on it," said
Diva. "You stole my idea. Worked night and day to be first. Just like
you. Mean behaviour."

"It was meaner to give that frock to Janet," said Miss Mapp.

"You can give yours to Withers," snapped Diva.

"Much obliged, Mrs. Plaistow," said Miss Mapp.

* * * * *

Diva had been watching Janet's retreating figure, and feeling that
though revenge was sweet, revenge was also strangely expensive, for she
had sacrificed one of the most strikingly successful frocks she had ever
made on that smoking altar. Now her revenge was gratified, and deeply
she regretted the frock. Miss Mapp's heart was similarly wrung by
torture: revenge too had been hers (general revenge on Diva for
existing), but this dreadful counter-stroke had made it quite impossible
for her to enjoy the use of this frock any more, for she could not habit
herself like a housemaid. Each, in fact, had, as matters at present
stood, completely wrecked the other, like two express trains meeting in
top-speed collision, and, since the quarrel had clearly risen to its
utmost height, there was no farther joy of battle to be anticipated, but
only the melancholy task of counting the corpses. So they paused,
breathing very quickly and trembling, while both sought for some way
out. Besides Miss Mapp had a bridge-party this afternoon, and if they
parted now in this extreme state of tension, Diva might conceivably not
come, thereby robbing herself of her bridge and spoiling her hostess's
table. Naturally any permanent quarrel was not contemplated by either of
them, for if quarrels were permanent in Tilling, nobody would be on
speaking terms any more with anyone else in a day or two, and (hardly
less disastrous) there could be no fresh quarrels with anybody, since
you could not quarrel without words. There might be songs without words,
as Mendelssohn had proved, but not rows without words. By what formula
could this deadly antagonism be bridged without delay?

Diva gazed out over the marsh. She wanted desperately to regain her
rosebud-frock, and she knew that Elizabeth was starving for further
wearing of her poppies. Perhaps the wide, serene plain below inspired
her with a hatred of littleness. There would be no loss of dignity in
making a proposal that her enemy, she felt sure, would accept: it merely
showed a Christian spirit, and set an example to Elizabeth, to make the
first move. Janet she did not consider.

"If you are in a