Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе
Chapter V. “It Isn’t Strychnine, Is It?”
Shewasverygenerous,butshealwayswantedareturn.Sheneverletpeopleforgetwhatshehaddoneforthem—and,thatwayshemissedlove.Don’tthinksheeverrealizedit,though,orfeltthelackofit.Hopenot,anyway.Iwasonadifferentfooting.Itookmystandfromthefirst.‘SomanypoundsayearI’mworthtoyou.Wellandgood.Butnotapennypiecebesides—notapairofgloves,noratheatreticket.’Shedidn’tunderstand—wasveryoffendedsometimes.SaidIwasfoolishlyproud.Itwasn’tthat—butIcouldn’texplain.Anyway,Ikeptmyself-respect.Andso,outofthewholebunch,Iwastheonlyonewhocouldallowmyselftobefondofher.Iwatchedoverher.Iguardedherfromthelotofthem,andthenaglib-tonguedscoundrelcomesalong,andpooh!allmyyearsofdevotiongofornothing.”
Poirotnoddedsympathetically.
“Iunderstand,mademoiselle,Iunderstandallyoufeel.Itismostnatural.Youthinkthatwearelukewarm—thatwelackfireandenergy—buttrustme,itisnotso.”
Johnstuckhisheadinatthisjuncture,andinvitedusbothtocomeuptoMrs.Inglethorp’sroom,asheandMr.Wellshadfinishedlookingthroughthedeskintheboudoir.
Aswewentupthestairs,Johnlookedbacktothedining-roomdoor,andloweredhisvoiceconfidentially:
“Lookhere,what’sgoingtohappenwhenthesetwomeet?”
Ishookmyheadhelplessly.
“I’vetoldMarytokeepthemapartifshecan.”
“Willshebeabletodoso?”
“TheLordonlyknows.There’sonething,Inglethorphimselfwon’tbetookeenonmeetingher.
