Колесо крутится. Леди исчезает / The Wheel Spins. The Lady Vanishe

The delicate skin of the elder – Miss Evelyn – was slightly shrivelled, for she was nearly sixty, while Miss Rose was only just out of the forties. The younger sister was taller and stouter; her voice was louder, her colour deeper. In an otherwise excellent character, was a streak of amiable bully, which made her inclined to scold her partner at contract.

During their visit, they had formed a quartette with the Reverend Kenneth Barnes and his wife. They had travelled out on the same train, and they planned to return to England together.

The vicar and his wife had the gift of pleasant companionship, which the Misses Flood-Porter – who were without it – attributed to mutual tastes and prejudices.

The courtyard was furnished with iron chairs and tables, enamelled in brilliant colours, and was decorated with tubs of dusty evergreen shrubs. As Miss Flood-Porter looked round her, she thought of her own delightful home in a Cathedral city.

According to the papers, there had been rain in England, so the garden should look its best, with vivid green grass and lush borders of asters and dahlias.

“I’m looking forward to seeing my garden again,” she said.

“Ours,” corrected her sister, who was John Blunt.

“And I’m looking forward to a comfortable chair,” laughed the vicar. “Ha. Here comes the bridal pair.”

In spite of a sympathetic interest in his fellows he did not call out a genial greeting. He had learned from his first – and final – rebuff that they had resented any intrusion on their privacy.

So he leaned back, puffing at his pipe, while he watched them mount the steps of the veranda.

“Handsome pair,” he said in an approving voice.

“I wonder who they really are,” remarked Miss Flood-Porter. “The man’s face is familiar to me. I know I’ve seen him somewhere.”

“On the pictures, perhaps,” suggested her sister.

“Oh, do you go?” broke in Mrs. Barnes eagerly, hoping to claim another taste in common, for she concealed a guilty passion for the cinema.

“Only to see George Arliss and Diana Wynyard,” explained Miss Flood-Porter.

“That settles it,” said the vicar. “He’s certainly not George Arliss, and neither is she Diana.”

“All the same, I feel certain there is some mystery about them,” persisted Miss Flood-Porter.

“So do I,” agreed Mrs. Barnes. “I–I wonder if they are really married.”

“Are you?” asked her husband quickly.