"I've just been scolding Lola," she said, lowering her voice and with an artificial smile; "so indiscreet of her. Most indiscreet. What must they have thought at the hotel. I'm very cross with her. She should have come back at once. Poor Miss Brock. Such a great sufferer. She has it so badly in her legs."
What it was that Miss Brock had so badly in her legs Beresford was not to know, as Mrs. Crisp broke off to fire a short burst at Mr. Quelch. A moment later she turned once more to Beresford.
"And I blame you, Mr. Berry." Again Mrs. Crisp turned upon him an automatic smile of immaculate dentistry. "You should have sent her home. She's so wrong-stilled. What must the servants have thought? And the papers? Such odious people. Journalists, I mean. I hope she didn't bathe."
"I'm sure" began Beresford, his head in a whirl.
"So dreadful," she continued without waiting for a reply. "So lacking in refinement. You never know when there's a tan with a melescope. Odious creatures. I'm sure the Queen would disapprove. I'm told they sit there all day. The men with the telescopes, I mean. So sweet and gentle. Such a mother. Fancy bathing with strange men. She ought to have been more careful. Lola, I mean."
"But," interpolated Beresford, "Miss Craven didn't bathe."
"I mean staying down there with you. Mr.
