He adjusted himself comfortably.
“This is like getting back home,” he said.
“Home?”
She spoke the word with a frightened, cynical laugh.
“Well, it’s more like home than eating alone at the other places,” he said.
“They are all alike,” she returned––“just places in which to eat.”
She said it with some point, but he did not see the point. He took a bite of his egg sandwich.
“Honest, this tastes pretty good,” he assured her.
He was eating with a relish and satisfaction that he had not known for a long time. It was clear that the credit for this was due in some way to Sarah Kendall Winthrop, though that was an equally curious phenomenon. Except that he had, or assumed, the privilege of talking to her, she was scarcely as intimate a feature of his life as Nora.
“How do you like your new work?” she inquired.