"I feel like pinching myself. White bread!—I've only tasted it twice in two years-both times at the Crillon. And candy—not a sight of it for more than that. I don't like the heavy French chocolates, which were all one could get when one could get anything. I shall eat at least half and take the other half back to Gora."
"Miss Dwight? She's done good work, I'll bet. Just in her line.
Somehow, I don't see you—What did you do?"
He watched her hungrily as she made the tea, sitting in a gilt and brocaded chair, whose high tarnished back seemed to frame her dark head.
"Oh, Lord!" he sighed.
"What is it?"
"Don't ask me. What've you been doing? Yes, I'll drink tea to please you."
"I nursed at first—as an auxiliary, of course—what is the matter?"
"Can't bear to think of it. I hope you've not been doin' that for four years!"
"Oh, no. I've been at work with a war-relief organization in Paris most of the time. That was too monotonous to talk about, and, thank heaven, this will probably end my connection with it. I am much more interested to know how the war has affected you. Are you still a socialist?"
"Ain't I!"