It was twenty-five to ten in the morning and her son had telephoned her twenty minutes earlier in a state about his children, and she was sitting somewhere with the telephone within reach, waiting.

“What did you say to him?”

“Oh,” she said.

“I rather think you can work that out.”

“I can’t, actually.

What did you say to my husband?”

“There’s no need to shout, dear, it won’t be doing you any good.” And she sounded almost warm, which was far worse than if she had been vicious.

“I’ll come along and show you, since you’re in such a muddle about it.