Part 30 (2/2)

”Well, upon my word, what's a game of golf compared with the pleasure of being with the ladies?” asked the Major, with a great fat bow.

”I want to catch that tram,” said Puffin quite distinctly, and Miss Mapp found herself more nearly forgetting his inebriated insults than ever before.

”You poor Captain Puffin,” said the Contessa, ”you shall catch it. Be off, both of you, at once. I will not say another word to either of you.

I will never forgive you if you miss it. But to-morrow afternoon, Major Benjy.”

He turned round to bow again, and a bicycle luckily (for the rider) going very slowly, b.u.t.ted softly into him behind.

”Not hurt?” called the Contessa. ”Good! Ah, Miss Mapp, let us get to our shopping! How well you manage those men! How right you are about them!

They want their golf more than they want us, whatever they may say. They would hate us, if we kept them from their golf. So sorry not to have been able to play bridge with you yesterday, but an engagement. What a busy place Tilling is. Let me see! Where is the list of things that Figgis told me to buy? That Figgis! A roller-towel for his pantry, and some blacking for his boots, and some flannel I suppose for his fat stomach. It is all for Figgis. And there is that swift Mrs. Plaistow.

She comes like a train with a red light in her face and wheels and whistlings. She talks like a telegram--Good-morning, Mrs. Plaistow.”

”Enjoyed my game of bridge, Contessa,” panted Diva. ”Delightful game of bridge yesterday.”

The Contessa seemed in rather a hurry to reply. But long before she could get a word out Miss Mapp felt she knew what had happened....

”So pleased,” said the Contessa quickly. ”And now for Figgis's towels, Miss Mapp. Ten and sixpence apiece, he says. What a price to give for a towel! But I learn housekeeping like this, and Cecco will delight in all the economies I shall make. Quick, to the draper's, lest there should be no towels left.”

In spite of Figgis's list, the Contessa's shopping was soon over, and Miss Mapp having seen her as far as the corner, walked on, as if to her own house, in order to give her time to get to Mr. Wyse's, and then fled back to the High Street. The suspense was unbearable: she had to know without delay when and where Diva and the Contessa had played bridge yesterday. Never had her eye so rapidly scanned the movement of pa.s.sengers in that entrancing thoroughfare in order to pick Diva out, and learn from her precisely what had happened.... There she was, coming out of the dyer's with her basket completely filled by a bulky package, which it needed no ingenuity to identify as the late crimson-lake. She would have to be pleasant with Diva, for much as that perfidious woman might enjoy telling her where this furtive bridge-party had taken place, she might enjoy even more torturing her with uncertainty. Diva could, if put to it, give no answer whatever to a direct question, but, skilfully changing the subject, talk about something utterly different.

”The crimson-lake,” said Miss Mapp, pointing to the basket. ”Hope it will turn out well, dear.”

There was rather a wicked light in Diva's eyes.

”Not crimson-lake,” she said. ”Jet-black.”

”Sweet of you to have it dyed again, dear Diva,” said Miss Mapp. ”Not very expensive, I trust?”

”Send the bill in to you, if you like,” said Diva.

Miss Mapp laughed very pleasantly.

”That would be a good joke,” she said. ”How nice it is that the dear Contessa takes so warmly to our Tilling ways. So amusing she was about the commissions Figgis had given her. But a wee bit satirical, do you think?”

This ought to put Diva in a good temper, for there was nothing she liked so much as a few little dabs at somebody else. (Diva was not very good-natured.)

”She is rather satirical,” said Diva.

”Oh, tell me some of her amusing little speeches!” said Miss Mapp enthusiastically. ”I can't always follow her, but you are so quick! A little coa.r.s.e too, at times, isn't she? What she said the other night when she was playing Patience, about the queens and kings, wasn't quite--was it? And the toothpick.”

”Yes. Toothpick,” said Diva.

”Perhaps she has bad teeth,” said Miss Mapp; ”it runs in families, and Mr. Wyse's, you know--We're lucky, you and I.”

Diva maintained a complete silence, and they had now come nearly as far as her door. If she would not give the information that she knew Miss Mapp longed for, she must be asked for it, with the uncertain hope that she would give it then.

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