this for a moment made
her hand falter. But the hope, after this convincing sermon, that next
year morning service would be at the hour falsely called twelve decided
her not to withdraw this handsome contribution.

Frosts and dead dahlias and sermons then were together overwhelmingly
convincing, and when Miss Mapp went out on Monday morning to do her
shopping, she wore a tweed skirt and jacket, and round her neck a long
woollen scarf to mark the end of the summer. Mrs. Poppit, alone in her
disgusting ostentation, had seemed to think two days ago that it was
cold enough for furs, and she presented a truly ridiculous aspect in an
enormous sable coat, under the weight of which she could hardly stagger,
and stood rooted to the spot when she stepped out of the Royce. Brisk
walking and large woollen scarves saved the others from feeling the cold
and from being unable to move, and this morning the High Street was
dazzling with the shifting play of bright colours. There was quite a
group of scarves at the corner, where Miss Mapp's street debouched into
the High Street: Irene was there (for it was probably too cold for Mr.
Hopkins that morning), looking quainter than ever in corduroys and mauve
stockings with an immense orange scarf bordered with pink. Diva was
there, wound up in so delicious a combination of rose-madder and
Cambridge blue, that Miss Mapp, remembering the history of the
rose-madder, had to remind herself how many things there were in the
world more important than worsted. Evie was there in vivid green with a
purple border, the Padre had a knitted magenta waistcoat, and Mrs.
Poppit that great sable coat which almost prevented movement. They were
all talking together in a very animated manner when first Miss Mapp came
in sight, and if, on her approach, conversation seemed to wither, they
all wore, besides their scarves, very broad, pleasant smiles. Miss Mapp
had a smile, too, as good as anybody's.

"Good morning, all you dear things," she said. "How lovely you all
look--just like a bed of delicious flowers! Such nice colours! My poor
dahlias are all dead."

Quaint Irene uttered a hoarse laugh, and, swinging her basket, went
quickly away. She often did abrupt things like that. Miss Mapp turned to
the Padre.

"Dear Padre, what a delicious sermon!" she said. "So glad you preached
it! Such a warning against all sorts of divisions!"

The Padre had to compose his face before he responded to these
compliments.

"