to the garden-room, and stopped just after she had opened the door. She did not offer to shake hands.
“You wish to see me, Major Flint?” she said, in such a voice as icebergs might be supposed to use when passing each other by night in the Arctic seas.
Major Flint certainly looked as if he hated seeing her, instead of wishing it, for he backed into a corner of the room and dropped his hat.
“Good morning, Miss Mapp,” he said. “Very good of you. I—I called.”
He clearly had a difficulty in saying what he had come to say, but if he thought that she was proposing to give him the smallest assistance, he was in error.
“Yes, you called,” said she. “Pray be seated.”
He did so; she stood; he got up again.
“I called,” said the Major, “I called to express my very deep regret at my share, or, rather, that I did not take a more active share—I allowed, in fact, a friend of mine to speak to you in a manner that did equal discredit—”
Miss Mapp put her head on one side, as if trying to recollect some trivial and unimportant occurrence.
“Yes?” she said. “What was that?”
“Captain Puffin,” began the Major.
Then Miss Mapp remembered it all.
“I hope, Major Flint,” she said, “that you will not find it necessary to mention Captain Puffin’s name to me. I wish him nothing but well, but he and his are no concern of mine. I have the charity to suppose that he was quite drunk on the occasion to which I imagine you allude. Intoxication alone could excuse what he said. Let us leave Captain Puffin out of whatever you have come to say to me.”
