Diva, a few seconds before, had seen no reason why the Padre should drink the rest of her port, and was now in the act of drinking some of that unusual beverage herself. She tried to swallow it, but it was too late, and next moment all the openings in her face were fountains of that delicious wine. She choked and she gurgled, until the last drop had left her windpipe—under the persuasion of pattings on the back from the others—and then she gave herself up to loud, hoarse laughter, through which there shrilled the staccato squeaks of wee wifie. Nothing, even if you are being laughed at yourself, is so infectious as prolonged laughter, and the Padre felt himself forced to join it. When one of them got a little better, a relapse ensued by reason of infection from the others, and it was not till exhaustion set in, that this triple volcano became quiescent again.
“Only fancy!” said Evie faintly. “How did such an idea get into your head, Kenneth?”
His voice shook as he answered.
“Well, we were all a little worked up this morning,” he said. “The idea—really, I don’t know what we have all been laughing at——”
“I do,” said Diva. “Go on. About the idea——”
A feminine, a diabolical inspiration flared within wee wifie’s mind.
“Elizabeth suggested it herself,” she squealed.
Naturally Diva could not help remembering that she had found Miss Mapp and the Padre in earnest conversation together when she forced her way in that morning with the news that the duellists had left by the 11.20 tram. Nobody could be expected to have so short a memory as to have forgotten that. Just now she forgave Elizabeth for anything she had ever done. That might have to be reconsidered afterwards, but at present it was valid enough.
“Did she suggest it?” she asked.
The Padre behaved like a man, and lied like Ananias.