u just trying to see how much
money you could throw away?" she inquired.

"Don't you like chicken?"

"Yes, I like chicken," she answered.

"There are other things underneath, and hot coffee in the bottles," he
announced.

Just to see how far he had gone, she took out the other things. She
caught her breath.

"Well, it's your own affair," she commented. "But, if you eat all
this, I'm sorry for you."

She spread a napkin before him and placed the chicken on it,
surrounding it with the tin of sardines, the boxes of crackers, the
jar of marmalade, the cheese, the confectionery, and other things.
Then she unrolled her own package of sandwiches, and proceeded to
munch one.

"Look here!" he exclaimed. "You didn't think I bought this all for
myself?"

"I'd rather think that than to think you thought I was silly enough to
want you to throw away your money."

He was carving the chicken, and he handed her a portion upon one of
the bright aluminum plates. But she shook her head in refusal.

"You aren't going to have any of this?"

"No, thank you."

"I call that rather too bad, because if you don't it will be wasted."

"It was wasted when you bought it."

"But you didn't tell me what to get."

"I told you we'd each bring our own luncheon," she reminded him.

"And so we did; but I don't call it very friendly of you not to share
with me."

"I have quite enough of my own."

She seemed determined about the matter, so he put all the things back
again in the basket, closed and fastened the lid, and, placing it to
one side, lighted a fresh cigarette. She watched him in amazement.

"Aren't you going to eat your lunch?" she demanded.

"I refuse to eat alone."

"I'm the one who is eating alone," she said.

"That seems to be what you want."

"You've no right to do things and then blame me for them," she
protested.

"You're doing all the blaming yourself," he returned.

For a moment she continued to eat her sandwich in silence and to watch
his set face. She was quite sure he would remain stubborn in the stand
he had taken.

"It was silly enough to buy all those expensive things, but it would
be even sillier to throw them away," she asserted.

"It would at least be too bad," he confessed. "But I can't help it,
can I? I can't _make_ you eat, you know."

There he went again, placing the whole blame on her.

"Hand me that basket," she ordered.

He handed her the basket, and she brought out the delicacies.