That seemed positively the last atom of Diva’s knowledge, and though Miss Mapp tried on the principles of psycho-analysis to disinter something she had forgotten, the catechism led to no results whatever. But Diva had evidently something else to say, for after finishing her tea she whizzed backwards and forwards from window to fireplace with little grunts and whistles, as was her habit when she was struggling with utterance. Long before it came out, Miss Mapp had, of course, guessed what it was. No wonder Diva found difficulty in speaking of a matter in which she had behaved so deplorably....
“About that wretched dress,” she said at length. “Got it stained with chocolate first time I wore it, and neither I nor Janet can get it out.”
(“Hurrah,” thought Miss Mapp.)
“Must have it dyed again,” continued Diva. “Thought I’d better tell you. Else you might have yours dyed the same colour as mine again. Kingfisher-blue to crimson-lake. All came out of Vogue and Mrs. Trout. Rather funny, you know, but expensive. You should have seen your face, Elizabeth, when you came in to Susan’s the other night.”
“Should I, dearest?” said Miss Mapp, trembling violently.
“Yes. Wouldn’t have gone home with you in the dark for anything, Murder.”
“Diva dear,” said Miss Mapp anxiously, “you’ve got a mind which likes to put the worst construction on everything. If Mr. Wyse kisses his intended you think things too terrible for words; if I look surprised you think I’m full of hatred and malice. Be more generous, dear. Don’t put evil constructions on all you see.”
“Ho!” said Diva with a world of meaning.
