“You read too many detective stories, Griselda,” I observed mildly.
“What about you?” she retorted. “I was looking everywhere for The Stain on the Stairs the other day when you were in here writing a sermon. And at last I came in to ask you if you’d seen it anywhere, and what did I find?”
I had the grace to blush.
“I picked it up at random. A chance sentence caught my eye and -”
“I know those chance sentences,” said Griselda. She quoted impressively, “And then a very curious thing happened – Griselda rose, crossed the room and kissed her elderly husband affectionately.” She suited the action to the word.
“Is that a very curious thing?” I inquired.
“Of course it is,” said Griselda. “Do you realise, Len, that I might have married a Cabinet Minister, a Baronet, a rich Company Promoter, three subalterns and a ne’er-do-well with attractive manners, and that instead I chose you? Didn’t it astonish you very much?”
“At the time it did,” I replied. “I have often wondered why you did it.”
Griselda laughed.
“It made me feel so powerful,” she murmured. “The others thought me simply wonderful and of course it would have been very nice for them to have me. But I’m everything you most dislike and disapprove of, and yet you couldn’t withstand me! My vanity couldn’t hold out against that. It’s so much nicer to be a secret and delightful sin to anybody than to be a feather in their cap. I make you frightfully uncomfortable and stir you up the wrong way the whole time, and yet you adore me madly. You adore me madly, don’t you?”
“Naturally I am very fond of you, my dear.”
“Oh! Len, you adore me. Do you remember that day when I stayed up in town and sent you a wire you never got because the postmistress’s sister was having twins and she forgot to send it round? The state you got into and you telephoned Scotland Yard and made the most frightful fuss.”
There are things one hates being reminded of. I had really been strangely foolish on the occasion in question. I said:
“If you don’t mind, dear, I want to get on with the C.E.M.S.”
Griselda gave a sigh of intense irritation, ruffled my hair up on end, smoothed it down again, said:
“You don’t deserve me. You really don’t. I’ll have an affair with the artist. I will – really and truly. And then think of the scandal in the parish.”
“There’s a good deal already,” I said mildly.
Griselda laughed, blew me a kiss, and departed through the window.
CHAPTER II
Griselda is a very irritating woman. On leaving the luncheon table, I had felt myself to be in a good mood for preparing a really forceful address for the Church of England Men’s Society. Now I felt restless and disturbed.
Just when I was really settling down to it, Lettice Protheroe drifted in.
I use the word drifted advisedly. I have read novels in which young people are described as bursting with energy – joie de vivre, the magnificent vitality of youth… Personally, all the young people I came across have the air of animal wraiths.
Lettice was particularly wraith-like this afternoon. She is a pretty girl, very tall and fair and completely vague. She drifted through the French window, absently pulled off the yellow beret she was wearing and murmured vaguely with a kind of far-away surprise: “Oh! it’s you.”
There is a path from Old Hall through the woods which comes out by our garden gate, so that most people coming from there come in at that gate and up to the study window instead of going a long way round by the road and coming to the front door. I was not surprised at Lettice coming in this way, but I did a little resent her attitude.
If you come to a Vicarage, you ought to be prepared to find a Vicar.
She came in and collapsed in a crumpled heap in one of my big arm-chairs. She plucked aimlessly at her hair, staring at the ceiling.
“Is Dennis anywhere about?”
“I haven’t seen him since lunch. I understood he was going to play tennis at your place.”