But when he reached the tent, it was quite empty, save for rugs and wraps, boxes, etc., and the lady was laughingly holding out a loaf of bread in one hand and a paper package in the other.
“You will stay and breakfast with me?”
“What will you give me?” said Amherst, smiling.
“I can only give you eggs, boiled in the kettle, coffee and bread and butter. The fish haven't come in yet.”
“What can be nicer than eggs—especially when boiled in the kettle, that is, if you make the coffee first.”
“Certainly I do.”
“And it is really French coffee?”
“Really. Café des Gourmets, you know; we—I always use it—do not like any other.”
Amherst was fast falling in love. He told me that at this point his mind was quite made up that if it were possible he would remain in the neighborhood a few days at least, in order to see more of this charming girl. She seemed to him to be about twenty-six or seven, and so frank, simple and graceful, one could not have resisted liking her. Her hair and eyes were identical in colour and both were beautiful; her expression was arch and some of her gestures almost childish, but a certain dignity appeared at times and sat well upon her. Her hands were destitute of any rings as Amherst soon discovered, and were fine and small though brown. While she made the coffee, Amherst threw himself down on the wonderful moss, the like of which he had never seen before and looked out over the water. An unmistakeable constraint had taken the place of the unaffected hilarity of the first ten minutes. A reaction had set in. Amherst could of course only answer to me in telling this for himself, but he divined at the time a change in his companion's manner as well.
“I hope you like your eggs,” she said presently.