Next to Frederick, and between him and Briggs, was an empty chair: Lady Caroline’s. No more than Lady Caroline knew of the presence in Frederick’s life of Rose was Rose aware of the presence in Frederick’s life of Lady Caroline. What would each think? He didn’t know; he didn’t know anything. Yes, he did know something, and that was that his wife had made it up with him—suddenly, miraculously, unaccountably, and divinely. Beyond that he knew nothing. The situation was one with which he felt he could not cope. It must lead him whither it would. He could only drift. In silence Frederick ate his soup, and the eyes, the large expressive eyes of the young woman opposite, were on him, he could feel, with a growing look in them of inquiry. They were, he could see, very intelligent and attractive eyes, and full, apart from the inquiry of goodwill. Probably she thought he ought to talk—but if she knew everything she wouldn’t think so. Briggs didn’t talk either. Briggs seemed uneasy. What was the matter with Briggs? And Rose too didn’t talk, but then that was natural. She never had been a talker. She had the loveliest expression on her face. How long would it be on it after Lady Caroline’s entrance? He didn’t know; he didn’t know anything. But the genial man on Mrs. Fisher’s left was talking enough for everybody. That fellow ought to have been a parson. 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. 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.