The news that Mr. Wyse was to be of the party that evening at Mrs.
Poppit's and was to dine there first, _en famille_ (as he casually let
slip in order to air his French), created a disagreeable impression that
afternoon in Tilling. It was not usual to do anything more than "have a
tray" for your evening meal, if one of these winter bridge-parties
followed, and there was, to Miss Mapp's mind, a deplorable tendency to
ostentation in this dinner-giving before a party. Still, if Susan was
determined to be extravagant, she might have asked Miss Mapp as well,
who resented this want of hospitality. She did not like, either, this
hole-and-corner _en famille_ work with Mr. Wyse; it indicated a pushing
familiarity to which, it was hoped, Mr. Wyse's eyes were open.
There was another point: the party, it had been ascertained, would in
all number ten, and if, as was certain, there would be two
bridge-tables, that seemed to imply that two people would have to cut
out. There were often nine at Mrs. Poppit's bridge-parties (she appeared
to be unable to count), but on those occasions Isabel was generally
told by her mother that she did not care for bridge, and so there was no
cutting out, but only a pleasant book for Isabel. But what would be done
with ten? It was idle to hope that Susan would sit out: as hostess she
always considered it part of her duties to play solidly the entire
evening. Still, if the cutting of cards malignantly ordained that Miss
Mapp was ejected, it was only reasonable to expect that after her
magnanimity to the United Services, either Major Benjy or Captain Puffin
would be so obdurate in his insistence that she must play instead of
him, that it would be only ladylike to yield.
She did not, therefore, allow this possibility to dim the pleasure she
anticipated from the discomfiture of darling Diva, who would be certain
to appear in the kingfisher-blue tea-gown, and find herself ghastly and
outshone by the crimson-lake which was the colour of Mrs. Trout's second
toilet, and Miss Mapp, after prolonged thought as to her most dramatic
moment of entrance in the crimson-lake, determined to arrive when she
might expect the rest of the guests to have already assembled. She would
risk, it is true, being out of a rubber for a little, since bridge might
have already begun, but play would have to stop for a minute of
greetings when she came in, and she would beg everybody not to stir, and
would seat herself quite, quite close to Diva, and openly admire her
pretty frock, "like one I used to have ...!"
It was, therefore, not much lacking of ten o'clock when, after she had
waited a considerable time on Mrs. Poppit's threshold, Boon sulkily
allowed her to enter, but gave no answer to her timid inquiry of: "Am I
very late, Boon?" The drawing-room door was a little ajar, and as she
took off the cloak that masked the splendour of the crimson-lake, her
acute ears heard the murmur of talk going on, which indicated that
bridge had not yet begun, while her acute nostrils detected the faint
but certain smell of roast grouse, which showed what Susan had given Mr.
Wyse for dinner, probably telling him that the birds were a present to
her from the shooting-lodge where she had stayed in the summer. Then,
after she had thrown herself a glance in the mirror, and put on her
smile, Boon preceded her, slightly shrugging his shoulders, to the
drawing-room door, which he pushed open, and grunted loudly, which was
his manner of announcing a guest. Miss Mapp went tripping in, almost at
a run, to indicate how vexed she was with herself for being late, and
there, just in front of her, stood Diva, dressed not in kingfisher-blue
at all, but in the crimson-lake of Mrs. Trout's second toilet.
Perfidious Diva had had her dress dyed too....
Miss Mapp's courage rose to the occasion. Other people, Majors and tipsy
Captains, might be cowards, but not she. Twice now (omitting the matter
of the Wars of the Roses) had Diva by some cunning, which it was
impossible not to suspect of a diabolical origin, clad her odious little
roundabout form in splendours identical with Miss Mapp's, but now,
without faltering even when she heard Evie's loud squeak, she turned to
her hostess, who wore the Order of M.B.E. on her ample breast, and made
her salutations in a perfectly calm voice.
"Dear Susan, don't scold me for being so late," she said, "though I know
I deserve it. So sweet of you! Isabel darling and dear Evie! Oh, and Mr.
Wyse! Sweet Irene! Major Benjy and Captain Puffin! Had a nice game of
golf? And the Padre!..."
She hesitated a moment wondering, if she could, without screaming or
scratching, seem aware of Diva's presence. Then she soared, lambent as
flame.
"Diva darling!" she said, and bent and kissed her, even as St. Stephen
in the moment of martyrdom prayed for those who stoned him. Flesh and
blood could not manage more, and she turned to Mr. Wyse, remembering
that Diva had told her that the Contessa Faradiddleony's arrival was
postponed.
"And your dear sister has put off her journey, I understand," she said.
"Such a disappointment! Shall we see her at Tilling at all, do you
think?"
Mr. Wyse looked surprised.
"Dear lady," he said, "you're the second person who has said that to me.
Mrs. Plaistow asked me just now----"
"Yes; it was she who told me," said Miss Mapp in case there was a
mistake. "Isn't it true?"
"Certainly not. I told my housekeeper that the Contessa's maid was ill,
and would follow her, but that's the only foundation I know of for this
rumour. Amelia encourages me to hope that she will be here early next
week."
"Oh, no doubt that's it!" said Miss Mapp in an aside so that Diva could
hear. "Darling Diva's always getting hold of the most erroneous
information. She must have been listening to servants' gossip. So glad
she's wrong about it."
Mr. Wyse made one of his stately inclinations of the head.
"Amelia will regret very much not being here to-night," he said, "for I
see all the great bridge-players are present."
"Oh, Mr. Wyse!" said she. "We shall all be humble learners compared with
the Contessa, I expect."
"Not at all!" said Mr. Wyse. "But what a delightful idea of yours and
Mrs. Plaistow's to dress alike in such lovely gowns. Quite like
sisters."
Miss Mapp could not trust herself to speak on this subject, and showed
all her teeth, not snarling but amazingly smiling. She had no occasion
to reply, however, for Captain Puffin joined them, eagerly deferential.
"What a charming surprise you and Mrs. Plaistow have given us, Miss
Mapp," he said, "in appearing again in the same beautiful dresses. Quite
like----"
Miss Mapp could not bear to hear what she and Diva were like, and
wheeled about, passionately regretting that she had forgiven Puffin.
This manoeuvre brought her face to face with the Major.
"Upon my word, Miss Elizabeth," he said, "you look magnificent
to-night."
He saw the light of fury in her eyes, and guessed, mere man as he was,
what it was about. He bent to her and spoke low.
"But, by Jove!" he said with supreme diplomacy, "somebody ought to tell
our good Mrs. Plaistow that some women can wear a wonderful gown and
others--ha!"
"Dear Major Benjy," said she. "Cruel of you to poor Diva."
But instantly her happiness was clouded again, for the Padre had a very
ill-inspired notion.
"What ho! fair Madam Plaistow," he humorously observed to Miss Mapp.
"Ah! Peccavi! I am in error. It is Mistress Mapp. But let us to the
cards! Our hostess craves thy presence at yon table."
Contrary to custom Mrs. Poppit did not sit firmly down at a table, nor
was Isabel told that she had an invincible objection to playing bridge.
Instead she bade everybody else take their seats, and said that she and
Mr. Wyse had settled at dinner that they much preferred looking on and
learning to playing. With a view to enjoying this incredible treat as
fully as possible, they at once seated themselves on a low sofa at the
far end of the room where they could not look or learn at all, and
engaged in conversation. Diva and Elizabeth, as might have been expected
from the malignant influence which watched over their attire, cut in at
the same table and were partners, so that they had, in spite of the
deadly antagonism of identical tea-gowns, a financial interest in
common, while a further bond between them was the eagerness with which
they strained their ears to overhear anything that their hostess and Mr.
Wyse were saying to each other.
Miss Mapp and Diva alike were perhaps busier when they were being dummy
than when they were playing the cards. Over the background of each mind
was spread a hatred of the other, red as their tea-gowns, and shot with
black despair as to what on earth they should do now with those
ill-fated pieces of pride. Miss Mapp was prepared to make a perfect
chameleon of hers, if only she could get away from Diva's hue, but what
if, having changed, say, to purple, Diva became purple too? She could
not stand a third coincidence, and besides, she much doubted whether any
gown that had once been of so pronounced a crimson-lake, could
successfully attempt to appear of any other hue except perhaps black. If
Diva died, she might perhaps consult Miss Greele as to whether black
would be possible, but then if Diva died, there was no reason for not
wearing crimson-lake for ever, since it would be an insincerity of which
Miss Mapp humbly hoped she was incapable, to go into mourning for Diva
just because she died.
In front of this lurid background of despair moved the figures which
would have commanded all her attention, have aroused all the feelings of
disgust and pity of which she was capable, had only Diva stuck to
kingfisher-blue. There they sat on the sofa, talking in voices which it
was impossible to overhear, and if ever a woman made up to a man, and if
ever a man was taken in by shallow artifices, "they," thought Miss Mapp,
"are the ones." There was no longer any question that Susan was doing
her utmost to inveigle Mr. Wyse into matrimony, for no other motive, not
politeness, not the charm of conversation, not the low, comfortable seat
by the fire could possibly have had force enough to keep her for a whole
evening from the bridge-table. That dinner _en famille_, so Miss Mapp
sarcastically reflected--what if it was the first of hundreds of similar
dinners _en famille_? Perhaps, when safely married, Susan would ask her
to one of the family dinners, with a glassful of foam which she called
champagne, and the leg of a crow which she called game from the
shooting-lodge.... There was no use in denying that Mr. Wyse seemed to
be swallowing flattery and any other form of bait as fast as they were
supplied him; never had he been so made up to since the day, now two
years ago, when Miss Mapp herself wrote him down as uncapturable. But
now, on this awful evening of crimson-lake, it seemed only prudent to
face the prospect of his falling into the nets which were spread for
him.... Susan the sister-in-law of a Contessa. Susan the wife of the man
whose urbanity made all Tilling polite to each other, Susan a Wyse of
Whitchurch! It made Miss Mapp feel positively weary of earth....
Nor was this the sum of Miss Mapp's mental activities, as she sat being
dummy to Diva, for, in addition to the rage, despair and disgust with
which these various topics filled her, she had narrowly to watch Diva's
play, in order, at the end, to point out to her with lucid firmness all
the mistakes she had made, while with snorts and sniffs and muttered
exclamations and jerks of the head and pullings-out of cards and
puttings of them back with amazing assertions that she had not quitted
them, she wrestled with the task she had set herself of getting two
no-trumps. It was impossible to count the tricks that Diva made, for she
had a habit of putting her elbow on them after she had raked them in, as
if in fear that her adversaries would filch them when she was not
looking, and Miss Mapp, distracted with other interests, forgot that
no-trumps had been declared and thought it was hearts, of which Diva
played several after their adversaries' hands were quite denuded of
them. She often did that "to make sure."
"Three tricks," she said triumphantly at the conclusion, counting the
cards in the cache below her elbow.
Miss Mapp gave a long sigh, but remembered that Mr. Wyse was present.
"You could have got two more," she said, "if you hadn't played those
hearts, dear. You would have been able to trump Major Benjy's club and
the Padre's diamond, and we should have gone out. Never mind, you played
it beautifully otherwise."
"Can't trump when it's no trumps," said Diva, forgetting that Mr. Wyse
was there. "That's nonsense. Got three tricks. Did go out. Did you think
it was hearts? Wasn't."
Miss Mapp naturally could not demean herself to take any notice of this.
"Your deal, is it, Major Benjy?" she asked. "Me to cut?"
Diva had remembered just after her sharp speech to her partner that Mr.
Wyse was present, and looked towards the sofa to see if there were any
indications of pained surprise on his face which might indicate that he
had heard. But what she saw there--or, to be more accurate, what she
failed to see there--forced her to give an exclamation which caused Miss
Mapp to look round in the direction where Diva's bulging eyes were
glued.... There was no doubt whatever about it: Mrs. Poppit and Mr. Wyse
were no longer there. Unless they were under the sofa they had certainly
left the room together and altogether. Had she gone to put on her sable
coat on this hot night? Was Mr. Wyse staggering under its weight as he
fitted her into it? Miss Mapp rejected the supposition; they had gone to
another room to converse more privately. This looked very black indeed,
and she noted the time on the clock in order to ascertain, when they
came back, how long they had been absent.
The rubber went on its wild way, relieved from the restraining influence
of Mr. Wyse, and when, thirty-nine minutes afterwards, it came to its
conclusion and neither the hostess nor Mr. Wyse had returned, Miss Mapp
was content to let Diva muddle herself madly, adding up the score with
the assistance of her fingers, and went across to the other table till
she should be called back to check her partner's figures. They would be
certain to need checking.
"Has Mr. Wyse gone away already, dear Isabel?" she said. "How early!"
("And four makes nine," muttered Diva, getting to her little finger.)
Isabel was dummy, and had time for conversation.
"I think he has only gone with Mamma into the conservatory," she
said--"no more diamonds, partner?--to advise her about the orchids."
Now the conservatory was what Miss Mapp considered a potting-shed with a
glass roof, and the orchids were one anaemic odontoglossum, and there
would scarcely be room besides that for Mrs. Poppit and Mr. Wyse. The
potting-shed was visible from the drawing-room window, over which
curtains were drawn.
"Such a lovely night," said Miss Mapp. "And while Diva is checking the
score may I have a peep at the stars, dear? So fond of the sweet stars."
She glided to the window (conscious that Diva was longing to glide too,
but was preparing to quarrel with the Major's score) and took her peep
at the sweet stars. The light from the hall shone full into the
potting-shed, but there was nobody there. She made quite sure of that.
Diva had heard about the sweet stars, and for the first time in her life
made no objection to her adversaries' total.
"You're right, Major Flint, eighteen-pence," she said. "Stupid of me:
I've left my handkerchief in the pocket of my cloak. I'll pop out and
get it. Back in a minute. Cut again for partners."
She trundled to the door and popped out of it before Miss Mapp had the
slightest chance of intercepting her progress. This was bitter, because
the dining-room opened out of the hall, and so did the book-cupboard
with a window which dear Susan called her boudoir. Diva was quite
capable of popping into both of these apartments. In fact, if the
truants were there, it was no use bothering about the sweet stars any
more, and Diva would already have won....
There was a sweet moon as well, and just as baffled Miss Mapp was
turning away from the window, she saw that which made her positively
glue her nose to the cold window-pane, and tuck the curtain in, so that
her silhouette should not be visible from outside. Down the middle of
the garden path came the two truants, Susan in her sables and Mr. Wyse
close beside her with his coat-collar turned up. Her ample form with the
small round head on the top looked like a short-funnelled locomotive
engine, and he like the driver on the foot-plate. The perfidious things
had said they were going to consult over the orchid. Did orchids grow on
the lawn? It was news to Miss Mapp if they did.
They stopped, and Mr. Wyse quite clearly pointed to some celestial
object, moon or star, and they both gazed at it. The sight of two such
middle-aged people behaving like this made Miss Mapp feel quite sick,
but she heroically continued a moment more at her post. Her heroism was
rewarded, for immediately after the inspection of the celestial object,
they turned and inspected each other. And Mr. Wyse kissed her.
Miss Mapp "scriggled" from behind the curtain into the room again.
"Aldebaran!" she said. "So lovely!"
Simultaneously Diva re-entered with her handkerchief, thwarted and
disappointed, for she had certainly found nobody either in the boudoir
or in the dining-room. But there was going to be a sit-down supper, and
as Boon was not there, she had taken a _marron glace_.
Miss Mapp was flushed with excitement and disgust, and almost forgot
about Diva's gown.
"Found your hanky, dear?" she said. "Then shall we cut for partners
again? You and me, Major Benjy. Don't scold me if I play wrong."
She managed to get a seat that commanded a full-face view of the door,
for the next thing was to see how "the young couple" (as she had already
labelled them in her sarcastic mind) "looked" when they returned from
their amorous excursion to the orchid that grew on the lawn. They
entered, most unfortunately, while she was in the middle of playing a
complicated hand, and her brain was so switched off from the play by
their entrance that she completely lost the thread of what she was
doing, and threw away two tricks that simply required to be gathered up
by her, but now lurked below Diva's elbow. What made it worse was that
no trace of emotion, no heightened colour, no coy and downcast eye
betrayed a hint of what had happened on the lawn. With brazen effrontery
Susan informed her daughter that Mr. Wyse thought a little
leaf-mould....
"What a liar!" thought Miss Mapp, and triumphantly put her remaining
trump on to her dummy's best card. Then she prepared to make the best of
it.
"We've lost three, I'm afraid, Major Benjy," she said. "Don't you think
you overbid your hand just a little wee bit?"
"I don't know about that, Miss Elizabeth," said the Major. "If you
hadn't let those two spades go, and hadn't trumped my best heart----"
Miss Mapp interrupted with her famous patter.
"Oh, but if I had taken the spades," she said quickly, "I should have
had to lead up to Diva's clubs, and then they would have got the rough
in diamonds, and I should have never been able to get back into your
hand again. Then at the end if I hadn't trumped your heart, I should
have had to lead the losing spade and Diva would have over-trumped; and
brought in her club, and we should have gone down two more. If you
follow me, I think you'll agree that I was right to do that. But all
good players overbid their hands sometimes, Major Benjy. Such fun!"
The supper was unusually ostentatious, but Miss Mapp saw the reason for
that; it was clear that Susan wanted to impress poor Mr. Wyse with her
wealth, and probably when it came to settlements, he would learn some
very unpleasant news. But there were agreeable little circumstances to
temper her dislike of this extravagant display, for she was hungry, and
Diva, always a gross feeder, spilt some hot chocolate sauce on the
crimson-lake, which, if indelible, might supply a solution to the
problem of what was to be done now about her own frock. She kept an eye,
too, on Captain Puffin, to see if he showed any signs of improvement in
the direction she had indicated to him in her interview, and was
rejoiced to see that one of these glances was clearly the cause of his
refusing a second glass of port. He had already taken the stopper out of
the decanter when their eyes met ... and then he put it back again.
Improvement already!
Everything else (pending the discovery as to whether chocolate on
crimson-lake spelt ruin) now faded into a middle distance, while the
affairs of Susan and poor Mr. Wyse occupied the entire foreground of
Miss Mapp's consciousness. Mean and cunning as Susan's conduct must have
been in entrapping Mr. Wyse when others had failed to gain his
affection, Miss Mapp felt that it would be only prudent to continue on
the most amicable of terms with her, for as future sister-in-law to a
countess, and wife to the man who by the mere exercise of his presence
could make Tilling sit up and behave, she would doubtless not hesitate
about giving Miss Mapp some nasty ones back if retaliation demanded. It
was dreadful to think that this audacious climber was so soon to belong
to the Wyses of Whitchurch, but since the moonlight had revealed that
such was Mr. Wyse's intention, it was best to be friends with the Mammon
of the British Empire. Poppit-cum-Wyse was likely to be a very important
centre of social life in Tilling, when not in Scotland or Whitchurch or
Capri, and Miss Mapp wisely determined that even the announcement of the
engagement should not induce her to give voice to the very proper
sentiments which it could not help inspiring.
After all she had done for Susan, in letting the door of high-life in
Tilling swing open for her when she could not possibly keep it shut any
longer, it seemed only natural that, if she only kept on good terms with
her now, Susan would insist that her dear Elizabeth must be the first to
be told of the engagement. This made her pause before adopting the
obvious course of setting off immediately after breakfast next morning,
and telling all her friends, under promise of secrecy, just what she had
seen in the moonlight last night. Thrilling to the narrator as such an
announcement would be, it would be even more thrilling, provided only
that Susan had sufficient sense of decency to tell her of the engagement
before anybody else, to hurry off to all the others and inform them that
she had known of it ever since the night of the bridge-party.
It was important, therefore, to be at home whenever there was the
slightest chance of Susan coming round with her news, and Miss Mapp sat
at her window the whole of that first morning, so as not to miss her,
and hardly attended at all to the rest of the pageant of life that moved
within the radius of her observation. Her heart beat fast when, about
the middle of the morning, Mr. Wyse came round the dentist's corner, for
it might be that the bashful Susan had sent him to make the
announcement, but, if so, he was bashful too, for he walked by her house
without pause. He looked rather worried, she thought (as well he might),
and passing on he disappeared round the church corner, clearly on his
way to his betrothed. He carried a square parcel in his hand, about as
big as some jewel-case that might contain a tiara. Half an hour
afterwards, however, he came back, still carrying the tiara. It occurred
to her that the engagement might have been broken off.... A little
later, again with a quickened pulse, Miss Mapp saw the Royce lumber down
from the church corner. It stopped at her house, and she caught a
glimpse of sables within. This time she felt certain that Susan had come
with her interesting news, and waited till Withers, having answered the
door, came to inquire, no doubt, whether she would see Mrs. Poppit. But,
alas, a minute later the Royce lumbered on, carrying the additional
weight of the Christmas number of _Punch_, which Miss Mapp had borrowed
last night and had not, of course, had time to glance at yet.
Anticipation is supposed to be pleasanter than any fulfilment, however
agreeable, and if that is the case, Miss Mapp during the next day or two
had more enjoyment than the announcement of fifty engagements could have
given her, so constantly (when from the garden-room she heard the sound
of the knocker on her front door) did she spring up in certainty that
this was Susan, which it never was. But however enjoyable it all might
be, she appeared to herself at least to be suffering tortures of
suspense, through which by degrees an idea, painful and revolting in the
extreme, yet strangely exhilarating, began to insinuate itself into her
mind. There seemed a deadly probability of the correctness of the
conjecture, as the week went by without further confirmation of that
kiss, for, after all, who knew anything about the character and
antecedents of Susan? As for Mr. Wyse, was he not a constant visitor to
the fierce and fickle South, where, as everyone knew, morality was
wholly extinct? And how, if it was all too true, should Tilling treat
this hitherto unprecedented situation? It was terrible to contemplate
this moral upheaval, which might prove to be a social upheaval also.
Time and again, as Miss Mapp vainly waited for news, she was within an
ace of communicating her suspicions to the Padre. He ought to know, for
Christmas (as was usual in December) was daily drawing nearer....
There came some half-way through that month a dark and ominous
afternoon, the rain falling sad and thick, and so unusual a density of
cloud dwelling in the upper air that by three o'clock Miss Mapp was
quite unable, until the street lamp at the corner was lit, to carry out
the minor duty of keeping an eye on the houses of Captain Puffin and
Major Benjy. The Royce had already lumbered by her door since
lunch-time, but so dark was it that, peer as she might, it was lost in
the gloom before it came to the dentist's corner, and Miss Mapp had to
face the fact that she really did not know whether it had turned into
the street where Susan's lover lived or had gone straight on. It was
easier to imagine the worst, and she had already pictured to herself a
clandestine meeting between those passionate ones, who under cover of
this darkness were imperviously concealed from any observation (beneath
an umbrella) from her house-roof. Nothing but a powerful searchlight
could reveal what was going on in the drawing-room window of Mr. Wyse's
house, and apart from the fact that she had not got a powerful
searchlight, it was strongly improbable that anything of a very intimate
nature was going on there ... it was not likely that they would choose
the drawing-room window. She thought of calling on Mr. Wyse and asking
for the loan of a book, so that she would see whether the sables were in
the hall, but even then she would not really be much further on. Even as
she considered this a sea-mist began to creep through the street
outside, and in a few minutes it was blotted from view. Nothing was
visible, and nothing audible but the hissing of the shrouded rain.
Suddenly from close outside came the sound of a door-knocker imperiously
plied, which could be no other than her own. Only a telegram or some
urgent errand could bring anyone out on such a day, and unable to bear
the suspense of waiting till Withers had answered it, she hurried into
the house to open the door herself. Was the news of the engagement
coming to her at last? Late though it was, she would welcome it even
now, for it would atone, in part at any rate.... It was Diva.
"Diva dear!" said Miss Mapp enthusiastically, for Withers was already in
the hall. "How sweet of you to come round. Anything special?"
"Yes," said Diva, opening her eyes very wide, and spreading a shower of
moisture as she whisked off her mackintosh. "She's come."
This could not refer to Susan....
"Who?" asked Miss Mapp.
"Faradiddleony," said Diva.
"No!" said Miss Mapp very loud, so much interested that she quite forgot
to resent Diva's being the first to have the news. "Let's have a
comfortable cup of tea in the garden-room. Tea, Withers."
Miss Mapp lit the candles there, for, lost in meditation, she had been
sitting in the dark, and with reckless hospitality poked the fire to
make it blaze.
"Tell me all about it," she said. That would be a treat for Diva, who
was such a gossip.
"Went to the station just now," said Diva. "Wanted a new time-table.
Besides the Royce had just gone down. Mr. Wyse and Susan on the
platform."
"Sables?" asked Miss Mapp parenthetically, to complete the picture.
"Swaddled. Talked to them. Train came in. Woman got out. Kissed Mr.
Wyse. Shook hands with Susan. Both hands. While luggage was got out."
"Much?" asked Miss Mapp quickly.
"Hundreds. Covered with coronets and Fs. Two cabs."
Miss Mapp's mind, on a hot scent, went back to the previous telegraphic
utterance.
"Both hands did you say, dear?" she asked. "Perhaps that's the Italian
fashion."
"Maybe. Then what else do you think? Faradiddleony kissed Susan! Mr.
Wyse and she must be engaged. I can't account for it any other way. He
must have written to tell his sister. Couldn't have told her then at the
station. Must have been engaged some days and we never knew. They went
to look at the orchid. Remember? That was when."
It was bitter, no doubt, but the bitterness could be transmuted into an
amazing sweetness.
"Then now I can speak," said Miss Mapp with a sigh of great relief. "Oh,
it has been so hard keeping silence, but I felt I ought to. I knew all
along, Diva dear, all, all along."
"How?" asked Diva with a fallen crest.
Miss Mapp laughed merrily.
"I looked out of the window, dear, while you went for your hanky and
peeped into dining-room and boudoir, didn't you? There they were on the
lawn, and they kissed each other. So I said to myself: 'Dear Susan has
got him! Perseverance rewarded!'"
"H'm. Only a guess of yours. Or did Susan tell you?"
"No, dear, she said nothing. But Susan was always secretive."
"But they might not have been engaged at all," said Diva with a
brightened eye. "Man doesn't always marry a woman he kisses!"
Diva had betrayed the lowness of her mind now by hazarding that which
had for days dwelt in Miss Mapp's mind as almost certain. She drew in
her breath with a hissing noise as if in pain.
"Darling, what a dreadful suggestion," she said. "No such idea ever
occurred to me. Secretive I thought Susan might be, but immoral, never.
I must forget you ever thought that. Let's talk about something less
painful. Perhaps you would like to tell me more about the Contessa."
Diva had the grace to look ashamed of herself, and to take refuge in the
new topic so thoughtfully suggested.
"Couldn't see clearly," she said. "So dark. But tall and lean. Sneezed."
"That might happen to anybody, dear," said Miss Mapp, "whether tall or
short. Nothing more?"
"An eyeglass," said Diva after thought.
"A single one?" asked Miss Mapp. "On a string? How strange for a
woman."
That seemed positively the last atom of Diva's knowledge, and though
Miss Mapp tried on the principles of psycho-analysis to disinter
something she had forgotten, the catechism led to no results whatever.
But Diva had evidently something else to say, for after finishing her
tea she whizzed backwards and forwards from window to fireplace with
little grunts and whistles, as was her habit when she was struggling
with utterance. Long before it came out, Miss Mapp had, of course,
guessed what it was. No wonder Diva found difficulty in speaking of a
matter in which she had behaved so deplorably....
"About that wretched dress," she said at length. "Got it stained with
chocolate first time I wore it, and neither I nor Janet can get it out."
("Hurrah," thought Miss Mapp.)
"Must have it dyed again," continued Diva. "Thought I'd better tell you.
Else you might have yours dyed the same colour as mine again.
Kingfisher-blue to crimson-lake. All came out of Vogue and Mrs. Trout.
Rather funny, you know, but expensive. You should have seen your face,
Elizabeth, when you came in to Susan's the other night."
"Should I, dearest?" said Miss Mapp, trembling violently.
"Yes. Wouldn't have gone home with you in the dark for anything.
Murder."
"Diva dear," said Miss Mapp anxiously, "you've got a mind which likes to
put the worst construction on everything. If Mr. Wyse kisses his
intended you think things too terrible for words; if I look surprised
you think I'm full of hatred and malice. Be more generous, dear. Don't
put evil constructions on all you see."
"Ho!" said Diva with a world of meaning.
"I don't know what you intend to convey by ho," said Miss Mapp, "and I
shan't try to guess. But be kinder, darling, and it will make you
happier. Thinketh no evil, you know! Charity!"
Diva felt that the limit of what was tolerable was reached when
Elizabeth lectured her on the need of charity, and she would no doubt
have explained tersely and unmistakably exactly what she meant by "Ho!"
had not Withers opportunely entered to clear away tea. She brought a
note with her, which Miss Mapp opened. "Encourage me to hope," were the
first words that met her eye: Mrs. Poppit had been encouraging him to
hope again.
"To dine at Mr. Wyse's to-morrow," she said. "No doubt the announcement
will be made then. He probably wrote it before he went to the station.
Yes, a few friends. You going, dear?"
Diva instantly got up.
"Think I'll run home and see," she said. "By the by, Elizabeth, what
about the--the teagown, if I go? You or I?"
"If yours is all covered with chocolate, I shouldn't think you'd like to
wear it," said Miss Mapp.
"Could tuck it away," said Diva, "just for once. Put flowers. Then send
it to dyer's. You won't see it again. Not crimson-lake, I mean."
Miss Mapp summoned the whole of her magnanimity. It had been put to a
great strain already and was tired out, but it was capable of one more
effort.
"Wear it then," she said. "It'll be a treat to you. But let me know if
you're not asked. I daresay Mr. Wyse will want to keep it very small.
Good-bye, dear; I'm afraid you'll get very wet going home."