“What have you been reading, Tuppence?” asked Tommy.
“Think how exciting it would be,” went on Tuppence, “if we heard a wild rapping at the door and went to open it and in staggered a dead man.”
“If he was dead he couldn’t stagger,” said Tommy critically.
“You know what I mean,” said Tuppence. “They always stagger in just before they die and fall at your feet just gasping out a few enigmatic words. ‘The Spotted Leopard’ or something like that.”
“I advise a course of Schopenhauer or Emmanuel Kant,” said Tommy.
“That sort of thing would be good for you,” said Tuppence. “You are getting fat and comfortable.”
“I am not,” said Tommy indignantly. “Anyway, you do slimming exercises yourself.”
“Everybody does,” said Tuppence. “When I said you were getting fat I was really speaking metaphorically, you are getting prosperous and sleek and comfortable.”
“I don’t know what has come over you,” said her husband.
“The spirit of adventure,” murmured Tuppence. “It is better than a longing for romance anyway. I have that sometimes, too. I think of meeting a man, a really handsome man-”
“You have met me,” said Tommy. “Isn’t that enough for you?”
“A brown lean man, terrifically strong, the kind of man who can ride anything and lassoos wild horses-”
“Complete with sheepskin trousers and a cowboy hat,” interpolated Tommy sarcastically.
“-and has lived in the Wilds,” continued Tuppence.
“I should like him to fall simply madly in love with me. I should, of course, rebuff him virtuously and be true to my marriage vows but my heart would secretly go out to him.”
“Well,” said Tommy, “I often wish that I may meet a really beautiful girl. A girl with corn-colored hair who will fall desperately in love with me. Only I don’t think I rebuff her-in fact I am quite sure I don’t.”
“That,” said Tuppence, “is naughty temper.”
“What,” said Tommy, “is really the matter with you, Tuppence? You have never talked like this before.”
“No, but I have been boiling up inside for a long time,” said Tuppence. “You see it is very dangerous to have everything you want-including enough money to buy things. Of course there are always hats.”
“You have got about forty hats already,” said Tommy “and they all look alike.”
“Hats are like that,” said Tuppence. “They are not really alike. There are nuances in them. I saw rather a nice one in Violette’s this morning.”
“If you haven’t anything better to do than going on buying hats you don’t need-”
“That’s it,” said Tuppence. “That’s exactly it. If I had something better to do. I suppose I ought to take up good works. Oh, Tommy, I do wish something exciting would happen. I feel-I really do feel it would be good for us. If we could find a fairy-”
“Ah!” said Tommy. “It is curious your saying that.”
He got up and crossed the room. Opening a drawer of the writing table he took out a small snapshot print and brought it to Tuppence.
“Oh!” said Tuppence, “So you have got them developed. Which is this, the one you took of this room or the one I took?”
“The one I took. Yours didn’t come out. You under exposed it. You always do.”
“It is nice for you,” said Tuppence, “to think that there is one thing you can do better than me.”
“A foolish remark,” said Tommy, “but I will let it pass for the moment. What I wanted to show you was this.”
He pointed to a small white speck on the photograph.
“That is a scratch on the film,” said Tuppence.
“Not at all,” said Tommy. “That, Tuppence, is a fairy.”
“Tommy, you idiot.”
“Look for yourself.”
He handed her a magnifying glass. Tuppence studied the print attentively through it. Seen thus by a slight stretch of fancy the scratch on the film could be imagined to represent a small winged creature perched on the fender
“It has got wings!” cried Tuppence. “What fun, a real live fairy in our flat. Shall we write to Conan Doyle about it? Oh, Tommy. Do you think she’ll give us wishes?”
“You will soon know,” said Tommy. “You have been wishing hard enough for something to happen all the afternoon.”