When his mind came back from wool gathering, he curtly declined the offer, and, as an afterthought, bestowed upon her a wholly mechanical smile, in recognition of a generosity not welcome.
“Why don’t you ever eat luncheon?” she asked.
“Why should I?” he replied, preoccupied.
“It’s bad for you not to. Besides, you are growing thin.”
“Is that your final conclusion concerning me, Cecile?” he asked, absently.
“Won’t you please take this sandwich?”
Her outstretched arm more than what she said arrested his drifting attention again.
“Why the devil do you want me to eat?” he inquired, fishing out his empty pipe and filling it.
“You smoke too much. It’s bad for you. It will do very queer things to the lining of your stomach if you smoke your luncheon instead of eating it.”
He yawned.