"Oh, sorry."

It ought to have been funny, but somehow it wasn't. He bent quickly and picked up the spilt chocolates.

Norton asked him if he had had a tiring morning.

His smile flashed out then - eager, boyish, very much alive.

"No - no - just realized, suddenly, I've been on the wrong track. Much simpler process altogether is what's needed. Can take a short cut now." He stood swaying slightly to and fro on his feet, his eyes absent yet resolved.

"Yes, short cut. Much the best way."

III

If we were all nervy and aimless in the morning, the afternoon was unexpectedly pleasant. The sun came out, the temperature was cool and fresh. Mrs. Luttrell was brought down and sat on the verandah. She was in excellent form - exercising her charm and manner with less gush than usual, and with no latent hint of vinegar in reserve. She chaffed her husband, but gently and with a kind of affection, and he beamed at her. It was really delightful to see them on such good terms. Poirot permitted himself to be wheeled out also, and he was in good spirits too. I think he liked seeing the Luttrells on such a friendly footing with each other. The Colonel was looking years younger. His manner seemed less vacillating, he tugged less at his moustache. He even suggested that there might be some bridge that evening.

"Daisy here misses her bridge."

"Indeed I do," said Mrs. Luttrell.

Norton suggested it would be tiring for her.

"I'll play one rubber," said Mrs. Luttrell, and added with a twinkle: "And I'll behave myself and not bite poor George's head off."

"My dear," protested her husband, "I know I'm a shocking player."

"And what of that?" said Mrs. Luttrell. "Doesn't it give me grand pleasure badgering and bullying you about it?"

It made us all laugh. Mrs. Luttrell went on:

"Oh, I know my faults, but I'm not going to give them up at my time of life. George has just got to put up with me."

Colonel Luttrell looked at her quite fatuously.

I think it was seeing them both on such good terms that led to a discussion on marriage and divorce that took place later in the day.

Were men and women actually happier by reason of the greater facilities afforded for divorce, or was it often the case that a temporary period of irritation and estrangement - or trouble over a third person - gave way after a while to a resumption of affection and friendliness?

It is odd sometimes to see how much at variance people's ideas are with their own personal experiences.

My own marriage had been unbelievably happy and successful, and I am essentially an old-fashioned person, yet I was on the side of divorce - of cutting one's losses and starting afresh. Boyd Carrington, whose marriage had been unhappy, yet held for an indissoluble marriage bond. He had, he said, the utmost reverence for the institution of marriage. It was the foundation of the state. Norton, with no ties and no personal angle, was of my way of thinking. Franklin, the modern scientific thinker, was, strangely enough, resolutely opposed to divorce. It offended, apparently, his ideal of clear-cut thinking and action. One assumed certain responsibilities. Those must be carried through and not shirked or set aside. A contract, he said, is a contract. One enters upon it of one's own free will, and must abide by it. Anything else resulted in what he called a mess. Loose ends, halfdissolved ties. Leaning back in his chair, his long legs kicking vaguely at a table, he said: