Cicely betrayed slight nervousness. Grimshaw sat down near Lady Selina. He perceived that she was overbrimming with considered speech.
“I awoke with a clear mind,” she affirmed. “I have had an object-lesson, not wasted upon me, I can assure you. I admit that I have been blind to what has been going on under my nose. And I can take into consideration the—the—a—consideration that has been, not too wisely, given to me. Enough of that. I can’t, under the circumstances, call in Lord Wilverley, as you suggested. But there are others. My own solicitor, for instance. I shall instruct him to institute a sort of court of inquiry here. He will know how to deal with this man Snitterfield and our Inspector of Nuisances.”
“Will he?” asked Grimshaw quietly.
Lady Selina answered with slight acerbity:
“Of course he will. Before he meets these men, I shall ask him to have a talk with you. Out of the chaos of yesterday, one phrase bites deeply into my memory. I was told by Timothy Farleigh that my village is a whited sepulchre. You didn’t contradict him.”
The unhappy Cicely wriggled in her chair. Grimshaw remained silent. Lady Selina continued inexorably:
“It is possible, Mr. Grimshaw, that you didn’t contradict him because you share his opinion of Upworthy. Do you?”
Cicely interposed hastily:
“Mother, do wait till you are yourself again.”
“Nonsense, child! I am very much myself this morning. Who wouldn’t be after such an awakening? Mr. Grimshaw will do me the justice to believe that I am in no mood to spare myself or anybody else. If Mr. Grimshaw honestly thinks that Upworthy is a whited sepulchre, let him say so.”