In a minute or two, when he had set a china eggcup in front of each of them and had placed a brown egg within hers and a white one in his own, and had resumed his seat, he found that his quick adjustment of the wheels and cogs of his mind had proved successful. “It doesn’t matter in the least,” he thought, “whether we understand each other or not. My existence is necessary to her, just as hers is to me. Neither of us can really spoil anything as long as that’s the case.”

Whatever secret ways Gerda had of adjusting the machinery of her mind, seemed to have been as successful as his own; for when she had satisfied her hunger and filled her teacup with strong, sweet tea, she lifted her head quite cheerfully.

“I’ll go to Pimpernel’s myself,” she said. “I saw something there yesterday that I’m sure your mother would like. And I’ll make toast. That’ll be just as nice as bread-and-butter.”