She went on:
“You see, Len, I have a steadying influence coming into my life. It’s coming into your life, too, but in your case it will be a kind of—of rejuvenating one—at least, I hope so! You can’t call me a dear child half so much when we have a real child of our own. And, Len, I’ve decided that now I’m going to be a real ‘wife and mother’ (as they say in books), I must be a housekeeper too. I’ve bought two books on Household Management and one on Mother Love, and if that doesn’t turn me out a pattern I don’t know what will! They are all simply screamingly funny—not intentionally, you know. Especially the one about bringing up children.”
“You haven’t bought a book on How to Treat a Husband, have you?” I asked, with sudden apprehension as I drew her to me.
“I don’t need to,” said Griselda. “I’m a very good wife. I love you dearly. What more do you want?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Could you say, just for once, that you love me madly?”
“Griselda,” I said—“I adore you! I worship you! I am wildly, hopelessly and quite unclerically crazy about you!”
My wife gave a deep and contented sigh.
Then she drew away suddenly.
“Bother! Here’s Miss Marple coming. Don’t let her suspect, will you? I don’t want everyone offering me cushions and urging me to put my feet up. Tell her I’ve gone down to the golf links. That will put her off the scent—and it’s quite true because I left my yellow pullover there and I want it.”