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　　"And I suppose you‘restill living at that dear St. Mary Mead?" Lady Selina wasasking. "Such a sweet unspoilt village. I often think aboutit. Just the same as ever, I suppose?"

　　"Well, not quite." MissMarple reflected on certain aspects of her place of residence. "The new Building Estate. The additions to the Village Hall, the alteredappearance of the High Street with its up-to-date shop fronts –” She sighed. "One has to accept change, I suppose."

　　"Progress," said LadySelina vaguely. "Though it often seems to me that it isn’t progress. All these smart plumbing fixtures they have nowadays. Every shadeof colour and superb what they call ‘finish’ – but do any of them really pull? Or push, when they‘re that kind. Every time you go to a friend’shouse, you find some kind of a notice in the Loo – ‘Presssharply and release,’ ‘Pull to the left,’ ‘Release quickly.’ But in the old days, one justpulled up a handle any kind of way, and cataracts of water came at once – There‘s the dear Bishop of Medmenham," Lady Selina broke off to say, as a handsome, elderly cleric passed by. "Practically quite blind, I believe. But such a splendid militant priest."

　　A little clerical talk was indulged in, interspersedby Lady Selina’s recognition of various friends andacquaintances, many of whom were not the people she thought they were. She and Miss Marpletalked a little of "old days," thoughMiss Marple‘s upbringing, of course, had been quite differentfrom Lady Selina’s, and their reminiscences were mainlyconfined to the few years when Lady Selina, a recent widow of severely straitened means,had taken a small house in the village of St. Mary Mead during the time her second son hadbeen stationed at an airfield nearby.

　　"Do you always stay here when you come up, Jane?Odd I haven‘t seen you here before."

　　"Oh no, indeed. I couldn’t afford to, and anyway, I hardly ever leave home these days. No, it was avery kind niece of mine who thought it would be a treat for me to have a short visit toLondon. Joan is a very kind girl – at least perhaps hardly agirl." Miss Marple reflected with a qualm that Joan must nowbe close to fifty. Joan West. She had an exhibition not long ago.

　　Lady Selina had little interest in painters, orindeed in anything artistic. She regarded writers, artists and musicians as a species ofclever performing animals; she was prepared to feel indulgent towards them, but to wonderprivately why they wanted to do what they did.

　　"This modern stuff, I suppose," she said, her eyes wandering. "There‘s Cicely Longhurst – dyed hair again, I see."

　　"I’m afraid dear Joanis rather modern."

　　Here Miss Marple was quite wrong. Joan West had beenmodern about twenty years ago, but was now regarded by the young arriviste artists ascompletely old-fashioned.

　　Casting a brief glance at cicely Longhurst‘s hair, Miss Marple relapsed into a pleasant remembrance of how kind Joan hadbeen. Joan had actually said to her husband, "I wish we coulddo something for poor old Aunt Jane. She never gets away from home. Do you think she’d like to go to Bournemouth for a week or two."

　　"Good idea," saidRaymond West. His last book was doing very well indeed, and he felt in a generous mood.

　　"She enjoyed her trip to the West Indies, I think,though it was a pity she had to get mixed up in a murder case. Quite the wrong thing ather age."

　　"That sort of thing seems to happen to her."

　　Raymond was very fond of his old aunt and wasconstantly devising treats for her, and sending her books that he thought might interesther. He was surprised when she often politely declined the treats, and though she alwayssaid the books were "so interesting" he sometimes suspected that she had not read them. But then, of course, hereyes were failing.

　　In this last he was wrong. Miss Marple hadremarkable eyesight for her age, and was at this moment taking in everything that wasgoing on round her with keen interest and pleasure.

　　To Joan‘s proffer of aweek or two at one of Bournemouth’s best hotels, she hadhesitated, murmured, "It‘s very,very kind of you, my dear, but I really don’t think –”

　　"But it‘s good foryou, Aunt Jane. Good to get away from home sometimes. It gives you new ideas, and newthings to think about."

　　"Oh yes, you are quite right there, and I wouldlike a little visit somewhere for a change. Not, perhaps, Bournemouth."

　　Joan was slightly surprised. She had thoughtBournemouth would have been Aunt Jane’s Mecca.

　　"Eastbourne? Or Torquay?"

　　"What I would really like –” Miss Marple hesitated.

　　"Yes?"

　　"I dare say you will think it rather silly of me."

　　"No, I‘m sure I shan’t. (Where did the old dear want to go?)"

　　"I would really like to go to Bertram‘s Hotel – in London."

　　"Bertram’s Hotel? The name was vaguely familiar."

　　Words came from Miss Marple in a rush.

　　"I stayed there once – whenI was fourteen. With my uncle and aunt, Uncle Thomas, that was, he was Canon of Ely. And I‘ve never forgotten it. If I could stay there – aweek would be quite enough – two weeks might be too expensive."

　　"Oh, that’s all right.Of course you shall go. I ought to have thought that you might want to go to London –the shops and everything. We‘ll fix it up –if Bertram’s Hotel still exists. So many hotels have vanished,sometimes bombed in the war and sometimes just given up."

　　"No, I happen to know Bertram‘s Hotel is stillgoing. I had a letter from there – from my American friend AmyMcAllister of Boston. She and her husband were staying there."

　　"Good, then I’ll goahead, and fix it up." She added gently, "I‘m afraid you may find it’s changed a good deal from the days when you knew it. So don‘t be disappointed."

But Bertram’s Hotel had not changed. It was just asit had always been. Quite miraculously so, in Miss Marple‘sopinion. In fact, she wondered…