n that this playful magnanimity was attained
with an effort. Elizabeth did not seem really to mind: she was very gay.
Then, skilfully changing the subject, she mourned over her dead dahlias.

Though Tilling with all its perspicacity could not have known it, the
intuitive reader will certainly have perceived that Miss Mapp's party
for Wednesday night had, so to speak, further irons in its fire. It had
originally been a bribe to Susan Poppit, in order to induce her to
spread broadcast that that ridiculous rumour (whoever had launched it)
had been promptly denied by the person whom it most immediately
concerned. It served a second purpose in showing that Miss Mapp was too
high above the mire of scandal, however interesting, to know or care who
might happen to be wallowing in it, and for this reason she asked
everybody who had done so. Such loftiness of soul had earned her an
amazing bonus, for it had induced those who sat in the seat of the
scoffers before to come hastily off, and join the thin but unwavering
ranks of the true believers, who up till then had consisted only of
Susan and Mr. Wyse. Frankly, so blest a conclusion had never occurred to
Miss Mapp: it was one of those unexpected rewards that fall like ripe
plums into the lap of the upright. By denying a rumour she had got
everybody to believe it, and when on Wednesday morning she went out to
get the chocolate cakes which were so useful in allaying the appetites
of guests, she encountered no broken conversations and gleeful smiles,
but sidelong glances of respectful envy.

But what Tilling did not and could not know was that this, the first of
the autumn after-dinner bridge-parties, was destined to look on the
famous teagown of kingfisher-blue, as designed for Mrs. Trout. No doubt
other ladies would have hurried up their new gowns, or at least have
camouflaged their old ones, in honour of the annual inauguration of
evening bridge, but Miss Mapp had no misgivings about being outshone.
And once again here she felt that luck waited on merit, for though when
she dressed that evening she found she had not anticipated that
artificial light would cast a somewhat pale (though not ghastly)
reflection from the vibrant blue on to her features, similar in effect
to (but not so marked as) the light that shines on the faces of those
who lean over the burning brandy and raisins of "snapdragon," this
interesting pallor seemed very aptly to bear witness to all that she had
gone t