“I think he has only gone with Mamma into the conservatory,” she said—“no more diamonds, partner?—to advise her about the orchids.”
Now the conservatory was what Miss Mapp considered a potting-shed with a glass roof, and the orchids were one anæmic odontoglossum, and there would scarcely be room besides that for Mrs. Poppit and Mr. Wyse. The potting-shed was visible from the drawing-room window, over which curtains were drawn.
“Such a lovely night,” said Miss Mapp. “And while Diva is checking the score may I have a peep at the stars, dear? So fond of the sweet stars.”
She glided to the window (conscious that Diva was longing to glide too, but was preparing to quarrel with the Major’s score) and took her peep at the sweet stars. The light from the hall shone full into the potting-shed, but there was nobody there. She made quite sure of that.
Diva had heard about the sweet stars, and for the first time in her life made no objection to her adversaries’ total.
“You’re right, Major Flint, eighteen-pence,” she said. “Stupid of me: I’ve left my handkerchief in the pocket of my cloak. I’ll pop out and get it. Back in a minute. Cut again for partners.”
She trundled to the door and popped out of it before Miss Mapp had the slightest chance of intercepting her progress. This was bitter, because the dining-room opened out of the hall, and so did the book-cupboard with a window which dear Susan called her boudoir. Diva was quite capable of popping into both of these apartments. In fact, if the truants were there, it was no use bothering about the sweet stars any more, and Diva would already have won…
There was a sweet moon as well, and just as baffled Miss Mapp was turning away from the window, she saw that which made her positively glue her nose to the cold window-pane, and tuck the curtain in, so that her silhouette should not be visible from outside. Down the middle of the garden path came the two truants, Susan in her sables and Mr. Wyse close beside her with his coat-collar turned up. Her ample form with the small round head on the top looked like a short-funnelled locomotive engine, and he like the driver on the foot-plate. The perfidious things had said they were going to consult over the orchid. Did orchids grow on the lawn? It was news to Miss Mapp if they did.
They stopped, and Mr. Wyse quite clearly pointed to some celestial object, moon or star, and they both gazed at it. The sight of two such middle-aged people behaving like this made Miss Mapp feel quite sick, but she heroically continued a moment more at her post. Her heroism was rewarded, for immediately after the inspection of the celestial object, they turned and inspected each other. And Mr. Wyse kissed her.
Miss Mapp “scriggled” from behind the curtain into the room again.