plot was directed.
"Well, Daisy has been having some most remarkable experiences," he said. "She got a ouija-board and a planchette — we use the planchette most — and very soon it was quite clear that messages were coming through from a guide."
Lucia laughed with a shrill metallic note of rather hostile timbre.
"Dear Daisy," she said. "If only she would take common sense as her guide. I suppose the guide is a Chaldean astrologer or King Nebuchadnezzar."
"Not at all," said Georgie. "It's an Egyptian called Abfou."
A momentary pang of envy shot through Lucia. She could well imagine the quality of excitement which thrilled Riseholme, how Georgie would have popped in to tell her about it, and how she would have got a ouija-board too, and obtained twice as many messages as Daisy. She hated the thought of Daisy having Abfou all her own way, and gave another little shrill laugh.
"Daisy is priceless," she said. "And what has Abfou told her?"
"Well, it was very odd," said Georgie. "The morning I got your letter Abfou wrote 'L from L,' and if that doesn't mean 'Letter from Lucia,' I don't know what else it could be."
"It might just as well mean 'Lozenges from Leamington,' " said Lucia witheringly. "And what else?"
Georgie felt the conversation was beginning to border rather dangerously on the Museum, and tried a light-hearted sortie into another subject.
"Oh, just things of that sort," he said. "And then she had a terrible time over her garden. She dismissed Simkinson for doing crossword puzzles instead of the lawn, and determined to do it all herself. She sowed sprouts in that round bed under the dining-room window."
"No!" said Peppino, who was listening with qualms of homesickness to these chronicles.
"Yes, and the phlox in the kitchen garden," said Georgie.
He looked at Lucia, and became aware that her gimlet-eye was on him, and was afraid he had made the transition from Abfou to horticulture rather too eagerly. He went volubly on.
"And she dug up all the seeds that Simkinson had planted, and pruned the roots of her mulberry tree and probably killed it," he said. "Then in that warm weather last week, no, the week before, I got out my painting things again, and am doing a sketch of my house from the green. Foljambe is very well, and, and . . ." he could think of nothing else except the Museum.
Lucia waited till he had quite run down.
"And what more did Abfou say?" she asked. "His message of 'L to L' would not have made you busy for very long."
Georgie had to reconsider the wisdom of silence. Lucia clearly suspected something, and when she came down for her weekend, and found the affairs of the Museum entirely engrossing the whole of Riseholme, his reticence, if he persisted in it, would wear a very suspicious aspect.
"Oh yes, the Museum," he said with feigned lightness. "Abfou told us to start a museum, and it's getting on splendidly. That tithe-barn of Colonel Boucher's. And Daisy's given all the things she was going to make into a rockery, and I'm giving my Roman glass and two sketches, and Colonel Boucher his Samian ware and an ordnance map, and there are lots of fossils and some coins."
"And a committee?" asked Lucia.
"Yes. Daisy and Mrs Boucher and I, and we co-opted Robert," he said with affected carelessness.
Again some nameless pang shot through Lucia. Absent or present, she ought to have been the chairman of the committee and told them exactly what to do, and how to do it. But she felt no doubt that she could remedy all that when she came down to Riseholme for a weekend. In the meantime, it was sufficient to have pulled his secret out of Georgie, like a cork, with a loud pop, and an effusion of contents.
"Most interesting," she said. "I must think what I can give you for your museum. Well, that's a nice little gossip."
Georgie could not bring himself to tell her that the stocks had already been moved from the village green to the tithe-barn, for he seemed to remember that Lucia and Peppino had presented them to the Parish Council. Now the Parish Council had presented them to the Museum, but that was a reason the more why the Parish Council and not he should face the donors.
"A nice little gossip," said Lucia. "And what a pleasant party last night. I just popped over, to congratulate dear Olga on the favourable, indeed the very favourable reception of Lucrezia, for I thought she would be hurt — artists are so sensitive — if I did not add my little tribute, and then you saw how she refused to let me go, but insisted that I should come in. And I found it all most pleasant: one met many friends, and I was very glad to be able to look in."
This expressed very properly what Lucia meant to convey. She did not in the least want to put Olga in her place, but to put herself, in Georgie's eyes, in her own place. She had just, out of kindness, stepped across to congratulate Olga, and then had been dragged in. Unfortunately Georgie did not believe a single word of it: he had already made up his mind that Lucia had laid an ambush for Olga, so swiftly and punctually had she come out of the shadow of the gas-lamp on her arrival. He answered her therefore precisely in the spirit in which she had spoken. Lucia would know very well . . .
"It was good of you," he said enthusiastically. "I'm sure Olga appreciated your coming immensely. How forgetful of her not to have asked you at first! And as for Lucrezia just having a favourable reception, I thought it was the most brilliant success it is possible to imagine."
Lucia felt that her attitude hadn't quite produced the impression she had intended. Though she did not want Georgie (and Riseholme) to think she joined in the uncritical adulation of Olga, she certainly did not want Georgie to tell Olga that she didn't. And she still wanted to hear the Princess's name.
"No doubt, dear Georgie," she said, "it was a great success. And she was in wonderful voice, and looked most charming. As you know, I am terribly critical, but I can certainly say that. Yes. And her party delicious. So many pleasant people. I saw you having great jokes with the Princess."
Peppino having been asleep when Lucia came back last night, and not having seen her this morning, had not heard about the Princess.
"Indeed, who was that?" he asked Lucia.
Very tiresome of Peppino. But Lucia's guide (better than poor Daisy's Abfou) must have been very attentive to her needs that morning, for Peppino had hardly uttered these awkward words, when the telephone rang. She could easily therefore trip across to it, protesting at these tiresome interruptions, and leave Georgie to answer.
"Yes, Mrs Lucas," said Lucia. "Covent Garden? Yes. Then please put me through . . . Dearest Olga is ringing up. No doubt about the Valkyrie next week . . ."
Georgie had a brainwave. He felt sure Lucia would have answered Peppino's question instantly if she had known what the Princess's name was. He had noticed that Lucia in spite of her hangings about had not been presented to the illustrious lady last night, and the brainwave that she did not know the illustrious lady's name swept over him. He also saw that Lucia was anxiously listening not to the telephone only, but to him. If Lucia (and there could be no doubt about that) wanted to know, she must eat her humble pie and ask him . . .
"Yes, dear Diva, it's me," said Lucia. "Couldn't sleep a wink: Lucrezia running in my head all night. Marvellous. You rang me up?"
Her face fell.
"Oh, I am disappointed you can't come," she said. "You are naughty. I shall have to give you a little engagement book to put things down in . . ."
Lucia's guide befriended her again, and her face brightened. It grew almost to an unearthly brightness as she listened to Olga's apologies and a further proposal.
"Sunday evening?" she said. "Now let me think a moment: yes, I am free on Sunday. So glad you said Sunday, because all other nights are full. Delightful. And how nice to see Princess Isabel again. Goodbye."
She snapped the receiver back in triumph.
"What was it you asked me, Peppino?" she said. "Oh, yes: it was Princess Isabel. Dear Olga insists on my dining