Val took one of her unexpected changes of mood. She went up and laid her cold fingers lightly upon his temples, where she could see the blood beating savagely in the swollen veins. “What a little beast I am!” she murmured contritely. “Shall I get you some coffee, dear? Or some headache tablets, or--You know a cold cloth helped you last evening. Lie down for a little while. There's no hurry about starting, is there? I--I don't hate the place so awfully, Manley. I'm just cross because I couldn't sleep for the noise. Here's a cushion, dear. I think it's stuffed with scrap iron, for there doesn't seem to be anything soft about it except the invitation to 'slumber sweetly,' in red and green silk; but anything is better than the head of that sofa in its natural state.”
She arranged the cushion to her own liking, if not to his, and when it was done she bent down impulsively and kissed him on the cheek, blushing vividly the while.
“I won't be nasty and cross any more,” she promised. “Now, I'm going to interview Arline. I hear dishes rattling somewhere; perhaps I can get a cup of real coffee for you.” At the door she shook her finger at him playfully. “Don't you dare stir off that sofa while I'm gone,” she admonished. “And, remember, we're not going to leave town until your head stops aching--not if we stay here a week!”
She insisted upon bringing him coffee and toast upon a tray--a battered old tray, purloined for that purpose from the saloon, if she had only known it--and she informed him, with a pretty, domestic pride, that she had made the toast herself.
“Arline was going to lay slices of bread on top of the stove,” she explained. “She said she always makes toast that way, and no one could tell the difference! I never heard of such a thing--did you, Manley? But I've been attending a cooking school ever since you left Fern Hill. I didn't tell you--I wanted it for a surprise. I could have done better with the toast before a wood fire--I think poor Arline was nearly distracted at the way I poked coals down from the grate; but she didn't say anything. Isn't it funny, to have cream in cans! I don't suppose it ever saw a cow--do you? The coffee's pretty bad, isn't it? But wait until we get home! I can make lovely coffee--if you'll get me a percolator. You will, won't you? And I learned now to make the most delicious fruit salad, just before I left. A cousin of Mrs. Forman's taught me how. Could you drink another cup, dear?”