Sparkling Cyanide by Agatha Christie Page A

has a narrow medieval mind, is capable of fanatical devotion, and is courageous to the point of recklessness.”
    “He always seems to me,” said Iris, “rather pompous and stupid.”
    “He's not at all stupid. He's just one of the usual unhappy successes.”
    “Unhappy?”
    “Most successes are unhappy. That's why they are successes - they have to reassure themselves about themselves by achieving something that the world will notice.”
    “What very extraordinary ideas you have, Anthony.”
    “You'll find they're quite true if you only examine them. The happy people are failures because they are on such good terms with themselves that they don't give a damn. Like me. They are also usually agreeable to get on with - again like me.”
    “You have a very good opinion of yourself.”
    “I am just drawing attention to my good points in case you mayn't have noticed them.”
    Iris laughed. Her spirits had risen. The dull depression and fear had lifted from her mind. She glanced down at her watch.
    “Come home and have tea, and give a few more people the benefit of your unusually agreeable society.”
    Anthony shook his head.
    “Not today. I must be getting back.” Iris turned sharply on him.
    “Why will you never come to the house? There must be a reason.”
    Anthony shrugged his shoulders.
    “Put it that I'm rather peculiar in my ideas of accepting hospitality. Your brother-in-law doesn't like me - he's made that quite clear.”
    “Oh, don't bother about George. If Aunt Lucilla and I ask you - she's an old dear - you'd like her.”
    “I'm sure I should - but my objection holds.”
    “You used to come in Rosemary's time.”
    “That,” said Anthony, “was different.”
    A faint cold hand touched Iris's heart. She said, “What made you come down today? Had you business in this part of the world?”
    “Very important business - with you. I came here to ask you a question, Iris.”
    The cold hand vanished. Instead there came a faint flutter, that throb of excitement that women have known from time immemorial. And with it Iris's face adopted that same look of blank inquiry that her great-grandmother might have worn prior to saying a few minutes later, “Oh, Mr X, this is so sudden!”
    “Yes?” She turned that impossibly innocent face towards Anthony.
    He was looking at her, his eyes were grave, almost stern.
    “Answer me truthfully, Iris. This is my question. Do you trust me?”
    It took her aback. It was not what she had expected. He saw that.
    “You didn't think that that was what I was going to say? But it is a very important question, Iris. The most important question in the world to me. I ask it again. Do you trust me?”
    She hesitated, a bare second, then she answered, her eyes falling: “Yes.”
    “Then I'll go on and ask you something else. Will you come up to London and marry me without telling anybody about it?”
    She stared.
    “But I couldn't! I simply couldn't.”
    “You couldn't marry me?”
    “Not in that way.”
    “And yet you love me. You do love me, don't you?”
    She heard herself saying: “Yes, I love you, Anthony.”
    “But you won't come and marry me at the Church of Saint Elfrida, Bloomsbury, in the parish of which I have resided for some weeks and where I can consequently get married by licence at any time?”
    “How can I do a thing like that? George would be terribly hurt and Aunt Lucilla would never forgive me. And anyway I'm not of age. I'm only eighteen.”
    “You'd have to lie about your age. I don't know what penalties I'd incur for marrying a minor without her guardian's consent. Who is your guardian, by the way?”
    “George. He's my trustee as well.”
    “As I was saying, whatever penalties I incurred, they couldn't unmarry us and that is really all I care about.”
    Iris shook her head. “I couldn't do it. I couldn't be so unkind. And in any case, why? What's the point of it?”
    Anthony said: “That's why I asked you first if you could trust me. You'd have to