“Now I must run and do my bittie shopping, Padre,” she said, and kissed her hand all round.... The curtain had to come down for a little while on so dramatic a situation. Any discussion, just then, would be an anticlimax.
CHAPTER IX
CAPTAIN PUFFIN found but a sombre diarist when he came over to study his Roman roads with Major Flint that evening, and indeed he was a sombre antiquarian himself. They had pondered a good deal during the day over their strange reception in the High Street that morning and the recondite allusions to bags, sand-dunes and early trains, and the more they pondered the more probable it became that not only was something up, but, as regards the duel, everything was up. For weeks now they had been regarded by the ladies of Tilling with something approaching veneration, but there seemed singularly little veneration at the back of the comments this morning. Following so closely on the encounter with Miss Mapp last night, this irreverent attitude was probably due to some atheistical manœuvre of hers. Such, at least, was the Major’s view, and when he held a view he usually stated it, did Sporting Benjy.
“We’ve got you to thank for this, Puffin,” he said. “Upon my soul, I was ashamed of you for saying what you did to Miss Mapp last night. Utter absence of any chivalrous feeling hinting that if she said you were drunk you would say she was. She was as sober and lucid last night as she was this morning. And she was devilish lucid, to my mind, this morning.”
“Pity you didn’t take her part last night,” said Puffin.
