Crooked House – Agatha Christie
Sophia asked me what I was thinking about.
I replied truthfully: “You.”
“I see,” she said. And she sounded as though she did see.
“We may not meet again for a couple of years,” I said. “I don’t know when I shall get back to England. But as soon as I do get back, the first thing I shall do will be to come and see you and ask you to marry me.”
She took it without batting an eyelash. She sat there, smoking, not looking at me. For a moment or two I was nervous that she might not understand.
“Listen,” I said. “The one thing I’m determined not to do, is to ask you to marry me now. That wouldn’t work out anyway. First you might turn me down, and then I’d go off miserable and probably tie up with some ghastly woman just to restore my vanity. And if you didn’t turn me down what could we do about it? Get married and part at once? Get engaged and settle down to a long waiting period. I couldn’t stand your doing that. You might meet someone else and feel bound to be ‘loyal’ to me. We’ve been living in a queer hectic get-on-with-it-quickly atmosphere. Marriages and love affairs making and breaking all round us. I’d like to feel you’d gone home, free and independent, to look round you and size up the new post-war world and decide what you want out of it. What is between you and me, Sophia, has got to be permanent. I’ve no use for any other kind of marriage.”
“No more have I,” said Sophia.
“On the other hand,” I said, “I think I I’m entitled to let you know how I – well – how I feel.”
“But without undue lyrical expression?” murmured Sophia.
“Darling – don’t you understand? I’ve tried not to say I love you -“
She stopped me.
“I do understand, Charles. And I like your funny way of doing things. And you may come and see me when you come back – if you still want to -“
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