“Delightful!” she said, abandoning with regret the fruitless pursuit with a fork of the few last serpents that writhed on her plate. “What an addition to our society! We shall all do our best to spoil her, Mr. Wyse. When do you expect her?”
“Early in December. You must be very kind to her, dear ladies. She is an insatiable bridge-player. She has heard much of the great players she will meet here.”
That decided Mrs. Poppit. She would join the correspondence class conducted by “Little Slam,” in “Cosy Corner.” Little Slam, for the sum of two guineas, payable in advance, engaged to make first-class players of anyone with normal intelligence. Diva’s mind flew off to the subject of dress, and the thought of the awful tragedy concerning the tea-gown of kingfisher-blue, combined with the endive salad, gave a wry twist to her mouth for a moment.
“I, as you know,” continued Mr. Wyse, “am no hand at bridge.”
“Oh, Mr. Wyse, you play beautifully,” interpolated Elizabeth.
“Too flattering of you, Miss Mapp. But Amelia and Cecco do not agree with you. I am never allowed to play when I am at the Villa Faraglione, unless a table cannot be made up without me. But I shall look forward to seeing many well-contested games.”
The quails and the figs had come from Capri, and Miss Mapp, greedily devouring each in turn, was so much incensed by the information that she had elicited about them, that, though she joined in the general Lobgesang, she was tempted to inquire whether the ice had not been brought from the South Pole by some Antarctic expedition. Her mind was not, like poor Diva’s, taken up with
