Sad Cypress by Agatha Christie Page A

always felt uncomfortable because I didn't care for my father, but if he wasn't my father, well that makes it all right! How did you know about it?”
    Nurse Hopkins said, “Gerrard talked about it a good deal before he died. I shut him up pretty sharply, but he didn't care. Naturally, I shouldn't have said anything to you about it if this hadn't cropped up.”
    Mary said slowly, “I wonder who my real father was.”
    Nurse Hopkins hesitated. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. She appeared to be finding it hard to make up her mind on some point.
    Then a shadow fell across the room, and the two women looked round to see Elinor Carlisle standing at the window.
    Elinor said, “Good morning.”
    Nurse Hopkins said, “Good morning, Miss Carlisle. Lovely day, isn't it?”
    Mary said, “Oh - good morning, Miss Elinor.”
    Elinor said, “I've been making some sandwiches. Won't you come up and have some? It's just on one o'clock, and it's such a bother to have to go home for lunch. I got enough for three on purpose.”
    Nurse Hopkins said in pleased surprise, “Well, I must say, Miss Carlisle, that's extremely thoughtful of you. It is a nuisance to have to break off what you're doing and come all the way back from the village. I hoped we might finish this morning. I went round and saw my cases early. But, there, turning out takes you longer than you think.”
    Mary said gratefully, “Thank you, Miss Elinor, it's very kind of you.”
    The three of them walked up the drive to the house. Elinor had left the front door open. They passed inside into the cool of the hall. Mary shivered a little. Elinor looked at her sharply.
    She said, “What is it?”
    Mary said, “Oh, nothing - just a shiver. It was coming in - out of the sun.” Elinor said in a low voice, “That's queer. That's what I felt this morning.”
    Nurse Hopkins said in a loud, cheerful voice and with a laugh, “Come, now, you'll be pretending there are ghosts in the house next. I didn't feel anything!”
    Elinor smiled. She led the way into the morning-room on the right of the front door: The blinds were up and the windows open. It looked cheerful.
    Elinor went across the hall and brought back from the pantry a big plate of sandwiches. She handed it to Mary, saying, “Have one?”
    Mary took one. Elinor stood watching her for a moment as the girl's even white teeth bit into the sandwich. She held her breath for a minute, then expelled it in a little sigh. Absentmindedly she stood for a minute with the plate held to her waist, then at sight of Nurse Hopkins's slightly parted lips and hungry expression she flushed and quickly proffered the plate to the older woman.
    Elinor took a sandwich herself. She said apologetically, “I meant to make some coffee, but I forgot to get any. There's some beer on that table, though, if anyone likes that?”
    Nurse Hopkins said sadly, “If only I'd thought to bring along some tea now.”
    Elinor said absently, “There's a little tea still in the canister in the pantry.”
    Nurse Hopkins's face brightened. “Then I'll just pop out and put the kettle on. No milk, I suppose?”
    Elinor said, “Yes, I brought some.”
    “Well, then, that's all right,” said Nurse Hopkins and hurried out.
    Elinor and Mary were alone together. A queer tension crept into the atmosphere. Elinor, with an obvious effort, tried to make conversation. Her lips were dry. She passed her tongue over them. She said, rather stiffly, “You - like your work in London?”
    “Yes, thank you. I - I'm very grateful to you -”
    A sudden harsh sound broke from Elinor. A laugh so discordant, so unlike her, that Mary stared at her in surprise. Elinor said, “You needn't be so grateful!”
    Mary, rather embarrassed, said, “I didn't mean - that is -” She stopped.
    Elinor was staring at her - a glance so searching, so, yes, strange that Mary flinched under it.
    She said, “Is - is anything wrong?”
    Elinor got up quickly. She said, turning away, “What