"He's anxious to keep them
apart."
"Oh, John!"
Something in her tone fired me, and I blurted out:
"Old John's an awfully good sort."
She studied me curiously for a minute or two, and then said, to
my great surprise:
"You are loyal to your friend. I like you for that."
"Aren't you my friend too?"
"I am a very bad friend."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it is true. I am charming to my friends one day, and
forget all about them the next."
I don't know what impelled me, but I was nettled, and I said
foolishly and not in the best of taste:
"Yet you seem to be invariably charming to Dr. Bauerstein!"
Instantly I regretted my words. Her face stiffened. I had the
impression of a steel curtain coming down and blotting out the
real woman. Without a word, she turned and went swiftly up the
stairs, whilst I stood like an idiot gaping after her.
I was recalled to other matters by a frightful row going on
below. I could hear Poirot shouting and expounding. I was vexed
to think that my diplomacy had been in vain.
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