“Governess,” I asked, “are you, by chance, hungry?”
“Fisherman,” she answered, “I am famished; but not by chance. Open, quickly.”
So I unwrapped the package, and in it were slices of white bread, cut thin, and between, lettuce picked that morning, crisp and cool. And we ate together, and Eve grew merry, and my content came back to me.
“Fisherman,” she said at last, “I thank you. Now I must go.”
“Thank me for what, Eve?”
“It was the sandwiches I meant,” she said.
“And how long must you consider? When shall I have my answer?”
“Your answer? Oh, when I come to your clambake.”
“It shall be to-morrow,” I said.
“Oh, not so soon,” she cried.