fast developing a tendency to behave as though mortally injured when Mr Edward Rumbold and his wife providentially returned from Eastbourne, where they had been staying during the whole of the past week.
Miss Matthews was delighted. She was genuinely attached to Edward Rumbold, who always treated her with courtesy, and never seemed to be bored by her discursive conversation. Moreover, she had a firm belief in the infallibility of the male sex, and had very often found Mr Rumbold's counsel to be good. Her brother had more than once warned her jeeringly not to make a fool of herself over a married man, but although this advice had the power to distress her she knew that there was Nothing Like That in her relationship with Edward Rumbold, and even had he not already possessed a wife she still would not have wished for a closer tie than that of friendship.
Randall had once remarked that Edward Rumbold seemed to have been created especially to be a Friend of the Family. It was certainly true that Miss Matthews' woes were not the only ones poured into his ears. Mrs Matthews, and Stella, and Guy all took him in varying degrees into their confidence, and if he found the recital of other people's troubles wearisome, at least he was far too well-mannered to show it.
He had of course seen the notice of Gregory Matthews' death in the papers, and came round to the Poplars after his return on Saturday to offer condolences, and any help that might be needed. Mrs Rumbold accompanied him, which was not felt by the two elder ladies of the house to be an advantage.
“One wonders what he saw in her,” and “One wonders how she managed to catch him” were expressions frequently heard on Mrs and Miss Matthews' tongues, and they both persisted, in spite of his evident fondness for his wife, in pitying him from the bottom of their hearts. Miss Matthews usually referred to Mrs Rumbold as That Woman, while her more charitable sister-in-law spoke of her as Poor Mrs Rumbold, and said that That Type always pulled a man down. Occasionally she added that it was very sad that the Rumbolds were childless, and it was generally understood that this circumstance was in her opinion a further blot on Mrs Rumbold's character.