The only drawback was the tea.
Why a woman in your position can't give people China tea instead of that
Ceylon syrup will be a mystery to me to my dying day."
She rose in her wrath and shook me.
"You're the most aggravating wretch on earth!"
"My dear Tom-Tit," said I gravely. "Remember the moral tale of
Bluebeard."
"Look here, Simon"--she planted herself in front of me--"I'm not a bit
inquisitive. I don't in the least want to know what passed between you
and Eleanor. But what I would give my ears to understand is how you
can go through a two hours' conversation with the girl you were engaged
to--a conversation which must have affected the lives of both of
you--and then come up to me and talk drivel about China tea and
Bluebeard."
"Once on a time, my dear," said I, "I flattered myself on being an
artist in life. I am humbler now and acknowledge myself a wretched
bungling amateur. But I still recognise the value of chiaroscuro."
"You're hopeless," said Agatha, somewhat crossly. "You get more flippant
and cynical every day.
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