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“Wherever there is human nature, there is drama. But—it is not always just where you think it is. Remember that.
Lady Grayle was forty-eight. She had suffered since she was sixteen from the complaint of having too much money.
“When I was a nice young girl,” said Tuppence, “I was brought up to believe that men—especially husbands—were dissipated beings, fond of drinking and dancing and staying up late at night. It took an exceptionally beautiful and clever wife to keep them at home. Another illusion gone! All the wives I know are hankering to go out and dance, and weeping because their husbands will wear bedroom slippers and go to bed at half past nine. And you do dance so nicely, Tommy dear.” “Gently with the butter, Tuppence.”
The mist had increased. It was soft and white, and hurried past them in little eddying drifts. To their left was the high wall of the cemetery, on their right a row of small houses. Presently these ceased, and a high hedge took their place. “Tommy,” said Tuppence. “I’m beginning to feel jumpy. The mist—and the silence. As though we were miles from anywhere.” “One does feel like that,” agreed Tommy. “All alone in the world. It’s the effect of the mist, and not being able to see ahead of one.”
Melrose stared at him for a moment, then back at the clock, which had that pathetic and innocent look familiar to objects which have been suddenly bereft of their dignity.
How can you tell if you are in love with a person? If in absence they mean nothing to you, and in presence they sweep you off your feet, what is your real reaction?
