"My dear girl, I'll send you the finest in the market," he said joyfully, delighted at the opportunity of such a service.
He took out a note-book and wrote in a light curved hand, "Eggs," and replacing it, said:
"If I send you a pint of the finest dairy cream each morning, will you promise faithfully to make an egg-nogg of it? It's splendid—just what you need!"
"I'll do anything you tell me," said Doré, genuinely touched by the pleasure in his face. It was not entirely self-interest that had made her lead up to the subject, for she could have secured a response from a dozen quarters. It was perhaps an instinctive understanding of the man and what it meant to him to find even a small outlet to his need of giving.
Mr. Peavey methodically had taken out his memorandum and by the side of "Eggs" had added "and cream."
She would have preferred that he should need no reminders; but at this moment, on taking up her napkin, she gave a cry of pleasure. Inserted between the folds was a package of tickets. She scanned them hastily—groups of two for each Monday night of the opera.
"Oh, you darling!" she exclaimed, carried away with delight.
He reddened, pleased as a boy. "Want you to hear good music," he said in self-excusation. "Shan't be here always; you'll have to take a friend."
"Oh, but I want to go with you!" said Doré, genuinely moved.
"When I'm here—can't tell," he said, in the seventh heaven of happiness. "But I want you to go regularly; besides, my car is to call for you."