A little shriek burst from Mrs. Ackroyd.
“Ralph! Married! Last March! Oh! but it’s absurd. How could he be?”
She stared at Ursula as though she had never seen her before.
“Married to Bourne?” she said. “Really, M. Poirot, I don’t believe you.”
Ursula flushed and began to speak, but Flora forestalled her.
Going quickly to the other girl’s side, she passed her hand through her arm.
“You must not mind our being surprised,” she said. “You see, we had no idea of such a thing. You and Ralph have kept your secret very well. I am—very glad about it.”
“You are very kind, Miss Ackroyd,” said Ursula in a low voice, “and you have every right to be exceedingly angry. Ralph behaved very badly—especially to you.”
“You needn’t worry about that,” said Flora, giving her arm a consoling little pat. “Ralph was in a corner and took the only way out. I should probably have done the same in his place. I do think he might have trusted me with the secret, though. I wouldn’t have let him down.”
Poirot rapped gently on a table and cleared his throat significantly.