e, "am no hand at bridge."

"Oh, Mr. Wyse, you play beautifully," interpolated Elizabeth.

"Too flattering of you, Miss Mapp. But Amelia and Cecco do not agree
with you. I am never allowed to play when I am at the Villa Faraglione,
unless a table cannot be made up without me. But I shall look forward to
seeing many well-contested games."

The quails and the figs had come from Capri, and Miss Mapp, greedily
devouring each in turn, was so much incensed by the information that she
had elicited about them, that, though she joined in the general
Lobgesang, she was tempted to inquire whether the ice had not been
brought from the South Pole by some Antarctic expedition. Her mind was
not, like poor Diva's, taken up with obstinate questionings about the
kingfisher-blue tea-gown, for she had already determined what she was
going to do about it. Naturally it was impossible to contemplate fresh
encounters like that of last night, but another gown, crimson-lake, the
colour of Mrs. Trout's toilet for the second evening of the Duke of
Hampshire's visit, as Vogue informed her, had completely annihilated
Newport with its splendour. She had already consulted Miss Greele about
it, who said that if the kingfisher-blue was bleached first the dye of
crimson-lake would be brilliant and pure.... The thought of that, and
the fact that Miss Greele's lips were professionally sealed, made her
able to take Diva's arm as they strolled about the garden afterwards.
The way in which both Diva and Susan had made up to Mr. Wyse during
lunch was really very shocking, though it did not surprise Miss Mapp,
but she supposed their heads had been turned by the prospect of playing
bridge with a countess. Luckily she expected nothing better of either of
them, so their conduct was in no way a blow or a disappointment to her.

This companionship with Diva was rather prolonged, for the adhesive
Susan, staggering about in her sables, clung close to their host and
simulated a clumsy interest in chrysanthemums; and whatever the other
two did, manoeuvred herself into a strong position between them and Mr.
Wyse, from which, operating on interior lines, she could cut off either
assailant. More depressing yet (and throwing a sad new light on his
character), Mr. Wyse seemed to appreciate rather than resent the
appropriation of himself, and instead of making a sortie through the
beleaguering sables, would beg Diva and Elizabeth, who were so fond of
fuchsias and knew abou