“Yes; and thinking. Thinking of you—and what you did.”
“Where did you have dinner?”
“I have had none. I am only just aware that I would like some. I came through the kitchen on my way in, but the cook didn’t seem to be about.”
“They are having some sort of entertainment in the mess hall.”
“I am glad you didn’t go,” he said impetuously.
“I thought you would rather I didn’t go,” she replied docilely. “I will try to find you something to eat. Will you come and help me? Cook says you are a champion coffee maker.”
They went through the kitchen into a smaller room.
“Betty calls this the ‘kitchen yet!’ But can you cook?” said Kurt.
“I am glad I won’t be called upon to prove it. The larder’s well larded, and I will set this little table while you make the coffee.”
By the time the coffee was made, she had set forth an inviting little supper. She sat opposite him and poured the coffee. It seemed to him some way that it was the coziest meal he had eaten since his home days—the early home days before his mother died and he had gone to the prunish aunt.