“I really don’t want my due,” said Witham with a deprecatory gesture as he laid the silver cup upon the stove. “Can’t we forget we are not exactly friends, just for to-night? If so, you will drink this and commence at once on the provisions—to please me!”
Maud Barrington was glad of the reviving draught, for she was very cold, but presently she held out the packet.
“One really cannot eat many crackers at once; will you help me?”
Witham laughed as he took one of the biscuits. “If I had expected any one would share my meal, I would have provided a better one. Still, I have been glad to feast upon more unappetizing things occasionally!”
“When were you unfortunate?” said the girl.
Witham smiled somewhat dryly. “I was unfortunate for six years on end.”
He was aware of the blunder when he had spoken, but Maud Barrington appeared to be looking at the flask thoughtfully.
“The design is very pretty,” she said. “You got it in England?”
The man knew that it was the name F. Witham his companion’s eyes rested on, but his face was expressionless. “Yes,” he said. “It is one of the things they make for presentation in the old country.”
Maud Barrington noticed the absence of any attempt at explanation, and having considerable pride of her own, was sensible of a faint approval. “You are making slow progress,” she said, with a slight but perceptible difference in her tone. “Now, you can have eaten nothing since breakfast.”