Fisher's heart. Somebody young kissing her--somebody
young wanting to kiss her. . . Very much flushed, she watched the
strange creature, apparently quite unconscious she had done anything
extraordinary, shaking hands with Mr. Briggs, on her husband's
introducing him, and immediately embarking on the friendliest
conversation with him, exactly as if she had known him all her life.
What a strange creature; what a very strange creature. It was natural,
she being so strange, that one should have, perhaps, misjudged her. . .
"I'm sure you want some tea," said Briggs with eager hospitality
to Lotty. He thought her delightful,--freckles, picnic-untidiness and
all. Just such a sister would he--
"This is cold," he said, feeling the teapot. "I'll tell
Francesca to make you some fresh--"
He broke off and blushed. "Aren't I forgetting myself," he said,
laughing and looking round at them.
"Very natural, very natural," Mr. Wilkins reassured him.
"I'll go and tell Francesca," said Rose, getting up.
"No, no," said Briggs. "Don't go away." And he put his hands to
his mouth and shouted.
"Francesca!" shouted Briggs.
She came running. No summons in their experience had been
answered by her with such celerity.
"'Her Master's voice,'" remarked Mr. Wilkins; aptly, he
considered.
Pages:
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282