“No, miss; out,” said Dominic uncompromisingly. (Miss Mapp wondered if Dominic drank.)
“Dear me! How tiresome, when he told me—” said she, with playful annoyance. “Would you be very kind, Mrs. Dominic, and just see for certain that he is not in his room? He may have come in.”
“No, miss, he’s out,” said Dominic, with the parrot-like utterance of the determined liar. “Any message?”
Miss Mapp turned away, more certain than ever that he was in and immersed in dalliance. She would have continued to be quite certain about it, had she not, glancing distractedly down the street, caught sight of him coming up with Captain Puffin.
Meantime she had twice attempted to get up a cosy little party of four (so as not to frighten the Contessa) to play bridge from tea till dinner, and on both occasions the Faradiddleony (for so she had become) was most unfortunately engaged. But the second of these disappointing replies contained the hope that they would meet at their marketings to-morrow morning, and though poor Miss Mapp was really getting very tired with these innumerable visits to the post-box, whether wet or fine, she set forth next morning with the hopes anyhow of finding out whether the Contessa had been to tea with Major Flint, or on what day she was going.... There she was, just opposite the post office, and there—oh, shame!—was Major Benjy on his way to the tram, in light-hearted conversation with her. It was a slight consolation that Captain Puffin was there too.
Miss Mapp quickened her steps to a little tripping run.
“Dear Contessa, so sorry I am late,” she said. “Such a lot of little things to do this morning. (Major Benjy!
