Briggs then explained to Lotty what he had explained twice already, once to Rose and once to the other two, that he was on his way to Rome and thought he would get out at Mezzago and just look in to see if they were comfortable and continue his journey the next day, staying the night in an hotel at Mezzago.
“But how ridiculous,” said Lotty. “Of course you must stay here. It’s your house. There’s Kate Lumley’s room,” she added, turning to Mrs. Fisher. “You wouldn’t mind Mr. Briggs having it for one night? Kate Lumley isn’t in it, you know,” she said turning to Briggs again and laughing.
And Mrs. Fisher to her immense surprise laughed too. She knew that at any other time this remark would have struck her as excessively unseemly, and yet now she only thought it funny.
No indeed, she assured Briggs, Kate Lumley was not in that room. Very fortunately, for she was an excessively wide person and the room was excessively narrow. Kate Lumley might get into it, but that was about all. Once in, she would fit it so tightly that probably she would never be able to get out again. It was entirely at Mr. Briggs’s disposal, and she hoped he would do nothing so absurd as go to an hotel—he, the owner of the whole place.
Rose listened to this speech wide-eyed with amazement. Mrs. Fisher laughed very much as she made it. Lotty laughed very much too, and at the end of it bent down and kissed her again—kissed her several times.
“So you see, my dear boy,” said Mrs. Fisher, “you must stay here and give us all a great deal of pleasure.”
“A great deal indeed,” corroborated Mr. Wilkins heartily.
“A very great deal,” repeated Mrs. Fisher, looking exactly like a pleased mother.
“Do,” said Rose, on Briggs’s turning inquiringly to her.
“How kind of you all,” he said, his face broad with smiles. “I’d love to be a guest here. What a new sensation. And with three such—”
He broke off and looked round. “I say,” he asked, “oughtn’t I to have a fourth hostess? Francesca said she had four mistresses.”
“Yes. There’s Lady Caroline,” said Lotty.
“Then hadn’t we better find out first if she invites me too?”
“Oh, but she’s sure—” began Lotty.
“The daughter of the Droitwiches, Briggs,” said Mr. Wilkins, “is not likely to be wanting in the proper hospitable impulses.”
“The daughter of the—” repeated Briggs; but he stopped dead, for there in the doorway was the daughter of the Droitwiches herself; or rather, coming towards him out of the dark doorway into the brightness of the sunset, was that which he had not in his life yet seen but only dreamed of, his ideal of absolute loveliness.
XIX
And then when she spoke … what chance was there for poor Briggs? He was undone. All Scrap said was, “How do you do,” on Mr. Wilkins presenting him, but it was enough; it undid Briggs.
From a cheerful, chatty, happy young man, overflowing with life and friendliness, he became silent, solemn, and with little beads on his temples. Also he became clumsy, dropping the teaspoon as he handed her her cup, mismanaging the macaroons, so that one rolled on the ground. His eyes could not keep off the enchanting face for a moment; and when Mr. Wilkins, elucidating him, for he failed to elucidate himself, informed Lady Caroline that in Mr. Briggs she beheld the owner of San Salvatore, who was on his way to Rome, but had got out at Mezzago, etc. etc., and that the other three ladies had invited him to spend the night in what was to all intents and purposes his own house rather than an hotel, and Mr. Briggs was only waiting for the seal of her approval to this invitation, she being the fourth hostess—when Mr. Wilkins, balancing his sentences and being admirably clear and enjoying the sound of his own cultured voice, explained the position in this manner to Lady Caroline, Briggs sat and said never a word.
A deep melancholy invaded Scrap. The symptoms of the incipient grabber were all there and only too familiar, and she knew that if Briggs stayed her rest-cure might be regarded as over.
Then Kate Lumley occurred to her. She caught at Kate as at a straw.
“It would have been delightful,” she said, faintly smiling at Briggs—she could not in decency not smile, at least a little, but even a little betrayed the dimple, and Briggs’s eyes became more fixed than ever—“I’m only wondering if there is room.”
“Yes, there is,” said Lotty. “There’s Kate Lumley’s room.”
“I thought,” said Scrap to Mrs. Fisher, and it seemed to Briggs that he had never heard music till now, “your friend was expected immediately.”
“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Fisher—with an odd placidness, Scrap thought.
“Miss Lumley,” said Mr. Wilkins, “—or should I,” he inquired of Mrs. Fisher, “say Mrs.?”
“Nobody has ever married Kate,” said Mrs. Fisher complacently.
“Quite so. Miss Lumley does not arrive today in any case, Lady Caroline, and Mr. Briggs has—unfortunately, if I may say so—to continue his journey tomorrow, so that his staying would in no way interfere with Miss Lumley’s possible movements.”
“Then of course I join in the invitation,” said Scrap, with what was to Briggs the most divine cordiality.
He stammered something, flushing scarlet, and Scrap thought, “Oh,” and turned her head away; but that merely made Briggs acquainted with her profile, and if there existed anything more lovely than Scrap’s full face it was her profile.
Well, it was only for this one afternoon and evening. He would leave, no doubt, the first thing in the morning. It took hours to get to Rome. Awful if he hung on till the night train. She had a feeling that the principal express to Rome passed through at night. Why hadn’t that woman Kate Lumley arrived yet? She had forgotten all about her, but now she remembered she was to have been invited a fortnight
