"Oh, breakfast!" His gesture deprecated her evident intention. "Please don't. Thank you very much, but I don't want any breakfast; I only want to get to town."
"There isn't any train for twenty-five minutes, so you might as well sit down and eat," said Dosia firmly. "Come out to this little table on the piazza." She led the way to the screened corner at the end, sweet with the honeysuckle that swung its long loops in the wind, and faced him sternly. "Do you take coffee?"
"Please don't, please don't cook me anything! I'd hate to trouble you." He seemed so distressed that she relented a little.
"A glass of milk and some fruit, then; you'll have to take that."
"Very well—if I must. Can't I get the things myself?"
"No." She ran away to get them for him, with some new joy singing in her heart as she went backward and forward, bringing a pitcher of milk, a glass, a dish of strawberries, some cream, and the sugar, sitting down herself by the table afterward as he ate and drank. He gave her a sudden smile, so surprised and pleased that the color surged in her cheeks.
"I'm not used to this," he said simply. "What is that dress you have on—silk?"
