the homely repast of cold venison, ship biscuit, and tea was served.
Miss Portfire noticed her absence: "You really must not let me interfere
with your usual simple ways. Do you know this is exceedingly interesting
to me, so pastoral and patriarchal and all that sort of thing. I must
insist upon the Princess coming back; really, I must."

But the Princess was not to be found in the shed, and Miss Portfire, who
the next minute seemed to have forgotten all about her, took her place
in the single chair before an extemporized table. Barker stood behind
her, and the hermit leaned against the fireplace. Miss Portfire's
appetite did not come up to her protestations. For the first time in
seven years it occurred to the hermit that his ordinary victual might be
improved. He stammered out something to that effect.

"I have eaten better, and worse," said Miss Portfire, quietly.

"But I thought you--that is, you said--"

"I spent a year in the hospitals, when father was on the Potomac,"
returned Miss Portfire, composedly. After a pause she continued: "You
remember after the second Bull Run--But, dear me! I beg your pardon; of
course, you know nothing about the war and all that sort of thing, and
don't care." (She put up her eye-glass and quietly surveyed his broad
muscular figure against the chimney.) "Or, perhaps, your prejudices--But
then, as a hermit you know you have no politics, of course. Please don't
let me bore you."

To have been strictly consistent, the hermit should have exhibited no
interest in this topic. Perhaps it was owing to some quality in the
narrator, but he was constrained to beg her to continue in such phrases