“How?” asked Diva with a fallen crest.
Miss Mapp laughed merrily.
“I looked out of the window, dear, while you went for your hanky and peeped into dining-room and boudoir, didn’t you? There they were on the lawn, and they kissed each other. So I said to myself: ‘Dear Susan has got him! Perseverance rewarded!’”
“H’m. Only a guess of yours. Or did Susan tell you?”
“No, dear, she said nothing. But Susan was always secretive.”
“But they might not have been engaged at all,” said Diva with a brightened eye. “Man doesn’t always marry a woman he kisses!”
Diva had betrayed the lowness of her mind now by hazarding that which had for days dwelt in Miss Mapp’s mind as almost certain. She drew in her breath with a hissing noise as if in pain.
“Darling, what a dreadful suggestion,” she said. “No such idea ever occurred to me. Secretive I thought Susan might be, but immoral, never. I must forget you ever thought that. Let’s talk about something less painful. Perhaps you would like to tell me more about the Contessa.”
Diva had the grace to look ashamed of herself, and to take refuge in the new topic so thoughtfully suggested.
“Couldn’t see clearly,” she said. “So dark. But tall and lean. Sneezed.”
“That might happen to anybody, dear,” said Miss Mapp, “whether tall or short. Nothing more?”
“An eyeglass,” said Diva after thought.
“A single one?” asked Miss Mapp. “On a string? How strange for a woman.”
