The Hollow by Agatha Christie Page B

right. How delightful to be somewhere where nofat women are trying to get into clothes several sizes too small for them!”
    â€œMust be dreadful!” Sir Henry paused and then said, glancing down at his wristwatch: “Edward’s arriving by the 12:15.”
    â€œIs he?” Midge paused, then said: “I haven’t seen Edward for a long time.”
    â€œHe’s just the same,” said Sir Henry. “Hardly ever comes up from Ainswick.”
    â€œAinswick,” thought Midge. “Ainswick!” Her heart gave a sick pang. Those lovely days at Ainswick. Visits looked forward to for months! “I’m going to Ainswick.” Lying awake for nights beforehand thinking about it. And at last—the day! The little country station at which the train—the big London express—had to stop if you gave notice to the guard! The Daimler waiting outside. The drive—the final turn in through the gate and up through the woods till you came out into the open and there the house was—big and white and welcoming. Old Uncle Geoffrey in his patchwork tweed coat.
    â€œNow then, youngsters—enjoy yourselves.” And they had enjoyed themselves. Henrietta over from Ireland. Edward, home from Eton. She herself, from the Northcountry grimness of a manufacturing town. How like heaven it had been.
    But always centring about Edward. Edward, tall and gentle and diffident and always kind. But never, of course, noticing her very much because Henrietta was there.
    Edward, always so retiring, so very much of a visitor so that she had been startled one day when Tremlet, the head gardener, had said:
    â€œThe place will be Mr. Edward’s some day.”
    â€œBut why, Tremlet? He’s not Uncle Geoffrey’s son.”
    â€œHe’s the heir, Miss Midge. Entailed, that’s what they call it. Miss Lucy, she’s Mr. Geoffrey’s only child, but she can’t inherit because she’s a female, and Mr. Henry, as she married, he’s only a second cousin. Not so near as Mr. Edward.”
    And now Edward lived at Ainswick. Lived there alone and very seldom came away. Midge wondered, sometimes, if Lucy minded. Lucy always looked as though she never minded about anything.
    Yet Ainswick had been her home, and Edward was only her first cousin once removed, and over twenty years younger than she was. Her father, old Geoffrey Angkatell, had been a great “character” in the country. He had had considerable wealth as well, most of which had come to Lucy, so that Edward was a comparatively poor man, with enough to keep the place up, but not much over when that was done.
    Not that Edward had expensive tastes. He had been in the diplomatic service for a time, but when he inherited Ainswick he had resigned and come to live on his property. He was of a bookish turn of mind, collected first editions, and occasionally wrote rather hesitating ironical little articles for obscure reviews. He had asked his second cousin, Henrietta Savernake, three times to marry him.
    Midge sat in the autumn sunshine thinking of these things. She could not make up her mind whether she was glad she was going to see Edward or not. It was not as though she were what is called “getting over it.” One simply did not get over anyone like Edward. Edward of Ainswick was just as real to her as Edward rising to greet her from a restaurant table in London. She had loved Edward ever since she could remember….
    Sir Henry’s voice recalled her.
    â€œHow do you think Lucy is looking?”
    â€œVery well. She’s just the same as ever.” Midge smiled a little. “More so.”
    â€œYe—es.” Sir Henry drew on his pipe. He said unexpectedly:
    â€œSometimes, you know, Midge, I get worried about Lucy.”
    â€œWorried?” Midge looked at him in surprise. “Why?”
    Sir Henry shook his head.
    â€œLucy,” he said, “doesn’t realize that there are