"Yes," he said, "very hard."
"Wouldn't you like a cup of tea?" she asked. And he said he would.
When the tea came, he seemed to enjoy it so much that Mary Alice really believed he was hungry. Indeed, he admitted that he was. "I haven't had any luncheon," he said.
Mary Alice's heart was touched; she forgot that the man was strange, and remembered only that he was tired and hungry.
The little maid brought thin slices of bread and butter with the tea. Mary Alice felt they must seem absurd to a hungry man. "I know what's lots nicer with tea," she said.
"What?" he asked, interestedly.
"Toast and marmalade," she answered. "I'm going to get some." And she went to the kitchen, cut a plateful of toasting slices and brought them back with a long toasting fork and a jar of orange marmalade.
"At home," she said, "we often make the toast for supper at the sitting-room fire, and it's much nicer than 'gas range toast.'"
"I know it is," he said; "let's do it."
So they squatted on the rug in front of the open fire. Both wanted to toast, and they took turns.