table and I turned and crashed into words.

"You are cruel, cruel, John Moore, and I hate you worse than I ever did
before, if that is possible. I'm hungry, hungry to death, and now you've
spoiled it all! Go away before I wet this nice crisp bread and jam with
tears into a mush I'll have to eat with a spoon. You don't know what it
is to want something sweet so bad you are willing to steal it--from
yourself!" I fairly blazed my eyes down into his and moved as far away
from him as the table would let me.

"Don't I, Molly?" he asked softly, after looking straight in my eyes for
a long minute that made me drop my head until the blue bow I had tied on
the end of my long plait almost got into the scattered jam. Even at such
a moment as that I felt how glad old Rene would have been to have given
such a nice man as the doctor a treat like that blue silk
chef-d'oeuvre of hers. I was glad myself.

"Don't I, Peaches?" he asked again in a still softer voice. Again I had
that sensation of being against something warm and great and good like
your own mother's breast and I don't know how I controlled it enough not
to--to--

"Well, have some jam then," I managed to say with a little laugh as I
turned away and picked up the silver spoon.

"Thank you, I will, all of it and the bread and butter, too," he
answered, in that detestable friendly tone of voice as he drew himself
up and sat in the window. "Hustle, Peaches, if you are going to feed me,
for I'm ravenous. It took Sam Benson's wife the longest time to have the
shortest baby I ever experienced and I haven't had any supper. You have;