scarves, very broad, pleasant smiles. Miss Mapp had a smile, too, as good as anybody’s.
“Good morning, all you dear things,” she said. “How lovely you all look—just like a bed of delicious flowers! Such nice colours! My poor dahlias are all dead.”
Quaint Irene uttered a hoarse laugh, and, swinging her basket, went quickly away. She often did abrupt things like that. Miss Mapp turned to the Padre.
“Dear Padre, what a delicious sermon!” she said. “So glad you preached it! Such a warning against all sorts of divisions!”
The Padre had to compose his face before he responded to these compliments.
“I’m reecht glad, fair lady,” he replied, “that my bit discourse was to your mind. Come, wee wifie, we must be stepping.”
Quite suddenly all the group, with the exception of Mrs. Poppit, melted away. Wee wifie gave a loud squeal, as if to say something, but her husband led her firmly off, while Diva, with rapidly revolving feet, sped like an arrow up the centre of the High Street.
“Such a lovely morning!” said Miss Mapp to Mrs. Poppit, when there was no one else to talk to. “And everyone looks so pleased and happy, and all in such a hurry, busy as bees, to do their little businesses. Yes.”
Mrs. Poppit began to move quietly away with the deliberate, tortoise-like progression necessitated by the fur coat. It struck Miss Mapp that she, too, had intended to take part in the general breaking up of the group, but had merely been unable to get under way as fast as the others.
“Such a lovely fur coat,” said Miss Mapp sycophantically. “Such beautiful long fur! And what is the news this morning? Has a little bird been whispering anything?”
