of perseverance, no
right-minded person could fail to be very sorry for him.

There was a good deal more peace on earth as regards Tilling than might
have been expected considering what the week immediately before
Christmas had been like. A picture by Miss Coles (who had greatly
dropped out of society lately, owing to her odd ways) called "Adam,"
which was certainly Mr. Hopkins (though no one could have guessed) had
appeared for sale in the window of a dealer in pictures and curios, but
had been withdrawn from public view at Miss Mapp's personal intercession
and her revelation of whom, unlikely as it sounded, the picture
represented. The unchivalrous dealer had told the artist the history of
its withdrawal, and it had come to Miss Mapp's ears (among many other
things) that quaint Irene had imitated the scene of intercession with
such piercing fidelity that her servant, Lucy-Eve, had nearly died of
laughing. Then there had been clandestine bridge at Mr. Wyse's house on
three consecutive days, and on none of these occasions was Miss Mapp
asked to continue the instruction which she had professed herself
perfectly willing to give to the Contessa. The Contessa, in fact--there
seemed to be no doubt about it--had declared that she would sooner not
play bridge at all than play with Miss Mapp, because the effort of not
laughing would put an un-warrantable strain on those muscles which
prevented you from doing so.... Then the Contessa had gone to tea quite
alone with Major Benjy, and though her shrill and senseless monologue
was clearly audible in the street as Miss Mapp went by to post her
letter again, the Major's Dominic had stoutly denied that he was in, and
the notion that the Contessa was haranguing all by herself in his
drawing-room was too ridiculous to be entertained for a moment.... And
Diva's dyed dress had turned out so well that Miss Mapp gnashed her
teeth at the thought that she had not had hers dyed instead. With some
green chiffon round the neck, even Diva looked quite distinguished--for
Diva.

Then, quite suddenly, an angel of Peace had descended on the distracted
garden-room, for the Poppits, the Contessa and Mr. Wyse all went away to
spend Christmas and the New Year with the Wyses of Whitchurch. It was
probable that the Contessa would then continue a round of visits with
all that coroneted luggage, and leave for Italy again without revisiting
Tilling. She had behaved as if that was the case, for taking advanta