"I put it in an envelope and posted it to Lady Matthews before I went to the cottage this afternoon," said Shirley. "I couldn't think of anything else to do with it."
"Thank God for that!" said Amberley. "It's the only sensible thing you've done yet." He glanced at his watch. "Now, my dear, at any moment my friend Sergeant Gubbins is likely to appear, and he'll want you to make a long statement. Before he comes I have a question to put to you. I should like a plain answer, please. Will you or will you not marry me?"
For a moment she felt that she could not have understood him. She sat looking up at him in sheer astonishment, and all she could find to say was: "But you don't like me!"
"There are times," said Mr. Amberley, "when I could happily choke the life out of you."
She had to laugh. "Oh, you're impossible! How can you want to marry me?"
"I don't know," said Mr. Amberley, "but I do."
"You told me ages ago that you didn't like me," she insisted.
"Why keep harping on that? I don't like you at all. You're obstinate and self-willed and abominably secretive. Your manners are atrocious, and you're a damned little nuisance. And I rather think I worship you." He leaned forward and possessed himself of her hands, drawing her towards him. "And I have a suspicion that I fell in love with you at first sight."
She made a half-hearted attempt to pull her hands away. "You didn't. You were loathsome to me."
"I may have been loathsome to you," said Mr. Amberley, "but if I wasn't already in love with you, why the hell didn't I inform the police about you?"