He suddenly discovered a renewed zest for food. “Oh, this is good!” he said continually; and Frances Mary trying in vain to look ironical, smiled all over like a little girl. A tinge of color had come into her magnolia-petal cheeks and her eyes were bright. Feeding herself abstractedly, she eagerly watched every mouthful he took, and filled his glass before it was half emptied. They talked shop, and Wilfred experienced a precarious happiness. Outside of that enchanted haven the beast might be waiting to rend him—let it wait!
When the table was cleared they gave themselves up to talk. Frances Mary had an insatiable curiosity concerning Wilfred’s friends, whom she had never seen, and his daily doings. He enjoyed feeding it of course; but was sometimes troubled by the feeling that he was inflicting himself unduly on his friend. When he remembered to try to draw her out, she was generally too many for him.
“What have you been doing lately, Frances Mary?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me about your friends.”
“I can’t make them sound as interesting as you do yours.”
“What do you do with yourself? You can’t write all the time.”
“I ruminate,” said Frances Mary flippantly.
Wilfred laughed. “I can see you!” he said unguardedly. “I know you so well!”
She looked at him quickly, started to speak, and thinking better of it, pulled down the corners of her mouth mockingly.