"Everything's ready," he said—and had the sense not to try to make his tone too cheerful.
"I hadn't finished what I wanted to tell you," said the girl, coming back to him.
"Will you do me the favour to wait," he pleaded. "I think things will seem—well, otherwise—when you've had some food."
"But I—"
"Oh, please!" he begged with his odd, twisted smile.
She submitted, head drooping and eyes downcast. He returned to his window, rather wishing that he had thought to order for himself as well as for the girl; for it was suddenly borne strongly in upon him that he himself had had little enough to eat since dinner with Peter Stark. He lighted a cigarette, by way of dulling his appetite, and then let it smoulder to ashes between his fingers, while he lost himself in profound speculations, in painstaking analysis of the girl's position.
Subconsciously he grew aware that the storm was moderating perceptibly, the sky breaking....
"I've finished," the girl announced at length.
"You're feeling better?"
"Stronger, I think."