Miss Mapp lit the candles there, for, lost in meditation, she had been sitting in the dark, and with reckless hospitality poked the fire to make it blaze.
“Tell me all about it,” she said. That would be a treat for Diva, who was such a gossip.
“Went to the station just now,” said Diva. “Wanted a new time-table. Besides the Royce had just gone down. Mr. Wyse and Susan on the platform.”
“Sables?” asked Miss Mapp parenthetically, to complete the picture.
“Swaddled. Talked to them. Train came in. Woman got out. Kissed Mr. Wyse. Shook hands with Susan. Both hands. While luggage was got out.”
“Much?” asked Miss Mapp quickly.
“Hundreds. Covered with coronets and Fs. Two cabs.”
Miss Mapp’s mind, on a hot scent, went back to the previous telegraphic utterance.
“Both hands did you say, dear?” she asked. “Perhaps that’s the Italian fashion.”
“Maybe. Then what else do you think? Faradiddleony kissed Susan! Mr. Wyse and she must be engaged. I can’t account for it any other way. He must have written to tell his sister. Couldn’t have told her then at the station. Must have been engaged some days and we never knew. They went to look at the orchid. Remember? That was when.”
It was bitter, no doubt, but the bitterness could be transmuted into an amazing sweetness.
“Then now I can speak,” said Miss Mapp with a sigh of great relief. “Oh, it has been so hard keeping silence, but I felt I ought to. I knew all along, Diva dear, all, all along.”
