oked so
ridiculous in that dress with the powder peeling off her red face. No
wonder the dear Contessa stared when she came in.

There was her bridge-party for the Contessa to consider. The Contessa
would be less nervous, perhaps, if there was only one table: that would
be more homey and cosy, and it would at the same time give rise to great
heart-burnings and indignation in the breasts of those who were left
out. Diva would certainly be one of the spurned, and the Contessa would
not play with Mr. Wyse.... Then there was Major Benjy, he must certainly
be asked, for it was evident that the Contessa delighted in him....

Suddenly Miss Mapp began to feel less sure that Major Benjy must be of
the party. The Contessa, charming though she was, had said several very
tropical, Italian things to him. She had told him that she would stop
here for ever if the men fought duels about her. She had said "you dear
darling" to him at bridge when, as adversary, he failed to trump her
losing card, and she had asked him to ask her to tea ("with no one else,
for I have a great deal to say to you"), when the general macedoine of
sables, au reservoirs, and thanks for such a nice evening took place in
the hall. Miss Mapp was not, in fact, sure, when she thought it over,
that the Contessa was a nice friend for Major Benjy. She did not do him
the injustice of imagining that he would ask her to tea alone; the very
suggestion proved that it must be a piece of the Contessa's Southern
extravagance of expression. But, after all, thought Miss Mapp to
herself, as she writhed at the idea, her other extravagant expressions
were proved to cover a good deal of truth. In fact, the Major's chance
of being asked to the select bridge-party diminished swiftly towards
vanishing point.

It was time (and indeed late) to set forth on morning marketings, and
Miss Mapp had already determined not to carry her capacious basket with
her to-day, in case of meeting the Contessa in the High Street. It would
be grander and Wysier and more magnificent to go basket-less, and direct
that the goods should be sent up, rather than run the risk of
encountering the Contessa with a basket containing a couple of mutton
cutlets, a ball of wool and some tooth-powder. So she put on her Prince
of Wales's cloak, and, postponing further reflection over the
bridge-party till a less busy occasion, set forth in unencumbered
gentility for the morning gossip. At the corner of the High Street,