Love in a Muddle

by Christine Jope-Slade

That queer, quizzical, bored look was on his face. He's the only man whose thoughts I ever pined to know.

I would have given the world to have been able to stop and say:

"What are you thinking about?"

I heard Grace say in that queer, lilting voice of hers:

"Oh, bother! Cheneston, you're just too late! That was Pam Burbridge—only she isn't any more, she's married, and her husband is outside in a car."

And as I hurried out into the courtyard a woman getting out of a car said:

"Look at that woman; isn't she wonderful!"

Of course it was Grace; if it had been me she would have said:

"Look at that funny little moth-eaten rabbit of a girl hurrying away as if there was a stoat after her. You really do see the queerest people everywhere nowadays."

XVI