Poirot said with a slight smile: "I will help you. I heard what you said to Hastings. That your sister was a bright, happy girl with no men friends. It was — un peu — the opposite that was true, was it not?"
Megan said slowly: "There wasn't any harm in Betty. I want you to understand that. She'd always go straight. She's not the week-ending kind. Nothing of that sort. But she liked being taken out and dancing and — oh, cheap flattery and compliments and all that sort of thing."
"And she was pretty — yes?"
This question, the third time I had heard it, met this time with a practical response.
Megan slipped off the table
In a leather frame was a head and shoulders of a fair-haired
It was certainly not a face
Poirot handed it back
perm [p@:m], frizzy ['frIzI], resemble [rI'zembl]
Megan slipped off the table, went to her suitcase, snapped it open and extracted something which she handed to Poirot.
In a leather frame was a head and shoulders of a fair-haired, smiling girl. Her hair had evidently recently been permed; it stood out from her head in mass of rather frizzy curls. The smile was arch and artificial.
It was certainly not a face that you could call beautiful, but it had an obvious and cheap prettiness.
Poirot handed it back, saying: "You and she do not resemble each other,
"Oh, I'm the plain one of the family
"So, in what way exactly do you consider
"That's it
"And then what,
His eyes were on her very steadily
plain [pleIn], resent [rI'zent], steadily ['stedIlI]
"Oh, I'm the plain one of the family. I've always known that." She seemed to brush aside the fact as unimportant.
"So, in what way exactly do you consider your sister was behaving foolishly? Do you mean, perhaps, in relation to Mr. Donald Fraser?"
"That's it, exactly. Don's a very quiet sort of person — but he — well, naturally he'd resent certain things — and then —"
"And then what, mademoiselle?"