LITMIR.BIZ

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much. So, thinking that an opportunity might present itself now, Miss Mapp read the news-board outside the stationer’s till Diva popped out of the grocer’s again. The headlines of news, even the largest of them, hardly reached her brain, because it entirely absorbed in another subject. Of course, the first thing was to find out by what train…

      Diva trundled swiftly across the street.

      “Good morning, Elizabeth,” she said. “You left the party too early yesterday. Missed a lot. How the King smiled! How the Queen said ‘So pleased.’”

      “Our dear hostess would like that,” said Miss Mapp pensively. “She would be so pleased, too. She and the Queen would both be pleased. Quite a pair of them.”

      “By the way, on Saturday next—” began Diva.

      “I know, dear,” said Miss Mapp. “Major Flint told me. It seemed quite to interest him. Now I must pop into the stationer’s—”

      Diva was really very obtuse.

      “I’m popping in there, too,” she said. “Want a time-table of the trains.”

      Wild horses would not have dragged from Miss Mapp that this was precisely what she wanted.

      “I only wanted a little ruled paper,” she said. “Why, here’s dear Evie popping out just as we pop in! Good morning, sweet Evie. Lovely day again.”

      Mrs. Bartlett thrust something into her basket which very much resembled a railway time-table. She spoke in a low, quick voice, as if afraid of being overheard, and was otherwise rather like a mouse. When she was excited she squeaked.

      “So good for the harvest,” she said. “Such an important thing to have a good harvest. I hope next Saturday will be fine; it would be a pity if he had a wet day. We were wondering, Kenneth and I, what would be the proper thing to do, if he came over for service—oh, here is Kenneth!”

      She stopped abruptly, as if afraid that she had betrayed too much interest in next Saturday and Sunday. Kenneth would manage it much better.

      “Ha! Lady fair,” he exclaimed. “Having a bit crack with wee wifey? Any news this bright morning?”

      “No, dear Padre,” said Miss Mapp, showing her gums.“At least, I’ve heard nothing of any interest. I can only give you the news of my garden. Such lovely new roses in bloom today, bless them!”

      Mrs. Plaistow had popped into the stationer’s, so this perjury was undetected.

      The Padre was noted for his diplomacy. Just now he wanted to convey the impression that nothing which could happen next Saturday or Sunday could be of the smallest interest to him; whereas he had spent an almost sleepless night in wondering whether it would, in certain circumstances, be proper to make a bow at the beginning of his sermon and another at the end; whether he ought to meet the visitor at the west door; whether the mayor ought to be told, and whether there ought to be special psalms…

      “Well, lady fair,” he said. “Gossip will have it that ye Prince of Wales is staying at Ardingly for the Sunday; indeed, he will, I suppose, pass through Tilling on Saturday afternoon—”

      Miss Mapp put her forefinger to her forehead, as if trying to recollect something.

      “Yes, now somebody did tell me that,” she said. “Major Flint, I believe. But when you asked for news I thought you meant something that really interested me. Yes, Padre?”

      “Aweel, if he comes to service on Sunday—?”

      “Dear Padre, I’m sure he’ll hear a very good sermon. Oh, I see what you mean! Whether you ought to have any special hymn? Don’t ask poor little me! Mrs. Poppit, I’m sure, would tell you. She knows all about courts and etiquette.”

      Diva popped out of the stationer’s at this moment.

      “Sold out,” she announced. “Everybody wanted time-tables this morning. Evie got the last. Have to go to the station.”

      “I’ll walk with you, Diva, dear,” said Miss Mapp.“There’s a parcel that— Good-bye, dear Evie, au reservoir.”

      She kissed her hand to Mrs. Bartlett, leaving a smile behind it, as it fluttered away from her face, for the Padre.

      Miss Mapp was so impenetrably wrapped in thought as she worked among her sweet flowers that afternoon, that she merely stared at a“love-in-a-mist,” which she had absently rooted up instead of a piece of groundsel, without any bleeding of the heart for one of her sweet flowers. There were two trains by which He might arrive—one at 4.15, which would get him to Ardingly for tea, the other at 6.45. She was quite determined to see him, but more inflexible than that resolve was the Euclidean postulate that no one in Tilling should think that she had taken any deliberate step to do so. For the present she had disarmed suspicion by the blankness of her indifference as to what might happen on Saturday or Sunday; but she herself strongly suspected that everybody else, in spite of the public attitude of Tilling to such subjects, was determined to see him too. How to see and not be seen was the question which engrossed her, and though she might possibly happen to be at that sharp corner outside the station where every motor had to go slow, on the arrival of the 4.15, it would never do to risk being seen there again precisely at 6.45. Mrs. Poppit, shameless in her snobbery, would no doubt be at the station with her Order on at both these hours, if the arrival did not take place by the first train, and Isabel would be prancing by or behind her, and, in fact, dreadful though it was to contemplate, all Tilling, she reluctantly believed, would be hanging about… Then an idea struck her, so glorious, that she put the uprooted love-in-a-mist in the weed-basket, instead of planting it again, and went quickly indoors, up to the attics, and from there popped—really popped, so tight was the fit—through a trap-door on to the roof. Yes: the station was plainly visible, and if the 4.15 was the favoured train, there would certainly be a motor from Ardingly Park waiting there in good time for its arrival. From the house-roof she could ascertain that, and she would then have time to trip down the hill and get to her coal merchant’s at that sharp corner outside the station, and ask, rather peremptorily, when the coke for her central heating might be expected. It was due now, and though it would be unfortunate if it arrived before Saturday, it was quite easy to smile away her peremptory manner, and say that Withers had not told her. Miss Mapp hated prevarication, but a major force sometimes came along… But if no motors from Ardingly Park were in waiting for the 4.15 (as spied from her house-roof), she need not risk being seen in the neighbourhood of the station, but would again make observations some few minutes before the 6.45 was due. There was positively no other train by which He could come…

      The next day or two saw no traceable developments in the situation, but Miss Mapp’s trained sense told her that there was underground work of some kind going on: she seemed to hear faint hollow taps and muffled knockings, and, so to speak, the silence of some unusual pregnancy. Up and down the High Street she observed short whispered conversations going on between her friends, which broke off on her approach. This only confirmed her view that these secret colloquies were connected with Saturday afternoon, for it was not to be expected that, after her freezing reception of the news, any projected snobbishness should be confided to her, and though she would have liked to know what Diva and Irene and darling Evie were meaning to do, the fact that they none of them told her, showed that they were aware that she, at any rate, was utterly indifferent to and above that sort of thing. She suspected, too, that Major Flint had fallen victim to this unTilling-like mania, for on Friday afternoon, when passing his door, which happened to be standing open, she quite distinctly saw him in front of his glass in the hall (standing on the head of one of the tigers to secure a better view of himself), trying on a silk top-hat. Her own errand at this moment was to the draper’s, where she bought a quantity of pretty pale blue braid, for a little domestic dress-making which was in arrears, and some riband of the same tint. At this clever and unusual hour for shopping, the High Street was naturally empty, and after a little hesitation and many anxious glances to right and left, she plunged into the toy-shop and bought a pleasant little Union Jack with a short stick attached to it. She told Mr. Dabnet very distinctly that it was a present for her nephew, and concealed it inside her parasol, where it lay quite flat and

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