conservatory,” she said—“no more diamonds, partner?—to advise her about the orchids.”
Now the conservatory was what Miss Mapp considered a potting-shed with a glass roof, and the orchids were one anæmic odontoglossum, and there would scarcely be room besides that for Mrs. Poppit and Mr. Wyse. The potting-shed was visible from the drawing-room window, over which curtains were drawn.
“Such a lovely night,” said Miss Mapp. “And while Diva is checking the score may I have a peep at the stars, dear? So fond of the sweet stars.”
She glided to the window (conscious that Diva was longing to glide too, but was preparing to quarrel with the Major’s score) and took her peep at the sweet stars. The light from the hall shone full into the potting-shed, but there was nobody there. She made quite sure of that.
Diva had heard about the sweet stars, and for the first time in her life made no objection to her adversaries’ total.
“You’re right, Major Flint, eighteen-pence,” she said. “Stupid of me: I’ve left my handkerchief in the pocket of my cloak. I’ll pop out and get it. Back in a minute. Cut again for partners.”
She trundled to the door and popped out of it before Miss Mapp had the slightest chance of intercepting her progress. This was bitter, because the dining-room opened out of the hall, and so did the book-cupboard with a window which dear Susan called her boudoir. Diva was quite capable of popping into both of these apartments. In fact, if the truants were there, it was no use bothering about the sweet stars any more, and Diva would already have won....
There was a sweet moon as well, and just as baffled Miss Mapp was turning away from the window, she saw
