‘Have I got the perspective right, do you think?’ he said. ‘Isn’t it tarsome when you mean to make a road go downhill and it will go up instead?’

‘No fear of that with you!’ ejaculated Miss Mapp. ‘If I was a little bolder I should ask you to send your drawing to our Art Society here. We have a little exhibition every summer. Could I persuade you?’

‘I’m afraid I shan’t be able to finish it this morning,’ said Georgie.

‘No chance then of your coming back?’ she asked.

‘In August, I hope,’ said he, ‘for I’ve taken Mallards Cottage for two months.’

‘Oh, Mr Pillson, that is good news!’ cried Miss Mapp. ‘Lovely! All August and September. Fancy!’

‘I’ve got to be away for a week in August,’ said Georgie, ‘as we’ve got an Elizabethan fête at Riseholme. I’m Francis Drake.’

That was a trove for Miss Mapp and must be published at once. She prepared to flit off.

‘Oh how wonderful!’ she said. ‘Dear me, I can quite see you. The Golden Hind! Spanish treasure! All the pomp and majesty. I wonder if I could manage to pop down to see it. But I won’t interrupt you any more. So pleased to think it’s only au reservoir and not goodbye.’

She walked up the street again, bursting with her budget of news. Only the Wyses could possibly know that Georgie had taken Mallards Cottage, and nobody that he was going to impersonate Francis Drake… There was the Padre talking to Major Benjy, no doubt on his way to the steam-tram, and there were Diva and Irene a little farther on.

‘Good morning, Padre; good morning, Major Benjy,’ said she.

‘Good morrow, Mistress Mapp,’ said the Padre. ‘An’ hoo’s the time o’ day wi’ ye?’ Tis said you’ve a fair tenant for yon Mallards.’

Miss Mapp fired off her news in a broadside.

‘Indeed, I have, Padre,’ she said. ‘And there’s Mallards Cottage, too, about which you won’t have heard. Mr Pillson has taken that, though he won’t be here all the time as he’s playing Francis Drake in a fête at Riseholme for a week.’

Major Benjy was not in a very good temper. It was porridge-morning with him, and his porridge had been burned. Miss Mapp already suspected something of the sort, for there had been loud angry sounds from within as she passed his dining-room window.

‘That fellow whom I saw with Mrs Lucas this morning with a cape over his arm?’ he said scornfully. ‘Not much of a hand against the Spaniards, I should think. Ridiculous! Tea parties with a lot of old cats more in his line. Pshaw!’ And away he went to the tram, shovelling passengers off the pavement.