"Well, shopping is almost as good," said Tuppence dreamily.

"Think of buying old furniture, and bright carpets, and futurist
silk curtains, and a polished dining-table, and a divan with lots
of cushions."

"Hold hard," said Tommy.  "What's all this for?"

"Possibly a house--but I think a flat."

"Whose flat?"

"You think I mind saying it, but I don't in the least! OURS, so
there!"

"You darling!" cried Tommy, his arms tightly round her. "I was
determined to make you say it.  I owe you something for the
relentless way you've squashed me whenever I've tried to be
sentimental."

Tuppence raised her face to his.  The taxi proceeded on its
course round the north side of Regent's Park.

"You haven't really proposed now," pointed out Tuppence.  "Not
what our grandmothers would call a proposal.  But after listening
to a rotten one like Julius's, I'm inclined to let you off."

"You won't be able to get out of marrying me, so don't you think
it."

"What fun it will be," responded Tuppence.  "Marriage is called
all sorts of things, a haven, and a refuge, and a crowning glory,
and a state of bondage, and lots more.  But do you know what I
think it is?"

"What?"

"A sport!"

"And a damned good sport too," said Tommy.





End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of Secret Adversary by Agatha Christie