“Fine!” He surveyed the table. “Couldn’t be beat! Shall I bring things out?”
“I was afraid you might not like it.” She poured his coffee. “Father never liked it—eating out-of-doors—at home.”
“This is home,” said the man. He was sipping his coffee and looking contentedly at the vine-shadows on the floor.
“My other home, I mean.”
“You never had any other home.”
“Well—what I called home—till I knew better!” She laughed the words at him, and he nodded gravely.
“Father used to wear his hat—some days his muffler—if we tried to eat out-of-doors. So we gave it up. I am glad you like it!”
She fell silent, watching the shadows; and he watched her face. She was quiet a long time.
The man finished his breakfast—he looked at her.
“What are you thinking of?” he asked.