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sixty thousand francs at Monte Carlo once. I put it on number twenty-seven and it came up.”
    â€œThat must have been very exciting, Madame.”
    â€œOh, it was. George gives me money to play with—but usually I lose it.”
    She looked disconsolate.
    â€œThat is sad.”
    â€œOh, it does not really matter. George is very rich. It is nice to be rich, don’t you think so?”
    â€œVery nice,” said Poirot gently.
    â€œPerhaps, if I was not rich, I should look like Amanda.” Hergaze went to Miss Brewis at the tea table and studied her dispassionately. “She is very ugly, don’t you think?”
    Miss Brewis looked up at that moment and across to where they were sitting. Lady Stubbs had not spoken loudly, but Poirot wondered whether Amanda Brewis had heard.
    As he withdrew his gaze, his eyes met those of Captain Warburton. The Captain’s glance was ironic and amused.
    Poirot endeavoured to change the subject.
    â€œHave you been very busy preparing for the fête?” he asked.
    Hattie Stubbs shook her head.
    â€œOh, no, I think it is all very boring—very stupid. There are servants and gardeners. Why should not they make the preparations?”
    â€œOh, my dear.” It was Mrs. Folliat who spoke. She had come to sit on the sofa nearby. “Those are the ideas you were brought up with on your island estates. But life isn’t like that in England these days. I wish it were.” She sighed. “Nowadays one has to do nearly everything oneself.”
    Lady Stubbs shrugged her shoulders.
    â€œI think it is stupid. What is the good of being rich if one has to do everything oneself?”
    â€œSome people find it fun,” said Mrs. Folliat, smiling at her. “I do really. Not all things, but some. I like gardening myself and I like preparing for a festivity like this one tomorrow.”
    â€œIt will be like a party?” asked Lady Stubbs hopefully.
    â€œJust like a party—with lots and lots of people.”
    â€œWill it be like Ascot? With big hats and everyone very chic?”
    â€œWell, not quite like Ascot,” said Mrs. Folliat. She added gently, “But you must try and enjoy country things, Hattie. You should have helped us this morning, instead of staying in bed and not getting up until teatime.”
    â€œI had a headache,” said Hattie sulkily. Then her mood changed and she smiled affectionately at Mrs. Folliat.
    â€œBut I will be good tomorrow. I will do everything you tell me.”
    â€œThat’s very sweet of you, dear.”
    â€œI’ve got a new dress to wear. It came this morning. Come upstairs with me and look at it.”
    Mrs. Folliat hesitated. Lady Stubbs rose to her feet and said insistently:
    â€œYou must come. Please. It is a lovely dress. Come now! ”
    â€œOh, very well.” Mrs. Folliat gave a half laugh and rose.
    As she went out of the room, her small figure following Hattie’s tall one, Poirot saw her face and was quite startled at the weariness on it which had replaced her smiling composure. It was as though, relaxed and off her guard for a moment, she no longer bothered to keep up the social mask. And yet—it seemed more than that. Perhaps she was suffering from some disease about which, like many women, she never spoke. She was not a person, he thought, who would care to invite pity or sympathy.
    Captain Warburton dropped down in the chair Hattie Stubbs had just vacated. He, too, looked at the door through which the two women had just passed, but it was not of the older woman that he spoke. Instead he drawled, with a slight grin:
    â€œBeautiful creature, isn’t she?” He observed with the tail of his eye Sir George’s exit through a french window with Mrs. Masterton and Mrs. Oliver in tow. “Bowled over old George Stubbs allright. Nothing’s too good for her! Jewels, mink, all the rest of it. Whether he realizes she’s a bit wanting in the top