They sat down at the table, with the blue sky for a roof. The day was warm, a day that heartened the world with a breath of the spring, and the coffee was fragrant, exquisite. Brent spread some of the fresh butter on a biscuit, and looked vaguely sad.
“It is very pleasant here,” he said.
Manon was cutting herself a slice of bully beef.
“What children we are! And a child is the most inquisitive thing in the world.”
He gave her a sudden, yet shy look.
“Are you inquisitive?”
“Well, of course. But I do not catechize a friend.”
Brent gulped a mouthful of hot coffee, put the cup down, and stared at the pink and white handkerchief in the middle of the table.
“I would like to think I was that.”
She understood his hesitation and kept silent. Brent was still staring, the fingers of his right hand holding the cup.