Again they were silent, looking into one another’s faces questioningly. They were suddenly at sea in the wine-dark waters of life, swept from all their moorings, confused and uncertain, and they looked at each other in search of some fresh anchorage. The shadows were gathering in the room now; it was almost dark; and at length he rose and lighted the gas.
“There! Now what about a little bite to eat?”
It was an inspiration on his part. It brought her back to the reality of the moment, comforting and restoring her as nothing else could have done. In the simple preparations for the meal, their familiar happy life flowed back upon them as though, after all, it was to continue. They both clutched at it eagerly. It had seemed to be broken and gone; but now in the laying of the table, the setting forth of the knives and forks and dishes, here it was again, come back more alive, more poignant than ever, as though some worker in the ground who thought his mine exhausted had stumbled unexpectedly upon a vein of metal more pure than all the rest. It was soul-restoring for them both. He helped her, and she laughed a little with a shaken tender mirth at his way of doing things. Together they placed Julie’s best cups upon the table, the cups that he had given her, that had pink rosebuds flecked all over them, and which meant more to her and to him than any other cups could ever mean. The food, the daintily spread table, the knives and forks, the little cups particularly, seemed all to embody and make real their companionship, as though what was in their hearts, that vivid and beautiful essence of their life together, had poured itself forth materialized before their eyes in these familiar creatures, small and endearing. But when the meal was all prepared, and the table spread, Julie and Tim stood, hesitating.
“I can’t go up and get her: I can’t go now,” Julie faltered. He knew she meant Miss Fogg, for whom the party had been planned.
“Oh, well, maybe she’ll come down of herself,” he answered.
She brightened. “That’s so. Maybe she will. Let’s wait a little bit and see.”
They stood for a time with their hands on the backs of their chairs, and surveyed the dainty repast. But nothing happened.
“No, she won’t come by herself,” Julie said forlornly, at length. “I know she won’t.”
He caught the falling note in her voice, and his love hurried toward her with words of protective tenderness.
“Well, she’d come quick enough if she could just see how nice you’ve got everything fixed for her,” he cried. “Just give a person one look at this table, an’ I’ll bet you couldn’t drive ’em away from it with a stick.”