‘I always go to church on Christmas Day,’ replied Maud. ‘And on Sundays, too.’

‘One had not realised that there were still people who did!’ said Roydon, with the air of one interested in the habits of aborigines.

This was felt to be an observation in such bad taste that Mathilda at once offered to accompany Maud, and Stephen – although not going to these lengths – ranged himself on Maud’s side by telling the dramatist to shut up, and get on with his breakfast.

‘Hush, Stephen!’ said Joseph, yet with a sympathetic gleam in his eye.

‘You shut up too!’ said Stephen. ‘We’ve listened to enough nauseating twaddle to last us for a fortnight. In case it interests anyone, Uncle Nat’s solicitor is coming down here by the eleven-fifteen from Waterloo. If Ledbury is fetching you from church, Aunt Maud, you’ll have to drive on to pick Blyth up at the station afterwards.’

Maud showed herself perfectly ready to fall in with this plan, but Mottisfont, who had been making only the barest pretence of eating, said with a good deal of meaning: ‘Very high-handed! Let us hope that someone is not in for a disappointment.’

Stephen showed his admirable teeth in a singularly disagreeable smile. ‘Is that meant for me?’

Mottisfont shrugged. ‘Oh, if the cap fits – !’

‘For heaven’s sake, Edgar!’ interposed Joseph. ‘Surely if anyone has the right to object to Stephen’s taking charge of things it is I!’

‘Well, if I were you I wouldn’t put up with it for a moment.’

Joseph tried to exchange a smile with Stephen. ‘Ah, but I’m not a clever business man like you, Edgar! I’m only a muddleheaded old artist – if I may be so bold as to lay claim to that title – and Stephen knows well that I’m grateful to him for all that he’s doing.’

Paula, who had been crumbling a roll in glowering abstraction, intercepted the offensive reply which everyone felt to be hovering on Stephen’s tongue by saying suddenly: ‘How long will it be before we get probate?’

Everyone was rather startled by this, and as no one else seemed inclined to answer her Joseph said: ‘My dear, I’m afraid we aren’t thinking of such things just yet.’

She cast him one of her scornful, impatient glances. ‘Well, I am. If Uncle Nat’s left me the money he always said he would I shall put Wormwood on.’

Roydon flushed, and muttered something unintelligible. Valerie said that she would make a point of going to see it. She gave it as her opinion that it would be marvellous. Mathilda hoped, privately, that this appreciation would in some measure compensate Roydon for the marked lack of enthusiasm displayed by everyone else. She rose from the table, and went away to smoke a cigarette in the library.

Here she was soon joined, rather to her annoyance, by Mottisfont, who, after remarking aimlessly that one missed one’s morning paper, began to wander about the room, fidgeting with blind-cords, matchboxes, cushions, and anything else that came in the way of his unquiet hands.