"Your view is lovely," she said. "I think I like Pisgah better from this angle than from any other."
"Then do I, too," he replied, looking at her with his heart in his eyes, for it was long since he had seen her, and to a lover yesterday, when it is passed, is as a thousand years.
Sydney threw up her chin haughtily, and von Rittenheim thought ruefully of the category in which undoubtedly she classed all his remarks of that kind.
"Will you not enter?" he said. "Never have you honored my roof, I think." And Sydney was glad to do so to avoid being alone with him.
They found Hilda leaning against the table opposite the cupboard, while Bob recited the contents of the shelves, and Wendell wrote them down.
"Two packages of oatmeal."
"Oatmeal," echoed John.
"One tin of mustard."
"Mustard."
"A sack half-full of cornmeal."