"Did I tell you, Ponderevo, of a wonderful discovery I've made?" Ewart
began presently.

"No," I said, "what is it?"

"There's no Mrs. Grundy."

"No?"

"No! Practically not. I've just thought all that business out. She's
merely an instrument, Ponderevo. She's borne the blame. Grundy's a man.
Grundy unmasked. Rather lean and out of sorts. Early middle age. With
bunchy black whiskers and a worried eye. Been good so far, and it's
fretting him! Moods! There's Grundy in a state of sexual panic, for
example,--'For God's sake cover it up! They get together--they get
together! It's too exciting! The most dreadful things are happening!'
Rushing about--long arms going like a windmill. 'They must be kept
apart!' Starts out for an absolute obliteration of everything absolute
separations. One side of the road for men, and the other for women, and
a hoarding--without posters between them. Every boy and girl to be sewed
up in a sack and sealed, just the head and hands and feet out until
twenty-one. Music abolished, calico garments for the lower animals!
Sparrows to be suppressed--ab-so-lutely."

I laughed abruptly.

"Well, that's Mr. Grundy in one mood--and it puts Mrs. Grundy--She's a
much-maligned person, Ponderevo--a rake at heart--and it puts her in a
most painful state of fluster--most painful! She's an amenable creature.