Twenty-one
There had been nothing to tell Philip Durrant that this day was differentfrom any other day.
He had no idea that today would decide his future once and for all.
He woke in good health and spirits. The sun, a pale autumnal sun, shonein at the window. Kirsten brought him a telephone message which in-creased his good spirits.
“Tina’s coming over for tea,” he told Mary when she came in with hisbreakfast.
“Is she? Oh, yes, of course, it’s her afternoon off, isn’t it?”
Mary sounded preoccupied¹.
“What’s the matter, Polly?”
“Nothing.”
She chipped off the top of his egg for him. At once, he felt irritated.
“I can still use my hands, Polly.”
“Oh, I thought it would save you trouble.”
“How old do you think I am? Six?”
She looked faintly surprised. Then she said abruptly²:
“Hester’s coming home today.”
“Is she?” He spoke³ vaguely⁴, because his mind was full of his plans fordealing with Tina. Then he caught sight of his wife’s expression.
“For goodness” sake, Polly, do you think I’ve got a guilty passion for thegirl?”
She turned her head aside.
“You’re always saying she’s so lovely.”
“So she is. If you like beautiful bones and a quality of the unearthly.” Headded dryly: “But I’m hardly cut out to be a seducer⁵, am I?”
“You might wish you were.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Polly. I never knew you had this tendency to jeal-ousy.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
He started to rebut⁶ that, but paused. It came to him, with something of ashock, that perhaps he didn’t know very much about Mary.
She went on:
“I want you to myself—all to myself. I want there to be nobody in theworld but you and me.”
“We’d run out of conversation, Polly.”
He had spoken lightly, but he felt uncomfortable. The brightness of themorning seemed suddenly dimmed.

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