Sad Cypress (Hercule Poirot 22)

His tone was indifferent, with a slight edge to it. He went on:

“Of course, Elinor, if you’ve other ideas now….”

Elinor cried out:

“Oh, Roddy, can’t you be honest?”

He winced.

Then he said in a low, bewildered voice:

“I don’t know what’s happened to me….”

Elinor said in a stifled voice:

“I do….”

He said quickly:

“Perhaps it’s true, that. I don’t after all, quite like the idea of living on my wife’s money….”

Elinor, her face white, said:

“It’s not that… It’s something else…” She paused, then she said, “It’s—Mary, isn’t it?”

Roddy murmured unhappily:

“I suppose so. How did you know?”

Elinor said, her mouth twisting sideways in a crooked smile:

“It wasn’t difficult… Every time you look at her—it’s there in your face for anyone to read….”

Suddenly his composure broke.

“Oh, Elinor—I don’t know what’s the matter! I think I’m going mad! It happened when I saw her—that first day—in the wood…just her face—it’s—it’s turned everything upside down. You can’t understand that….”

Elinor said:

“Yes, I can. Go on.”

Roddy said helplessly:

“I didn’t want to fall in love with her… I was quite happy with you. Oh, Elinor, what a cad I am, talking like this to you….”

Elinor said:

“Nonsense. Go on. Tell me….”

He said brokenly:

“You’re wonderful… Talking to you helps frightfully. I’m so terribly fond of you, Elinor! You must believe that. This other thing is like an enchantment! It’s upset everything: my conception of life—and my enjoyment of things—and—all the decent ordered reasonable things….”

Elinor said gently:

“Love—isn’t very reasonable….”

Roddy said miserably: