“I’m going to have one of these gorgeous oranges,” said Mrs. Wilkins, staying where she was and reaching across to a black bowl piled with them. “Rose, how can you resist them. Look—have this one. Do have this beauty—” And she held out a big one.
“No, I’m going to see to my duties,” said Mrs. Arbuthnot, moving towards the door. “You’ll forgive me for leaving you, won’t you,” she added politely to Mrs. Fisher.
Mrs. Fisher moved towards the door too; quite easily; almost quickly; her stick did not hinder her at all. She had no intention of being left with Mrs. Wilkins.
“What time would you like to have lunch?” Mrs. Arbuthnot asked her, trying to keep her head as at least a non-guest, if not precisely a hostess, above water.
“Lunch,” said Mrs. Fisher, “is at half-past twelve.”
“You shall have it at half-past twelve then,” said Mrs. Arbuthnot. “I’ll tell the cook. It will be a great struggle,” she continued, smiling, “but I’ve brought a little dictionary—”
“The cook,” said Mrs. Fisher, “knows.”
“Oh?” said Mrs. Arbuthnot.
“Lady Caroline has already told her,” said Mrs. Fisher.
“Oh?” said Mrs. Arbuthnot again.