hungry murmurs, like those heard at the sea-lions’ enclosure in the Zoological Gardens when feeding-time approaches, seemed to indicate tea first, and with gallant greetings from the Major, and archaistic welcomes from the Padre, Miss Mapp headed the general drifting movement towards the buffet. There may have been tea there, but there was certainly iced coffee and Lager beer and large jugs with dew on the outside and vegetables floating in a bubbling liquid in the inside, and it was all so vulgar and opulent that with one accord everyone set to work in earnest, in order that the garden should present a less gross and greedy appearance. But there was no sign at present of the red-currant fool, which was baffling…

“And have you had a good game of golf, Major?" asked Miss Mapp, making the best of these miserable circumstances. “Such a lovely day! The white butterflies were enjoying——”

She became aware that Diva and the Padre, who had already heard about the white butterflies, were in her immediate neighbourhood, and broke off.

[38] “Which of you beat? Or should I say ‘won!’” she asked.

[38]

Major Flint’s long moustache was dripping with Lager beer, and he made a dexterous, sucking movement.

“Well, the Army and the Navy had it out,” he said. “And for once Britain’s Navy was not invincible, eh, Puffin?”

Captain Puffin limped away pretending not to hear, and took his heaped plate and brimming glass in the direction of Irene.

“But I’m sure Captain Puffin played quite beautifully too,” said Miss Mapp in the vain attempt to detain him. She liked to collect all the men round her, and then scold them for not talking to the other ladies.

“Well, a game’s a game,” said the Major. “It gets through the hours, Miss Mapp. Yes: we finished at the fourteenth hole, and hurried back to more congenial society. And what have you done to-day? Fairy-errands, I’ll be bound. Titania! Ha!”

Suet errands and errands about a missing article of underclothing were really the most important things that Miss Mapp had done to-day, now that her bridge-party scheme had so miscarried, but naturally she would not allude to these.

“A little gardening,” she said. “A little sketching. A little singing. Not time to change my frock and put on something less 

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