“Good morning!” said Danby. He bowed again, and hung his hat back on the twig. He was not a little disappointed. He had hoped for conversation and companionship. He sat down, but with interested eyes watched the girl unpack her luncheon quickly and deftly. She had no napkin. She spread her bread and meat on a sheet of newspaper, and cleaned her knife by thrusting it into the earth and wiping it on the grass. He noticed that her shoes were very dusty, and came to the conclusion that she had walked some distance. He was right. He caught her eye and looked away quickly.
“I beg pardon!” he said.
“Granted, I’m sure.” Danby’s manners were excellent.
“You haven’t got such a thing as a pinch of salt, I suppose?”
“I can oblige you with all the condiments, including a little A1 sauce.”
The girl laughed again. It was a charming laugh. “Oh, I can do without that,” she said.
Danby, only too glad of an excuse to be of use, scrambled to his feet and made his way across the golden stubble to the girl’s side. In his hand he held a small tobacco-tin. He opened it and held it out.
“Navy-cut?” she said, with wide-eyed surprise.
“An old ‘Dreadnought’ turned into a merchant ship. It’s quite clean.”
“Oh, thanks most awfully!” She helped herself to salt.