No, he couldn't go away after dinner and catch his train
and disappear to Rome; not unless, that is, Rose came with him. But
even so, what a running away. No, he couldn't.
When they got to the dining-room Mrs. Fisher went to the head of
the table--was this Mrs. Fisher's house? He asked himself. He didn't
know; he didn't know anything--and Rose, who in her earlier day of
defying Mrs. Fisher had taken the other end as her place, for after all
no one could say by looking at a table which was its top and which its
bottom, led Frederick to the seat next to her. If only, he thought, he
could have been alone with Rose; just five minutes more alone with
Rose, so that he could have asked her--
But probably he wouldn't have asked her anything, and only gone
on kissing her.
He looked round. The sandy young woman was telling the man they
called Briggs to go and sit beside Mrs. Fisher--was the house, then,
the sandy young woman's and not Mrs. Fisher's? He didn't know; he
didn't know anything--and she herself sat down on Rose's other side, so
that she was opposite him, Frederick, and next to the genial man who
had said "Here we are," when it was only too evident that there they
were indeed.
Next to Frederick, and between him and Briggs, was an empty
chair: Lady Caroline's.
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