and dukes and Members of the Order of the British Empire; but every Tillingite knew that he or she (particularly she) was just as good as any of them, and indeed better, being more fortunate than they in living in Tilling… And if there was a process in the world which Tilling detested, it was being patronized, and there was this woman telling them all what she felt it right and proper for her, as Mrs. Poppit of Tilling (M.B.E.), to do, when the Heir Apparent should pass through the town on Saturday. The rest of them, Mrs. Poppit implied, might do what they liked, for they did not matter; but she—she must put on her Order and make her curtsy. And Isabel, by her expressed desire to stand beside, or even behind, her mother for this degrading moment had showed of what stock she came.
Mrs. Poppit had nothing more to say on this subject; indeed, as Diva reflected, there was really nothing more that could be said, unless she suggested that they should all bow and curtsy to her for the future, and their hostess proceeded, as they all took their leave, to hope that they had enjoyed the bridge-party which she had been unavoidably prevented from attending.
“But my absence made it possible to include Miss Mapp,” she said. “I should not have liked poor Miss Mapp to feel left out; I am always glad to give Miss Mapp pleasure. I hope she won her rubber; she does not like losing. Will no one have a little more red-currant fool? Boon has made it very tolerably today. A Scotch recipe of my great-grandmother’s.”
Diva gave a little cackle of laughter as she enfolded herself in her cloud again. She had heard Miss Mapp’s ironical inquiry as to how the dear King was, and had thought at the time that it was probably a pity that Miss Mapp had said that.
* * * *
Though abhorrence of snobbery and immunity from any taint of it was so fine a characteristic of public social life at Tilling, the expected passage of this distinguished visitor through the town on Saturday next became very speedily known, and before the wicker-baskets of the ladies in their morning marketings next day were half full, there was no quarter which the news had failed to reach. Major Flint had it from Mrs. Plaistow, as he went down to the eleven-twenty tram out to the golf-links, and though he had not much time to spare (for his work last night on his old diaries had caused him to breakfast unusually late that morning to the accompaniment of a dismal headache from over-application), he had stopped to converse with Miss Mapp immediately afterwards, with one eye on the time, for naturally he could not fire off that sort of news point-blank at her, as if it was a matter of any interest or importance.
“Good morning, dear lady,” he said. “By Jove! What a picture of health and freshness you are!”
Miss Mapp cast one glance at her basket to see that the paper quite concealed that article of clothing which the perfidious laundry had found. (Probably the laundry knew where it was all the time, and—in a figurative sense, of course—was “trying it on.”)
“Early to bed and early to rise, Major,” she said. “I saw my sweet flowers open their eyes this morning! Such a beautiful dew!”
“Well, my diaries kept me up late last night,” he said.“When all you fascinating ladies have withdrawn is the only time at which I can bring myself to sit down to them.”
“Let me recommend six to eight in the morning, Major,” said Miss Mapp earnestly. “Such a freshness of brain then.”
That seemed to be a cul-de-sac in the way of leading up to the important subject, and the Major tried another turning.
“Good, well-fought game of bridge we had yesterday,” he said. “Just met Mrs. Plaistow; she stopped on for a chat after we had gone.”
“Dear Diva; she loves a good gossip,” said Miss Mapp effusively. “Such an interest she has in other people’s affairs. So human and sympathetic. I’m sure our dear hostess told her all about her adventures at the Palace.”
There was only seven minutes left before the tram started, and though this was not a perfect opening, it would have to do. Besides, the Major saw Mrs. Plaistow coming energetically along the High Street with whirling feet.
“Yes, and we haven’t finished with—ha—royalty yet,” he said, getting the odious word out with difficulty.“The Prince of Wales will be passing through the town on Saturday, on his way to Ardingly Park, where he is spending the Sunday.”
Miss Mapp was not betrayed into the smallest expression of interest.
“That will be nice for him,” she said. “He will catch a glimpse of our beautiful Tilling.”
“So he will! Well, I’m off for my game of golf. Perhaps the Navy will be a bit more efficient today.”
“I’m sure you will both play perfectly!” said Miss Mapp.
Diva had “popped” into the grocer’s. She always popped everywhere just now; she popped across to see a friend, and she popped home again; she popped into church on Sunday, and occasionally popped up to town, and Miss Mapp was beginning to feel that somebody ought to let her know, directly or by insinuation, that she popped too 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
