s well as sole for that;
the cutlets could be heated up again, and perhaps the whisking for the
apple-meringue had not begun yet, and could still be stopped.

"Janet!" she shouted. "Going out to dinner! Stop the meringue."

She dashed an interesting pallor on to her face as she heard the hooting
of the Royce, and coming downstairs, stepped into its warm
luxuriousness, for the electric lamp was burning. There were Susan's
sables there--it was thoughtful of Susan to put them in, but
ostentatious--and there was a carriage rug, which she was convinced was
new, and was very likely a present from Mr. Wyse. And soon there was the
light streaming out from Mr. Wyse's open door, and Mr. Wyse himself in
the hall to meet and greet and thank and bless her. She pleaded for the
contrite Figgis, and was conducted in a blaze of triumph into the
drawing-room, where all Tilling was awaiting her. She was led up to the
Contessa, with whom Miss Mapp, wreathed in sycophantic smiles, was
eagerly conversing.

The crimson-lakes....

* * * * *

There were embarrassing moments during dinner; the Contessa confused by
having so many people introduced to her in a lump, got all their names
wrong, and addressed her neighbours as Captain Flint and Major Puffin,
and thought that Diva was Mrs. Mapp. She seemed vivacious and
good-humoured, dropped her eye-glass into her soup, talked with her
mouth full, and drank a good deal of wine, which was a very bad example
for Major Puffin. Then there were many sudden and complete pauses in the
talk, for Diva's news of the kissing of Mrs. Poppit by the Contessa had
spread like wildfire through the fog this morning, owing to Miss Mapp's
dissemination of it, and now, whenever Mr. Wyse raised his voice ever so
little, everybody else stopped talking, in the expectation that the news
was about to be announced. Occasionally, also, the Contessa addressed
some remark to her brother in shrill and voluble Italian, which rather
confirmed the gloomy estimate of her table-manners in the matter of
talking with her mouth full, for to speak in Italian was equivalent to
whispering, since the purport of what she said could not be understood
by anybody except him.... Then also, the sensation of dining with a
countess produced a slight feeling of strain, which, in addition to the
correct behaviour which Mr. Wyse's presence always induced, almost
congealed correctness into stiffness. But as dinner went