Sublime

Verena, who had read so much, had also read that no man can resist the sight of a beautiful woman descending a noble staircase. She had watched Quin’s arrival out of her bedroom window and now, gowned simply but becomingly in bottle-green Celanese, she placed one hand on the carved banister, gathered up her skirt, and while her mother waited unself

She was thoroughly charming to him, but of course he theorized a little about his attachment. He was made of excellent human dough, and had the rare merit of knowing that his talents, even if let loose, would not set the smallest stream in the country on fire: hence he liked the prospect of a wife to whom he could say, ‘What shall we do?’ about thi

Chapter 13 — The Girl with the Anxious Eyes We lunched with an excellent appetite. For a while we ate in silence, and then Poirot observed maliciously: “Eh bien! And your indiscretions! You recount them not?” I felt myself blushing. “Oh, you mean this morning?” I endeavoured to adopt a tone of absolute nonchalance. But I was no match for Poirot. In

“She’s a charming woman,” Keir replied, sitting beside her. “I like her very well. She dinna shock me, although . . . she swears like a Scottish golfer.”

Kathleen had been right—whatever she chose, it wouldn’t be perfect. She would have to lose something. But no matter what else she gave up, this man was the thing she couldn’t lose. She burst into tears.

She could not help being vexed at the non-appearance of Mr. Thorpe, for she not only longed to be dancing, but was likewise aware that, as the real dignity of her situation could not be known, she was sharing with the scores of other young ladies still sitting down all the discredit of wanting a partner. To be disgraced in the eye of the world, to

“What kind of husband do you wish for?” Kathleen asked with a teasing smile. “Handsome and tall? Dashing?” “He doesn’t have to be handsome or tall, as long as he’s kind.

“Miss Goodnight, I have served the family since before His Grace was even born. I am bound, by duty and honor, to avoid any gossip about my employer.” “Yes, of course. Forgive the liberty. But I had to ask.”

“Very well. I’m going to deliver this”—he hefted the bag in his hand—“to my wife. As repayment for your generosity, I’ll deny all knowledge of your whereabouts for as long as possible. But if you and Helen are late for tea, it’s on your head.” He paused. “She’s at the first glasshouse past the walled garden.”