of corned beef, tongue, flour, bovril, dried apricots and condensed milk. She would have to frame some stinging rejoinder which would “escape her” when next Elizabeth used that stale old phrase: it would have to be short, swift and spontaneous, and therefore required careful thought. It would be good to bring “pop” into it also. “Your reservoir in the garden-room hasn’t gone ‘pop’ again, I hope, darling?” was the first draft that occurred to her, but that was not sufficiently condensed. “Pop goes the reservoir,” on the analogy of the weasel, was better. And, better than either, was there not some sort of corn called pop-corn, which Americans ate? … “Have you any pop-corn in your reservoir?” That would be a nasty one.…
But it all required thinking over, and the sight of the Padre and the duellists crossing the field below, as she still lingered on this escarpment of the hill, brought the duel back to her mind. It would have been considered inquisitive even at Tilling to put direct questions to the combatants, and (still hoping for the best) ask them point-blank “Who won?” or something of that sort; but until she arrived at some sort of information, the excruciating pangs of curiosity that must be endured could be likened only to some acute toothache of the mind with no dentist to stop or remove the source of the trouble. Elizabeth had already succumbed to these pangs of surmise and excitement, and had frankly gone home to rest, and her absence, the fact that for the next hour or two she could not, except by some extraordinary feat on the telephone, get hold of anything which would throw light on the whole prodigious situation, inflamed Diva’s brain to the highest pitch of inventiveness. She knew that she was Elizabeth’s inferior in point of reconstructive imagina-
