When she opened the door, Gault was standing there, hand on hip, looking every inch the chief, and fully aware of it. He presented a smooth face to her, with a hard and wary eye. He did not know exactly what to expect. Loseis, making her own face expressionless, greeted him politely.
“Come in,” she said.
The table was ready spread in the inner room, and they sat down to it, outvying each other in cool politeness. Gault was thinking: She asked me here this morning. It’s up to her to show her hand. And Loseis was thinking: I have everything to gain by keeping him guessing. Let him make the first move. So it was:
“This fried rabbit is delicious, Miss Blackburn.”
“I’m glad you like it. I was sorry there was no other fresh meat. The Slavis say that a man may starve on rabbit.”
“The Slavis may say so: but it satisfies me. I can never get it cooked so well as this. It needs a woman.”
“But I have read that the most famous cooks are always men.”
“Oh, I was speaking of our country. I have had many a good man cook on the trail; but they seem to lose their cunning in a house.”
“My usual cook is the Slavi girl that I call Mary-Ann,” said Loseis. “But she has run off with the others.”
Gault shrugged in a commiserating fashion. This was getting on dangerous ground.