"Don't say a word, child. Be perfectly quiet."
Then the Professor began to fly about the room, tearing into the pantry, rushing from the table to the stove and back again, rummaging in the refrigerator for oranges and butter, and upsetting two chairs that stood in his way.
All this time Mrs. Brady quietly toasted bread and broiled bacon while there hovered on her lips an enigmatic smile. Then she scrambled two eggs while the Professor tested the coffee and squeezed an orange alternately. Molly watched him in dazed silence.
"He bought the apple orchard and that is how I happen to be at Wellington this minute," she kept thinking mechanically. "He worked all summer and got into debt and caught typhoid fever in order to furnish me"—she choked—"and I spoke to him like that. No wonder he's a woman hater—no wonder he wants books——"
"Ready," announced Mrs. Brady, and the next thing Molly knew she was sitting at the table drinking orange juice while the Professor buttered toast and poured out the coffee.
Presently it was all over. Two Christmas breakfasts had been prepared in Mrs. Brady's kitchen that morning where none had been expected.
"'Twas lucky I'd laid in supplies," exclaimed the genial Irish woman. "A body can never tell what starvin' crayture's comin' to the door beggin' for a crust."
And now Molly Brown found herself, almost without realizing it, walking across the college grounds beside her Professor.
"I can never, never thank you," she was saying. "I couldn't even try."
"Don't try," he answered. "Indeed, I ought to thank you for introducing me to that lovely bit of orchard. As for the money, it was fairly crying out to be invested. I think I made a great bargain."