"For a little change!" he said, under his breath.
"I don't think that's very kind, Stuart," she called back, quiveringly. "It's not so simple a matter to have 'changes' here now."
"Oh, I know it," he said, wearily.
She brought the things in and they began the meal in silence. She had not taken time to lay the table properly. Things were not so placed as to make them attractive. Stuart tasted a piece of bread and then hastily put it aside, not concealing a grimace of distaste. "What's the matter?" Ruth asked sharply.
"I don't seem to care much for bread and oil," he said in a voice it was plainly an effort to make light.
Ruth's eyes filled. She picked up the plate of bread and took it to the kitchen. Stuart rose and went after her. "I'll get some more bread, Ruth," he said kindly. "Guess you're tired tonight, aren't you?"
She turned away from him and took a drink of water. Then she made a big effort for control and went to the dining-room. She asked some questions about town and they talked in a perfunctory way until supper was over.
He had brought papers and a couple of letters from town. Ruth was out in the kitchen doing the dishes when she heard a queer exclamation from him. "What is it, Stuart?" it made her ask quickly, going to the dining-room door with the cup she was wiping.
He gave her a strange look; and then suddenly he laughed. "What is it?" the laugh made her repeat in quick, sharp voice.
"Well, you'll never guess!" he said.