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Updated: May 10, 2025
"The crimson-lake," said Miss Mapp, pointing to the basket. "Hope it will turn out well, dear." There was rather a wicked light in Diva's eyes. "Not crimson-lake," she said. "Jet-black." "Sweet of you to have it dyed again, dear Diva," said Miss Mapp. "Not very expensive, I trust?" "Send the bill in to you, if you like," said Diva. Miss Mapp laughed very pleasantly.
The street was full, and it would be pretty to call up to her, instead of ringing her bell, in order to save trouble to poor overworked Janet. "Diva darling!" she cooed. Diva's head looked out like a cuckoo in a clock preparing to chime the hour. "Hullo!" she said. "Want me?" "May I pop up for a moment, dear?" said Miss Mapp. "That's to say if you're not very busy." "Pop away," said Diva.
While the young painter was breakfasting with Spero, a perfumed note was sent up to his residence in the Rue Montaigne, wherein Jane Zild declared her willingness to appear in the painter's parlors and sing a few songs. Gontram did not say no, and immediately hurried to the diva's house to thank her. Spero had entered just behind the songstress, and Gontram smiled when he saw the vicomte.
By eight o'clock she ought by rights to have already had her tray, dressed in some old thing; but within three minutes of her being telephoned for she had appeared in the crimson-lake, and eaten so heartily that it was impossible to imagine, greedy though she was, that she had already consumed her tray.... But in spite of Diva's adventitious triumph, the main feeling in Miss Mapp's mind was pity for her.
"We've only two of the big tins of corned beef," he said; and there was a pause, during which, to a psychic, Diva's ears might have seemed to grow as pointed with attention as a satyr's. But she could only hear little hollow quacks from the other end. "Tongue as well. Very good. I'll send them up at once," he added, and came forward into the shop. "Good morning," said Diva.
They always remind me of over-dressed women. Ah, there's Mr. Bartlett. How de do, Padre. And dear Evie!" Dear Evie appeared fascinated by Diva's dress. "Such beautiful rosebuds," she murmured, "and what lovely shade of purple. And Elizabeth's poppies too, quite a pair of you.
Naturally she was much on the alert to-day, for it was more than possible that Diva's dress was finished and in evidence. What colour it would be she did not know, but a large quantity of rosebuds would, even at a distance, make identification easy. Diva was certainly not at her window this morning, so it seemed more than probable that they would soon meet.
Nor was this the sum of Miss Mapp's mental activities, as she sat being dummy to Diva, for, in addition to the rage, despair and disgust with which these various topics filled her, she had narrowly to watch Diva's play, in order, at the end, to point out to her with lucid firmness all the mistakes she had made, while with snorts and sniffs and muttered exclamations and jerks of the head and pullings-out of cards and puttings of them back with amazing assertions that she had not quitted them, she wrestled with the task she had set herself of getting two no-trumps.
That seemed positively the last atom of Diva's knowledge, and though Miss Mapp tried on the principles of psycho-analysis to disinter something she had forgotten, the catechism led to no results whatever.
Miss Mapp's eternal reservoirs had begun to get on Diva's nerves, and as she lingered here a moment more a great idea occurred to her, which temporarily banished the disappointment about the duellists.
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