“Hmm. Well, how about ‘Abercrombie and Adams’?” said Grand tentatively, “there’s a fairly sound—”
“Good,” said Aunt Agnes. “Now then, what if you sold all your shares of that? What would happen to the price of it?”
“Take a nasty drop,” said Grand, with a scowl at the thought of it. “Might cause a run.”
“There you are then!” cried Agnes. “And Clemence’s young man buys—when the price is down, he buys, you see—then the next day, you buy back what you sold! I should think it would go up again when you buy back what you sold, wouldn’t it?”
“Might and might not,” said Grand, somewhat coldly.
“Well,” said Agnes, with a terrible hauteur, “you can just keep buying until it does!” Then she continued, in softer tones, to show her ultimate reasonableness: “Surely you can, Guy. And then, you see, when it’s up again, Clemence and her young man will sell.”
“Yes,” said Grand with a certain quiet dignity, “but you know, it might not look good, that sort of thing, with the Federal Securities Commission.”
Agnes’s lips were so closely compressed now that they resembled a turtle’s mouth.
“Might not look,” she repeated, making it hollow, her eyes widening as though she had lifted a desert rock and seen what was beneath it. “Well,” she said with unnerving softness, taking a sip of tea to brace herself and even turning to draw on her sister with a look of dark significance, “... if all you’re concerned with is appearance—then perhaps you aren’t the person I thought you were, after all.” And she poured herself another cup.
Grand was stricken with a mild fit of coughing. “Yes,” he was able to say at last, “... yes, I see your point, of course. Does bear some thinking through though, I must say.”