"That's all right. I'll set it out. You draw the curtains and light the candles."
He motioned the man aside and arranged the dishes himself, setting the toast in front of the fire and placing the cups and plates with swift touch.
"There you are!" He had taken the chair opposite her and he looked across with happy eyes. "This is all right!" he said.
The man had left the room; the crashing thunder was shut behind the heavy curtains, the candles shone down on them, and the firelight played across the table. It shone on Aunt Jane's face.
"You have a nice home," she said safely. She lifted a napkin from her plate.
"Mercy—what's this!" She peered at the thin blue strip of paper that fluttered from under the napkin. She took it up and read it—and laid it down hastily. "It's for the wing!" she said.
He nodded quietly, watching her. "You guessed right—the first time!"
Her face looking down at the check was thoughtful and sweet.
"Are you going to pour my tea?" said Medfield.