English.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings, but—” she drew the knife along the checks in the red-and-white tablecloth “—it’s hardly the sort of thing that one finds on a police blotter. Blotter, isn’t that what you call it?”
“Go on,” I said.
“You see,” she said, “I’ve been a single woman for such a long time.”
“It’s as clear as mud,” I said.
“Men have bachelor dinners,” she said. “They get drunk. They go out for a last binge with chorus girls. That, I guess, is what freedom means to them. So they’ve got to make a splurge before they get married.”
I laughed. “Poor Waldo! I bet he wouldn’t care very much to be compared with a chorus girl.”
She shook her head. “Freedom meant something quite different to me, Mark. Maybe you’ll understand. It meant owning myself, possessing all my silly and useless routines, being the sole mistress of my habits. Do I make sense?”
“Is that why you kept putting off the wedding?”
She said: “Get me a cigarette, will you? They’re in the living room.”
I got her the cigarettes and lit my pipe.
She went on talking. “Freedom meant my privacy. It’s not that I want to lead any sort of double life, it’s simply that I resent intrusion. Perhaps because Mama always used to ask where I was going and what time I’d be home and always made me feel guilty if I changed my mind. I love doing things impulsively, and I resent it to a point where my spine stiffens and I get gooseflesh if people ask where and what and why.” She was like a child, crying to be understood.
“On Friday I had a date with Waldo for a sort of bachelor dinner before I left for Wilton. It was to be my last night in town before my wedding . . .”
“Didn’t Shelby resent it?”
“Naturally. Wouldn’t you?” She laughed and showed the tip of her tongue between her lips. “Waldo resented Shelby. But I couldn’t help it. I never flirted or urged them on. And I’m fond of Waldo; he’s a fussy old maid, but he’s been kind to me, very kind. Besides, we’ve been friends for years. Shelby just had to make the best of it. We’re civilized people, we don’t try to change each other.”
“And Shelby, I suppose, had habits that weren’t hundred percent with you?”
She ignored the question. “On Friday I fully intended to dine with Waldo and take the ten-twenty train. But in the afternoon I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she mocked. “That’s precisely why I didn’t tell him. Because he’d ask why.”
I got angry. “You can have your prejudices if you like, and God knows I don’t care if you want to make your habits sacred, but this is a murder case. Murder! There must have been some reason why you changed your mind.”
“I’m like that.”
“Are you?” I asked. “They told me you were a kind woman who thought more of an old friend than to stand by him for the sake of a selfish whim. You’re supposed to be generous and considerate. It sounds like a lot of bull to me!”
“Why, Mr. McPherson, you are a vehement person.”
“Please tell me exactly why you changed your mind about having dinner at Waldo’s.”
“I had a headache.”
“I know. That’s what you told him.”
“Don’t you believe me?”
“Women always have headaches when they don’t want to do something. Why did you come back from lunch with such a headache that you phoned Waldo before you took your hat off?”
“My secretary told you that, I suppose. How important trifles become when something violent happens!”
She walked over to the couch and sat down. I followed. Suddenly she touched my arm with her hand and looked up into my eyes so sweetly that I smiled. We both laughed and the trifles became less important.
She said: “So help me, Mark, I’ve told you the truth. I felt so wretched after lunch on Friday, I just couldn’t face Waldo’s chatter, and I couldn’t sit through dinner with Shelby either because he’d have been
“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings, but—” she drew the knife along the checks in the red-and-white tablecloth “—it’s hardly the sort of thing that one finds on a police blotter. Blotter, isn’t that what you call it?”
“Go on,” I said.
“You see,” she said, “I’ve been a single woman for such a long time.”
“It’s as clear as mud,” I said.
“Men have bachelor dinners,” she said. “They get drunk. They go out for a last binge with chorus girls. That, I guess, is what freedom means to them. So they’ve got to make a splurge before they get married.”
I laughed. “Poor Waldo! I bet he wouldn’t care very much to be compared with a chorus girl.”
She shook her head. “Freedom meant something quite different to me, Mark. Maybe you’ll understand. It meant owning myself, possessing all my silly and useless routines, being the sole mistress of my habits. Do I make sense?”
“Is that why you kept putting off the wedding?”
She said: “Get me a cigarette, will you? They’re in the living room.”
I got her the cigarettes and lit my pipe.
She went on talking. “Freedom meant my privacy. It’s not that I want to lead any sort of double life, it’s simply that I resent intrusion. Perhaps because Mama always used to ask where I was going and what time I’d be home and always made me feel guilty if I changed my mind. I love doing things impulsively, and I resent it to a point where my spine stiffens and I get gooseflesh if people ask where and what and why.” She was like a child, crying to be understood.
“On Friday I had a date with Waldo for a sort of bachelor dinner before I left for Wilton. It was to be my last night in town before my wedding . . .”
“Didn’t Shelby resent it?”
“Naturally. Wouldn’t you?” She laughed and showed the tip of her tongue between her lips. “Waldo resented Shelby. But I couldn’t help it. I never flirted or urged them on. And I’m fond of Waldo; he’s a fussy old maid, but he’s been kind to me, very kind. Besides, we’ve been friends for years. Shelby just had to make the best of it. We’re civilized people, we don’t try to change each other.”
“And Shelby, I suppose, had habits that weren’t hundred percent with you?”
She ignored the question. “On Friday I fully intended to dine with Waldo and take the ten-twenty train. But in the afternoon I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she mocked. “That’s precisely why I didn’t tell him. Because he’d ask why.”
I got angry. “You can have your prejudices if you like, and God knows I don’t care if you want to make your habits sacred, but this is a murder case. Murder! There must have been some reason why you changed your mind.”
“I’m like that.”
“Are you?” I asked. “They told me you were a kind woman who thought more of an old friend than to stand by him for the sake of a selfish whim. You’re supposed to be generous and considerate. It sounds like a lot of bull to me!”
“Why, Mr. McPherson, you are a vehement person.”
“Please tell me exactly why you changed your mind about having dinner at Waldo’s.”
“I had a headache.”
“I know. That’s what you told him.”
“Don’t you believe me?”
“Women always have headaches when they don’t want to do something. Why did you come back from lunch with such a headache that you phoned Waldo before you took your hat off?”
“My secretary told you that, I suppose. How important trifles become when something violent happens!”
She walked over to the couch and sat down. I followed. Suddenly she touched my arm with her hand and looked up into my eyes so sweetly that I smiled. We both laughed and the trifles became less important.
She said: “So help me, Mark, I’ve told you the truth. I felt so wretched after lunch on Friday, I just couldn’t face Waldo’s chatter, and I couldn’t sit through dinner with Shelby either because he’d have been
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