Agnes, as fair-minded as her mother, and with her sister's invincible good-nature, replied: “Well, there is that, of course, but after all, I'm a Matthews, and—”
“On the contrary, my dear,” said Owen, “you were a Lupton before you married me.”
Agnes gave her jolly laugh. “Oh, you men! You always have an answer to everything. Well, there's no use crying over spilt milk, and I shan't say another word about it.”
“That is an excellent resolve, my dear, and one that I hope you won't break more than three times a day,” replied Owen gravely.
Henry Lupton, who had made no contribution to the conversation till now, suddenly said with a deprecating little laugh: “Blessed is he that expecteth nothing.”
“You may consider yourself blessed if you choose,” said his wife severely. “I am far from looking at it in that light. Gregory was a thoroughly selfish man, though I am sorry to have to say such a thing of my own brother, and when I think that but for me he would be buried by now, and no one a penny the wiser as to the cause of his death I am extremely sorry that I did not wash my hands of the whole affair.”
“No, no!” remonstrated Randall. “Think of the coals of fire you are heaping on his ghostly head!”
“Please do not be irreverent, Randall! I am not at all amused.”
“It seems to me that the whole Will is rottenly unfair!” exclaimed Guy bitterly. “Why should Stella get two thousand pounds and me nothing? Why should Randall bone the lot? He wasn't uncle's son any more than I was!”
“It was because of my endearing personality, little cousin,” explained Randall.
“No one—no one has as much cause for complaint as I have!” said Miss Matthews in a low, trembling voice. “For years I've slaved to make Gregory comfortable, and not squander the housekeeping money as others would have done, and what is my reward? It was downright wicked of him, and I only hope I never come across him when I die, because I shall certainly tell him what I think of him if I do!”
She rushed from the room as she spoke, and Randall at once turned to Mrs Matthews, saying with an air of great affability: “And what has my dear Aunt Zoë to say?”
Mrs Matthews rose nobly to the occasion. She said with a faint, world-weary smile: “I have nothing to say, Randall. I have been trying to forget all these earthly, unimportant things and to fix my mind on the spiritual side of it all.”
Henry Lupton, who thought her a very sweet woman, looked round with a touch of nervous defiance, and said: “Well, I think we may say that Zoë sets us all an example, don't you?”
“Henry,” said his wife awfully, “I am ready to go home.”
Mrs Matthews maintained her air of resignation, but when alone with either or both of her children found a good deal to say about the Will. “It is not that one wants anything,” she told them, “but one misses the thought for others. Consideration for people's feelings means so much in this dark world, as I hope you will both of you remember always. I had no claim on Gregory, though since I was his brother's wife I daresay a lot of people would disagree with me on that point. As far as actual money goes I expected nothing, but it would have been such a comfort if there had been some little sign to show that I was not quite forgotten. I am afraid poor Gregory—”
“Well, there is a sign,” said Stella bluntly. “You've got a half-share in the house, and it isn't to cost you anything to keep up.”
“That was not quite what I meant, dear,” said Mrs Matthews, vague but repressive. “Poor Gregory! I have nothing but the kindest memories of him, but I am afraid his was what I call an insensitive nature. He never knew the joy of giving. In some ways he was curiously hard. Perhaps if he had had more imagination—and yet I don't know that it would have made any difference. Sometimes I think that he was brought up to be selfish through and through. I was very, very fond of him, but I don't think he ever had a thought for anyone but himself in all his life.”
“He was rather a mean brute,” agreed Stella.
“No, darling, you must never think that,” said her mother gently. “Try only to look on the best side of people. Your uncle had some very sterling qualities, and it wasn't his fault that he was hard, and selfish, and not always very kind to others. We cannot help our natures, though some of us do try.”
“Well,” said Stella, correctly divining the reason for these strictures on her uncle's character, “one comfort is that Aunt Harriet can't live for ever.”
“That kind of person nearly always does,” said Mrs Matthews, forgetting for the moment to be Christian. “She'll go on and on, getting more eccentric every day.”
Stella laughed. “Cheer up, Mummy! She's years older than you are, anyway.”
“I only wish that I had her health,” said Mrs Matthews gloomily. “Unfortunately I've never been strong, and I'm not likely to get better at my age. My nerves are not a thing I should ever expect your aunt to sympathise with—I've often noticed that people who are never ill themselves have not the faintest understanding of what it means to be more or less always seedy—but though I make a point of never letting anyone guess how very far from well I often feel, I do sometimes long for a little more consideration.”
“Aunt Harriet isn't such a bad old stick,” remarked Guy, glancing up from his book.
“You don't have to live with her all day,” replied his mother with a touch of asperity. She recollected herself, and added: “Not that I don't fully realise all her good points, but I can't help wondering what induced your uncle to leave her a half-share in this great house. She would be far happier in a little place of her own. She's always complaining that this house is too big, and runs away with so much money, and we all know that she really is not capable of doing the housekeeping—which I've no doubt she'll insist on doing the same as ever.”
“But mother, you know your health would never stand the worry of housekeeping,” said Stella tactfully.
“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.