“I do like gratitude,” said Tuppence.
“You, of course, have got your work,” she continued, “but tell me, Tommy, don’t you ever have a secret yearning for excitement, for things to happen ?”
“No,” said Tommy, “at least I don’t think so. It is all very well to want things to happen—they might not be pleasant things.”
“How prudent men are,” sighed Tuppence. “Don’t you ever have a wild secret yearning for romance—adventure—life?”
“What have you been reading, Tuppence?” asked Tommy.
“Think how exciting it would be,” went on Tuppence, “if we heard a wild rapping at the door and went to open it and in staggered a dead man.”
“If he was dead he couldn’t stagger,” said Tommy critically.
“You know what I mean,” said Tuppence. “They always stagger in just before they die and fall at your feet just gasping out a few enigmatic words. ‘The Spotted Leopard’ or something like that.”
“I advise a course of Schopenhauer or Emmanuel Kant,” said Tommy.
“That sort of thing would be good for you,” said Tuppence. “You are getting fat and comfortable.”
“I am not,” said Tommy indignantly. “Anyway, you do slimming exercises yourself.”
“Everybody does,” said Tuppence. “When I said you were getting fat I was really speaking metaphorically, you are getting prosperous and sleek and comfortable.”
“I don’t know what has come over you,” said her husband.