“Until nine o'clock, I think. They go to church in the evening.”
“It's half past three now,” he observed, glancing at his watch. “I had fried salt pork, fried eggs, and fried potatoes for breakfast. I've renounced coffee, for I can't seem to get used to theirs. For dinner, we had round steak, fried, more fried potatoes, and boiled onions. Dried apple pie for dessert—I think I'd rather have had the mince I refused this morning.”
“I'll feed you at five o'clock,” she said, smiling.
“That seems like a long time,” he complained.
“It won't, after you begin to entertain me.”
It was after five before either realised it. “Come on,” she said, “you can sit in the kitchen and watch me.”
He professed great admiration while she put on one of Hepsey's white aprons, and when she appeared with the chafing-dish, his emotion was beyond speech. He was allowed to open the box and to cut up some button mushrooms, while she shredded cold chicken. “I'm getting hungry every minute,” he said, “and if there is undue postponement, I fear I shall assimilate all the raw material in sight—including the cook.”
Ruth laughed happily. She was making a sauce with real cream, seasoned delicately with paprika and celery salt. “Now I'll put in the chicken and mushrooms,” she said, “and you can stir it while I make toast.”
They were seated at the table in the dining-room and the fun was at its height, when they became aware of a presence. Hepsey stood in the door, apparently transfixed with surprise, and with disapproval evident in every line of her face. Before either could speak, she was gone.
Though Ruth was very much annoyed, the incident seemingly served to accentuate Winfield's enjoyment. The sound of wheels on the gravel outside told them that she was continuing her excursion.