“A weak nature,” I insisted. “But not a vicious one.”

 

“Ah!” said Poirot. “But weakness, where does it end?”

 

“Exactly,” said Caroline. “Take James here—weak as water, if I weren’t about to

look after him.”

 

“My dear Caroline,” I said irritably, “can’t you talk without dragging in

personalities?”

 

“You _are_ weak, James,” said Caroline, quite unmoved. “I’m eight years older

than you are—oh! I don’t mind M. Poirot knowing that——”

 

“I should never have guessed it, mademoiselle,” said Poirot, with a gallant

little bow.

 

“Eight years older. But I’ve always considered it my duty to look after you.

With a bad bringing up, Heaven knows what mischief you might have got into by

now.”

 

“I might have married a beautiful adventuress,” I murmured, gazing at the

ceiling, and blowing smoke rings.

 

“Adventuress!” said Caroline, with a snort. “If we’re talking of