“I can't see that it matters in the least,” said Guy. He grasped the rail at the foot of his mother's bed, and stood looking down at her with bright, uncomprehending eyes. “I can't grasp it!” he announced. “I mean, uncle's dying like that. Of course, everybody expected it in a way, I suppose. I mean, his blood-pressure. What do you think he died of? Do you suppose it was apoplexy? I always thought he'd have apoplexy sooner or later, didn't you, Stella? Will there have to be an inquest? I don't see why there should be, do you? I mean, everyone knows he had a weak heart. It's obvious he died of it.”
“Yes, dear, but we won't talk of it now,” Mrs Matthews said repressively. “You are upset, and you let your tongue run away with you. You must try and realise what it all means to me. I sometimes think poor Gregory was fonder of me than of his own sisters. I do try always to see only the good in everybody, and Gregory responded to me in a way that makes me very happy to look back upon.”
“Oh Gawd!” said Guy rudely.
Mrs Matthews compressed her lips for a moment, but replied almost at once in an extremely gentle voice: “Go and dress, Guy dear. A dark suit, of course, and not that orange pull-over. You too, Stella.”
“Actually, I hadn't thought of the orange pull-over,” said Guy loftily. “But I utterly agree with Nigel about mourning. It's a survival of barbarism, and, as he says—”
“Darling, I know you don't mean to hurt me,” said Mrs Matthews sadly, “but when you treat sacred things in that spirit of—”
“You've simply got to realise that I'm a Pure Agnostic,” replied Guy. “When you talk about things like death being sacred it means absolutely nothing to me.”
“Oh, shut up!” interrupted Stella, giving him a push towards the door. “Nobody wants to listen to your views on religion.”
“They're not particularly my views,” said Guy, “but the views of practically all thinking people today.”
“Oh yeah?” said Stella inelegantly, and walked off to her own room.