“I shall bring the timber across. The rafters of that big hut will be the right size for us over here. Nothing like having all your material on the spot, and under your eyes,—especially as there seems some chance of competition.”
He frowned when he thought of Bibi, and Manon was prompted by that frown. She thought of altering her plans, and she was curious to see what effect such an alteration would have upon Brent, but she wanted her change of purpose to develop naturally and not to appear as a sudden decision forced on her from without.
“More coffee, mon ami?”
“Please. It’s so jolly good.”
“No more to eat?”
“Not another mouthful.”
She looked at the bully beef, the biscuits, the carton of jam—and the unappetizing dryness of this fodder gave her her first suggestion. She made a little grimace, and waved a hand over the table.
“You poor man. Now, if only we had a savoury omelette and some spinach! I must change all this. That is obvious.”
She appeared to reflect.
“Yes, you must have fresh food,—eggs and butter and vegetables. If I went three times a week to Ste. Claire——”