“Don’t you think that’s enough kindling now, Felix?” she asked at last, hesitantly.
He looked at the pile. He had chopped an awful lot! “I thought I might as well cut enough to last for a while,” he explained.
“A good idea,” she agreed. “And we might as well take a lot upstairs while we’re about it. I’ll take some, if you’ll load me.” She held out her arms, and he piled them full, then loaded his own, and they went up together.
She knelt beside him, watching, while he laid the fire. He felt somewhat insecure in his knowledge of fire-making, and he tried to remember just how Clive had done it the day before. But he felt nothing critical in Rose-Ann’s watching; and apparently he remembered well, for the fire behaved quite as it should. He waited until the proper moment, put on the cannel coal, and drew the fire-screen in front of the fireplace.
Rose-Ann stood up. “Now we’ll go and get breakfast,” she said.
In the kitchen, she turned to him. “Do you like omelettes?” she asked.
“I love them,” he said.
“With peas and things in? There’s a can of little peas here.” She searched in a drawer and found a can-opener.
“Here, let me,” said Felix authoritatively, and took it from her.
She surrendered it, and bent to another drawer, bringing out another apron.