Marie Louise confessed, “Well, I’d hardly say that.”
She told Polly what she had told Mr. Verrinder of the appearance of Sir Joseph and Lady Webling, of their thrill at her resemblance to their dead daughter, of their plea that she leave the stage and enter their family, of her new life, and the outbreak of the war.
Major Widdicombe pounded on the door and said: “Are you girls going to talk all night? I’ve got to get up at seven and save the country.”
Polly cried to him, “Go away,” and to Marie Louise, “Go on.”
Marie Louise began again, but just as she reached the first suspicions of Sir Joseph’s loyalty she remembered the oath she had plighted to Verrinder and stopped short.
“I forgot! I can’t!”
Polly groaned: “Oh, my God! You’re not going to stop there! I loathe serials.”
Marie Louise shook her head. “If only I could tell you; but I just can’t! That’s all; I can’t!”
Polly turned her eyes up in despair. “Well, I might as well go to bed, I suppose. But I sha’n’t sleep a wink. Tell me one thing, though. You weren’t really a German spy, were you?”