A sulky-looking girl in a pink overall with a flight of bluebirds down the front of it took their order for coffee and cakes with a yawn and an air of weary patience.
"The cakes," Miss Bunner said in a conspiratorial whisper, "are really quite good here."
"I was so interested in that very pretty girl I met as we were coming away from Miss Blacklog's the other day," said Miss Marple.
"I think she said she does gardening. Or is she on the land?
Hynes - was that her name?"
"Oh, yes, Phillipa Haymes.
Our 'Lodger,' as we call her."
Miss Bunner laughed at her own humour.
"Such a nice quiet girl.
A lady, if you know what I mean."
"I wonder now.
I knew a Colonel Haymes - in the Indian cavalry.
Her father perhaps?"
"She's Mrs. Haymes.
A widow.
Her husband was killed in Sicily or Italy. Of course, it might be his father."
"I wondered, perhaps, if there might be a little romance on the way?" Miss Marple suggested roguishly.
"With that tall young man?"
"With Patrick, do you mean?
Oh, I don't -"
"No, I meant a young man with spectacles.
I've seen him about."
"Oh, of course, Edmund Swettenham.
Sh! That's his mother, Mrs. Swettenham, over in the corner.
I don't know, I'm sure.
You think he admires her?
He's such an odd young man - says the most disturbing things sometimes.
He's supposed to be clever, you know," said Miss Bunner with frank disapproval.
"Cleverness isn't everything," said Miss Marple, shaking her head.
"Ah, here is our coffee."
The sulky girl deposited it with a clatter.
Miss Marple and Miss Bunner pressed cakes on each other.
"I was so interested to hear you were at school with Miss Blacklog.
Yours is indeed an old friendship."
"Yes, indeed." Miss Bunner sighed.
"Very few people would be as loyal to their old friends as dear Miss Blacklog is.
Oh, dear, those days seem a long time ago.
Such a pretty girl and enjoyed life so much.
It all seemed so sad."
Miss Marple, though with no idea of what had seemed so sad, sighed and shook her head.
"Life is indeed hard," she murmured.
"And sad affliction bravely borne," murmured Miss Bunner, her eyes suffusing with tears.
"I always think of that verse.
True patience; true resignation.
Such courage and patience ought to be rewarded, that is what I say.
What I feel is that nothing is too good for dear Miss Blacklog, and whatever good things come to her, she truly deserves them."
"Money," said Miss Marple, "can do a lot to ease one's path in life."
She felt herself safe in this observation since she judged that it must be Miss Blacklog's prospects of future affluence to which her friend referred.
The remark, however, started Miss Bunner on another train of thought.
"Money!" she exclaimed with bitterness.