“Yes, if it is put to rest,” agreed Miss Matthews. “But it's my belief that as soon as you start stirring things up something shocking is bound to be discovered where you least expect it”
“The idea that Gregory was poisoned is merely absurd,” said Mrs Matthews. “Of that I am convinced.”
“Yes, I daresay you are, but you know very well Guy had been quarrelling with him, not to mention Stella.”
The effect of this speech was to turn Mrs Matthews from a Christian woman into something more nearly resembling a tigress at bay. There was even something faintly suggestive of a feline crouch in the way she leaned forward in her chair, with her hands gripping the arms of it. “Perhaps you would like to explain what you mean by that, Harriet?” she said in a low, menacing voice. “Please do so! And remember that you are speaking of My Children!”
Miss Matthews quailed, as well she might, and said tearfully that she meant nothing at all.
“Ah!” said Mrs Matthews, relaxing her taut muscles. “I am glad of that, Harriet.”
Under her delicate make-up she was quite pale. Guy leaned over the back of her chair, and grinned down at her. “Attaboy, ma!” he said approvingly.
She put up her hand to clasp his, but said only: “Please don't use that vulgar expression, dear. You know I dislike it.
“I'm sure,” said Miss Matthews, groping in her pocket for her handkerchief, “you needn't turn on me, Zoë! Nobody could be fonder of Guy than I am—and of Stella too, of course. I was only thinking how it would look to an outsider.”
Mrs Matthews recovered her poise. “Don't let us say any more about it. You naturally cannot be expected to understand a mother's feelings.” She turned to Mrs Rumbold, and said graciously: “And has your stay at the seaside done you good, Mrs Rumbold?”