Briggs went cold.
“Introduce me,” said Frederick on Mrs. Fisher’s entrance, touching Rose’s elbow.
“My husband,” said Rose, holding him by the hand, her face exquisite.
“This,” thought Mrs. Fisher, “must now be the last of the husbands, unless Lady Caroline produces one from up her sleeve.”
But she received him graciously, for he certainly looked exactly like a husband, not at all like one of those people who go about abroad pretending they are husbands when they are not, and said she supposed he had come to accompany his wife home at the end of the month, and remarked that now the house would be completely full. “So that,” she added, smiling at Briggs, “we shall at last really be getting our money’s worth.”
Briggs grinned automatically, because he was just able to realise that somebody was being playful with him, but he had not heard her and he did not look at her. Not only were his eyes fixed on the door but his whole body was concentrated on it.
Introduced in his turn, Mr. Wilkins was most hospitable and called Frederick “sir.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Wilkins heartily, “here we are, here we are”—and having gripped his hand with an understanding that only wasn’t mutual because Arbuthnot did not yet know what he was in for in the way of trouble, he looked at him as a man should, squarely in the eyes, and allowed his look to convey as plainly as a look can that in him would be found staunchness, integrity, reliability—in fact a friend in need. Mrs. Arbuthnot was very much flushed, Mr. Wilkins noticed. He had not seen her flushed like that before. “Well, I’m their man,” he thought.
Lotty’s greeting was effusive. It was done with both hands. “Didn’t I tell you?” she laughed to Rose over her shoulder while Frederick was shaking her hands in both his.
“What did you tell her?” asked Frederick, in order to say something. The way they were all welcoming him was confusing. They had evidently all expected him, not only Rose.