"With pleasure!" Evelyn held out her tin plate. "I love peaches."
"Ah, I'm more exclusive. I only love a peach!"
"One at a time, no doubt, you mean. And for the sake of your taste, I hope, fresh ones, not canned. By the way, you, I believe, would write them tinned?"
"But we both pronounce them excellent." Scarlett divided with her the last spoonful of the fruit.
"A century ago you taxed my tea." Leaning over, Evelyn took the extra lump of sugar from the young man's saucer. "So now, to even things, I steal your sugar."
"Quite right," he acquiesced, "since revenge is sweet."
"How silly this climate makes one, though I wish all international differences could be so bloodlessly adjusted," remarked Evelyn. "Suppose, instead of war, we had spelling matches! That, indeed, would bring peace with honor."
"Sure and there'd be fighting over peace," the soldier told her, "since you would spell it H-O-N-O-R, while I should insert a U."
"Naturally," replied Evelyn. "Your nation's honor always will include U."
"A pretty compliment," conceded Scarlett, "but I feel as if I had been spelling for it." As they had finished he put aside the dinner-tray. "I wonder if I shall ever persuade you to cross the line in earnest?"