The odd disconnected little incidents of the evening, the lack of appetites, the propitiatory conduct to herself, culminating in this unexampled departure a full hour before bridge parties had ever been known to break up, now grouped themselves together in Elizabeth’s constructive mind. They fitted on to other facts that had hitherto seemed unrelated, but now were charged with significance. Georgie, for instance, had telephoned the day and the hour of this bridge party to Lucia, he had accepted an invitation to something at a quarter to eight: he had promised to call for ‘him’ and ‘her’. There could be no reasonable doubt that Lucia had purposely broken up Elizabeth’s party at this early hour by bidding to dinner the seven guests who had just slunk away to dress… And her picture had been returned by the art committee, two of whom (though she did them the justice to admit that they were but the cat’s-paws of a baleful intelligence) had hardly eaten any caviare sandwiches at all, for fear that they should not have good appetites for dinner. Hence also Diva’s abstention from nougat chocolate, Major Benjy’s from whisky, and the Padre’s from shortbread. Nothing could be clearer.

Elizabeth was far from feeling unhappy or deserted, and very very far from feeling beaten. Defiance and hatred warmed her blood most pleasantly, and she spent half an hour sitting by the window, thoroughly enjoying herself. She meant to wait here till twenty minutes to eight, and if by that time she had not seen the Royce turning the corner of Porpoise Street, and Georgie’s car calling at the perfidious Major Benjy’s house, she would be ready to go barefoot to Grebe, and beg Lucia’s pardon for having attributed to her so devilish a device. But no such humiliating pilgrimage awaited her, for all happened exactly as she knew it would. The great glaring headlights of the Royce blazed on the house opposite the turning to Porpoise Street, its raucous foghorn sounded, and the porpoise car lurched into view scaring everybody by its lights and its odious voice, and by its size making foot-passengers flatten themselves against the walls. Hardly had it cleared the corner into the High Street when Georgie’s gay bugle piped out and his car came under the window of the garden-room, and stopped at Major Benjy’s. Elizabeth’s intellect, unaided by any direct outside information, except that which she had overheard on the telephone, had penetrated this hole-and-corner business, and ringing the bell for her tray, she ate the large remainder of caviare sandwiches and nougat chocolate and fed her soul with schemes of reprisals. She could not offhand think of any definite plan of sufficiently withering a nature, and presently, tired with mental activity, she fell into a fireside doze and had a happy dream that Dr Dobbie had popped in to tell her that Lucia had developed undoubted symptoms of leprosy.