“Joan, that is a thing that should not be repeated.”
“Very sad,” said Miss Marple, shaking her head, “though I believe not an uncommon form of madness. I know when we were working for the Armenian relief, a most respectable elderly clergyman was afflicted the same way. They telephoned his wife and she came along at once and took him home in a cab, wrapped in a blanket.”
“Of course, Molly’s immediate family’s all right,” said Miss Prescott. “She never got on very well with her mother, but then so few girls seem to get on with their mothers nowadays.”
“Such a pity,” said Miss Marple, shaking her head, “because really a young girl needs her mother’s knowledge of the world and experience.”
“Exactly,” said Miss Prescott with emphasis. “Molly, you know, took up with some man—quite unsuitable, I understand.”
“It so often happens,” said Miss Marple.
“Her family disapproved, naturally. She didn’t tell them about it. They heard about it from a complete outsider. Of course her mother said she must bring him along so that they met him properly. This, I understand, the girl refused to do. She said it was humiliating to him. Most insulting to be made to come and meet her family and be looked over. Just as though you were a horse, she said.”
Miss Marple sighed. “One does need so much tact when dealing with the young,” she murmured.
“Anyway there it was! They forbade her to see him.”
“But you can’t do that nowadays,” said Miss Marple. “Girls have jobs and they meet people whether anyone forbids them or not.”
“But then, very fortunately,” went on Miss Prescott, “she met Tim Kendal, and the other man sort of faded out of the picture. I can’t tell you how relieved the family was.”
“I hope they didn’t show it too plainly,” said Miss Marple. “That so often puts girls off from forming suitable attachments.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“One remembers oneself.” Murmured Miss Marple, her mind going back to the past. A young man she had met at a croquet party. He had seemed so nice—rather gay, almost Bohemian in his views. And then he had been unexpectedly warmly welcomed by her father. He had been suitable, eligible; he had been asked freely to the house more than once, and Miss Marple had found that, after all, he was dull. Very dull.
The Canon seemed safely comatose and Miss Marple advanced tentatively to the subject she was anxious to pursue.
“Of course you know so much about this place,” she murmured. “You have been here several years running, have you not?”
“Well, last year and two years before that. We like St. Honore very much. Always such nice people here. Not the flashy, ultra-rich set.”
“So I suppose you know the Hillingdons and the Dysons well!”
‘”Yes, fairly well.”
Miss Marple coughed and lowered her voice slightly.
“Major Palgrave told me such an interesting story,” she said.
“He had a great repertoire of stories, hadn’t he? Of course he had travelled very widely. Africa, India, even China I believe.”
“Yes indeed,” said Miss Marple. “But I didn’t mean one of those stories. This was a story concerned with—well, with one of the people I have just mentioned.”
“Oh!” said Miss Prescott. Her voice held meaning.
“Yes. Now I wonder—” Miss Marple allowed her eyes to travel gently round the beach to where Lucky lay sunning her back. “Very beautifully tanned, isn’t she,” remarked Miss Marple. “And her hair. Most attractive. Practically the same colour as Molly Kendal’s, isn’t it?”
“The only difference,” said Miss Prescott, “is that Molly’s is natural and Lucky’s comes out of a bottle!”
“Really, Joan,” the Canon protested, unexpectedly awake again. “Don’t you think that is rather an uncharitable thing to say?”
“It’s not uncharitable,” said Miss Prescott, acidly. “Merely accurate.”
“It looks very nice to me.” said the Canon.
“Of course. That’s why she does it. But I assure you, my dear Jeremy, it wouldn’t deceive any woman for a moment. Would it?” She appealed to Miss Marple.
“Well, I’m afraid—” said Miss Marple, “of course I haven’t the experience that you have—but I’m afraid—yes I should say definitely not natural. The appearance at the roots every fifth or sixth day—” She looked at Miss Prescott and they both nodded with quiet female assurance.