they were, had been thoroughly circulated,
but the morning passed, and the ladies of Tilling went home to change
their wet things and take a little ammoniated quinine as a precaution
after so long and chilly an exposure, without a single one of them
having caught sight of the single eyeglass. It was disappointing, but
the disappointment was bearable since Mr. Wyse, so far from wanting his
party to be very small, had been encouraged by Mrs. Poppit to hope that
it would include all his world of Tilling with one exception. He had
hopes with regard to the Major and the Captain, and the Padre and wee
wifie, and Irene and Miss Mapp, and of course Isabel. But apparently he
despaired of Diva.

She alone therefore was absent from this long, wet shopping, for she
waited indoors, almost pen in hand, to answer in the affirmative the
invitation which had at present not arrived. Owing to the thickness of
the fog, her absence from the street passed unnoticed, for everybody
supposed that everybody else had seen her, while she, biting her nails
at home, waited and waited and waited. Then she waited. About a quarter
past one she gave it up, and duly telephoned, according to promise, via
Janet and Withers, to Miss Mapp to say that Mr. Wyse had not yet hoped.
It was very unpleasant to let them know, but if she had herself rung up
and been answered by Elizabeth, who usually rushed to the telephone, she
felt that she would sooner have choked than have delivered this message.
So Janet telephoned and Withers said she would tell her mistress. And
did.

Miss Mapp was steeped in pleasant conjectures. The most likely of all
was that the Contessa had seen that roundabout little busybody in the
station, and taken an instant dislike to her through her single
eyeglass. Or she might have seen poor Diva inquisitively inspecting the
luggage with the coronets and the Fs on it, and have learned with pain
that this was one of the ladies of Tilling. "Algernon," she would have
said (so said Miss Mapp to herself), "who is that queer little woman? Is
she going to steal some of my luggage?" And then Algernon would have
told her that this was poor Diva, quite a decent sort of little body.
But when it came to Algernon asking his guests for the dinner-party in
honour of his betrothal and her arrival at Tilling, no doubt the
Contessa would have said, "Algernon, I beg...." Or if Diva--poor
Diva--was right in her conjectures that the notes had been written
before t