Pulpits were the
place for a voice like his; it would get him a bishopric in six months.
He was explaining to Briggs, who shuffled about in his seat--why did
Briggs shuffle about in his seat?--that he must have come out by the
same train as Arbuthnot, and when Briggs, who said nothing, wriggled in
apparent dissent, he undertook to prove it to him, and did prove it to
him in long clear sentences.
"Who's the man with the voice?" Frederick asked Rose in a whisper;
and the young woman opposite, whose ears appeared to have the quickness
of hearing of wild creatures, answered, "He's my husband."
"Then by all the rules," said Frederick pleasantly, pulling
himself together, "you oughtn't to be sitting next to him."
"But I want to. I like sitting next to him. I didn't before I
came here."
"Frederick could think of nothing to say to this, so he only
smiled generally.
"It's this place," she said, nodding at him. "It makes one
understand. You've no idea what a lot you'll understand before you've
done here."
"I'm sure I hope so," said Frederick with real fervour.
The soup was taken away, and the fish was brought. Briggs, on
the other side of the empty chair, seemed more uneasy than ever. What
was the matter with Briggs? Didn't he like fish?
Frederick wondered what Briggs would do in the way of fidgets if
he were in his own situation.
Pages:
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320