"Wouldn't you like something to eat?" breathed Jane-Ellen.
"A good idea," he answered.
She divested herself of his coat and beckoned him to the ice-box. They had entirely ceased to be master and servant.
"Some of that chicken salad you had for dinner," she murmured, "if any of it came down. I dare say it didn't though. Smithfield's so fond of it."
Crane laughed.
"You mean he eats in the pantry?"
She nodded.
"All butlers do, and Smithfield's a little bit greedy, though you'd never guess it, would you?"
They laughed softly over Smithfield, as they spread out their simple meal on the kitchen table. Jane-Ellen showed a faint disposition to wait upon her employer, but it was easily vanquished by his assertion that he would eat nothing unless she sat down, too. A few minutes later, it was he who was doing whatever work was to be done, and she sitting with her elbows on the table watching him. There seemed, after all, nothing unnatural in this new relation.
Presently, Willoughby, hearing the sound of dishes, or smelling the chicken salad, awoke and jumped on the table.