Frederick kept on wiping his moustache,
and was not able to look up from his plate, but that was as much as he
showed of what he was feeling.
Though he didn't look up he felt the eyes of the young woman
opposite raking him like searchlights, and Rose's eyes were on him too,
he knew, but they rested on him unquestioningly, beautifully, like a
benediction. How long would they go on doing that once Lady Caroline
was there? He didn't know; he didn't know anything.
He wiped his moustache for the twentieth unnecessary time, and
could not quite keep his hand steady, and the young woman opposite saw
his hand not being quite steady, and her eyes raked him persistently.
Why did her eyes rake him persistently? He didn't know; he didn't know
anything.
Then Briggs leapt to his feet. What was the matter with Briggs?
Oh--yes--quite: she had come.
Frederick wiped his moustache and got up too. He was in for it
now. Absurd, fantastic situation. Well, whatever happened he could
only drift--drift, and look like an ass to Lady Caroline, the most
absolute as well as deceitful ass--an ass who was also a reptile, for
she might well think he had been mocking her out in the garden when he
said, no doubt in a shaking voice--fool and ass--that he had come
because he couldn't help it; while as for what he would look like to
his Rose--when Lady Caroline introduced him to her--when Lady Caroline
introduced him as her friend whom she had invited in to dinner--well,
God alone knew that.
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