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We
both
laughed
.
“
That
’
s
real
nice
of
you
.
I
’
ll
tell
her
what
you
say
.
But
I
don
’
t
fancy
we
’
ll
meet
again
.
You
’
ve
been
very
good
to
me
on
the
journey
,
especially
after
I
cheeked
you
as
I
did
.
But
what
your
face
expressed
first
thing
is
quite
true
.
I
’
m
not
your
kind
.
And
that
brings
trouble
—
I
know
that
well
enough
.
…
”
Her
face
changed
.
For
the
moment
all
the
light
-
hearted
gaiety
died
out
of
it
.
It
looked
angry
—
revengeful
.
…
“
So
good
-
bye
,
”
she
finished
,
in
a
lighter
tone
.
“
Aren
’
t
you
even
going
to
tell
me
your
name
?
”
I
cried
,
as
she
turned
away
.
She
looked
over
her
shoulder
.
A
dimple
appeared
in
each
cheek
.
She
was
like
a
lovely
picture
by
Greuze
.
“
Cinderella
,
”
she
said
,
and
laughed
But
little
did
I
think
when
and
how
I
should
see
Cinderella
again
.
It
was
five
minutes
past
nine
when
I
entered
our
joint
sitting
-
room
for
breakfast
on
the
following
morning
.
My
friend
Poirot
,
exact
to
the
minute
as
usual
,
was
just
tapping
the
shell
of
his
second
egg
.
