“I don’t think so.”

“Don’t you? I expect you do, really, You think to yourself sometimes: It won’t be long before she is too old for such-and-such a part.‘

“No. I love you. To me you do not change.”

“Darling! So sweet! Still, we do grow older.”

“Then why, why, why not make the most of what’s left. Carol — do you really believe you love me?”

“You’re going to have another attack. Don’t.”

She got up and put on her hat, giving him a comically apprehensive look from under the brim. “Come along now,” she said.

He shrugged his shoulders and opened the door for her. They went out, moving beautifully, with years of training behind their smallest gestures. It is this unconscious professionalism in the everyday actions of actors that so often seems unreal to outsiders. When they are very young actors, it often is unreal, when they are older it is merely habit. They are indeed “always acting,” but not in the sense that their critics suggest.

Carolyn and Hambledon went down in the lift and through the lounge towards the street door. Here they ran into Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn, who was also staying at the Middleton.

“Hullo!” said Carolyn. “Have you been out already? You are an early one.”

“I’ve been for a tram ride up to the top of those hills. Do you know, the town ends quite suddenly about four miles out, and you are on grassy hills with little bits of bush and the most enchanting view.”

“It sounds delicious,” said Carolyn vaguely.

“No,” said Alleyn, “it’s more exciting than that. How is your husband this morning?”

“Still very cross, poor sweet. And black and blue, actually, just as he prophesied. It must have been a footballer. Are you coming to the show to-night?”

“I want to, but, do you know, I can’t get a seat.”

“Oh, nonsense. Alfie-Pooh will fix you up. Remind me to ask him, Hailey darling.”