"Major Tristram, I'm disappointed—I meant to drop on like a bombshell—and here you sit next me as though it was the sort of thing you had done all your life. You don't even bother to talk to me. Do you think we were married in our last pilgrimage?"
The man turned his head away from her.
"Anything seems possible, here," he answered.
"Even hunger," she suggested gravely.
"Hunger?"
The dreamy unreality which had sunk upon them dissolved, letting through the light of every-day facts. She laughed at him.
"I'm hungry. I haven't eaten anything since dawn, and I didn't bring food because Mrs. Compton said you practically lived here. I was sure—after the first skirmish—that you'd ask me to tea."
He was on his feet now—less with eagerness than with a half-angry consternation.
"Mrs. Compton misled you——" he began hotly.
"She didn't—she didn't know I was coming. Are you going to let me starve?"