It was the last day of March,  and Mrs Emmeline Pillson, known to her many friends as Lucia,  and to her one true rival as 'Dearest Lu-Lu',  or,  on  occasion,  'Dear Worship',  was sitting at  the breakfast  table awaiting the arrival of the morning  post.   The morning was pleasant,  and Lucia had resolved to change into  her yellow  and black exercise costume after breakfast;  it had  been quite  some time since she had performed those  gentle  exercises described in the invaluable book,  "A System of callisthenics for those  no longer young".   Until recently she had  performed,  in private,  a number of the easier exercises;   however,  there had lately been a large amount of council work to attend to,  and, as she often remarked to her many friends,  "My time is not my own!" This was usually followed by some variation on the familiar,  (to her close circle),  words "How you all work me!" which,  in turn, was followed by a long and deep sigh,  which suggested exhaustion and  a certain wearyness with the world's  affairs.   (Lucia  had seen  the same sigh used,  to great effect,  in a performance  of 'Romeo  and  Juliet',  and  had been practising  it  in  her  bed chamber.   Indeed,  so often had she emitted that mournful  sigh, and so thin were the walls in that otherwise excellent Queen Anne building, that Georgie had almost sent for Dr. Dobbie, so fearful was  he that his sposo had caught some infection.)  This  morning was,  however, clear of municipal business, and so Lucia had made plans for the day.
  Grosvenor brought in the post and presented it to her mistress.  Lucia  sorted through the various envelopes,  studying each  with great interest.   The normal type of mail received in the Pillson household,  otherwise known as 'Mallards House',  was usually  of the circular variety,  and this was easily dealt with.   However, on this particular morning,  Lucia found an envelope addressed to the Mayor of Tilling.  This was not a surprise, for Lucia had the honour  of serving her adopted home in that  capacity;   no,  the studious  nature of Lucia was caused by the foreign stamp in  the top  right  hand corner.   "I wonder who this can be  from?"  she pondered.
  At this moment,  Mr Pillson, more generally known, to Tilling  society at least,  as Georgie,  entered the room with  a flourish,  having  completed his ablutions.   He was wearing  the Oxford bags,  which had been such a dismal failure in  Riseholme, his previous home,  but which,  having been altered yet again  by the capable Foljambe, his invaluable maid, were to be used in his campaign to prove himself the leader of Tilling  fashion,  rather than a follower.
   "Good morning,  Lucia!" he said,  "and what a fine morning  it is!"
  "Indeed it is, Georgie.  Good morning." Lucia replied.  Georgie could sense that Lucia was not giving him the fullest  attention, but  as this was the norm when the Worshipful Mayor  was  reading her mail,  it did not perturb him;   he merely sat down at table, and rang the bell for fresh tea and toast.
   "Anything interesting in the post this morning?" he  enquired, when Grosvenor had brought in the requested food and  drink,  and had left the room.
   "Quite  possibly one of the most interesting letters  to  have been  received  at Mallards!" exclaimed  Lucia,  who  thrust  the envelope   and  contents  into  Georgie's  toast   filled   hand. "Certainly,  as you will see,  a great honour for me,  and a very great honour for Tilling!"  She paused, to refill her teacup.  "I have  been  invited,  in  my capacity as  Mayor  of  Tilling,  to visit...But,  no,  you must read it yourself."  This Georgie did, pausing  only occasionally to take another bite into his  rapidly cooling toast.
  "My word!" he exclaimed, "But will you go?"
   Lucia's face changed,  as did her voice.   "Me's  don't  know, Georgie!   Me's  vewwy vewwy unsure if me's want to go that  far.  Besides," she paused,  her voice returning to it's pensive  tone, "Can Tilling spare me for such a trip, prestigious as it may be?"
  Georgie thought on.   He had just got to the part of the letter that stated that the Mayor could bring her spouse,  or some other guest,  on the trip,  and he had the sudden, desperate longing to go with her,  if she chose to go.   "I think Tilling would not be so ungrateful as to refuse.   At least,  most of Tilling.   I can think of just one possible source of resentment..."
   Lucia  knew,   of  course,  to  whom  Georgie  referred.   The Worshipful  Mayoress,  Mrs  Elizabeth Mapp-Flint,  was  prone  to providing discreet,  and sometimes not so discreet, opposition to the  many plans for the betterment of Tilling that  Lucia  became involved in.  "I don't know of an occasion when I have ever taken any notice of resentment in that area,  Georgie,  therefore it is not  an  issue.   I shall place the matter into the hands  of  my council,  and let them decide for me.   Would you pass the  milk, please?"
  Georgie knew exactly what this meant.   The council would  make no other decision but than they should spare Her Worship for  the trip.   Georgie knew something else.   It would be an interesting spring when Mrs Mapp-Flint found out...

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