In addition to these gaieties there were celebrated the nuptials of Foljambe and Cadman, conducted from the bride’s home, and the disposition of Foljambe’s time between days with Georgie and nights with Cadman was working to admiration: everybody was pleased. At Grebe there had been other entertainments as well; the callisthenic class met on alternate days and Lucia in a tunic rather like Artemis, but with a supplementary skirt and scarlet stockings, headed a remarkable procession, consisting of Diva and the Wyses and Georgie and Major Benjy and the Padres and quaint Irene, out on to the cinder path of the kitchen-garden, and there they copied her jerks and flexings and whirlings of the arms and touchings of the toes to the great amazement of errand boys who came legitimately to the kitchen door, and others who peered through the hornbeam hedge. On wet days the athletes assembled in the kitchen with doors flung wide to the open air, and astonished the cook with their swimming movements, an arm and leg together, while they held on with the other hand to the great kitchen table. ‘Uno, due, tre,’ counted Lucia, and they all kicked out like frogs. And quaint Irene in her knickerbockers sometimes stood on her head, but nobody else attempted that. Lucia played them soothing music as they rested afterwards in her drawing room; she encouraged Major Benjy to learn his notes on the piano, for she would willingly teach him: she persuaded Susan to take up her singing again, and played ‘La ci darem’ for her, while Susan sang it in a thin shrill voice, and Mr Wyse said ‘Brava! How I wish Amelia was here.’ Sometimes Lucia read them Pope’s translation of the Iliad as they drank their lemonade and Major Benjy his whisky and soda, and not content with these diversions (the wonderful creature) she was composing the address on modern art which she was to deliver at the opening of the exhibition on the day following Boxing Day. She made notes for it and then dictated to her secretary (Elizabeth Mapp’s face was something awful to behold when Diva told her that Lucia had a secretary) who took down what she said on a typewriter. Indeed, Elizabeth’s face had never been more awful when she heard that, except when Diva informed her that she was quite certain that Lucia would be delighted to let her join the callisthenic class.