"By kissing my eyes."
As they sat, her arms stole about him; she wished that they were stronger, so that she could press him closer to her heart. Presently, he unpacked the luncheon basket, spread the cloth, and insisted on making all the preparations for their midday meal. She watched him cut up the cold chicken, uncork the claret, mix the salad—this last an elaborate process.
"It's delicious," she remarked, when she tasted his concoction.
"That's all I'm good for, Tommy rotten things of no real use to anyone."
"But it is of use. It's added to the enjoyment of my lunch."
"But there's no money in it: that's what I should have said."
He filled her glass and his with claret. Before either of them drank, they touched each other's glasses.
"Suggest a toast!" said Mavis.
"Love," replied Perigal.
"Our love," corrected Mavis, as she gave him a glance rich with meaning.