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'There's some of them said to be rather good,' Sylvia said. 'Di Wilson's told me about one. She said she was going to have a baby...You don't mean that, Father? For I swear I never will...'

'I daresay not,' the priest said. 'But let's talk about men.' 'There's nothing you can tell me I don't know,' Sylvia said.

'I daresay not,' the priest answered. 'But let's rehearse what you do know. Now suppose you could elope with a new man every week and no questions asked? Or how often would you want to?'

Sylvia said:

'Just a moment, Father,' and she addressed Mrs Satterthwaite: 'I suppose I shall have to put myself to bed.'

'You will,' Mrs Satterthwaite said. 'I'll not have any maid kept up after ten in a holiday resort. What's she to do in a place like this? Except listen for the bogies it's full of?'

'Always considerate!' Mrs Tietjens gibed. 'And perhaps it's just as well. I'd probably beat that Marie of yours' arms to pieces with a hair-brush if she came near me.' She added: 'You were talking about men, Father...' And then began with sudden animation to her mother: