A dozen persons were crowded into the little dining-room;
no one went forth upon his travels with an empty stomach. No such
profitable harvest had ever been reaped by the farmer. Dauntless and
Anne ate off of a sewing-table in the corner. Mrs. Van Truder
deliberately refused to hear Mr. Windomshire's timorous suggestion
that they "make room" for them at the select table. Silent anathemas
accompanied every mouthful of food that went down the despot's throat,
but she did not know it. Fortunately the lovers were healthy and
hungry.
They fared forth after that memorable breakfast with lighter hearts,
though still misplaced by an unrelenting fate.
All the way to Omegon Anne sat in the seat with the seething
Dauntless, each nursing a pride that had received almost insupportable
injuries during the morning hours. Windomshire and Eleanor, under the
espionage of the "oldest friend of the family," moped and sighed with
a frankness that could not have escaped more discerning eyes. Mrs. Van
Truder, having established herself as the much needed chaperon, sat
back complacently and gave her charges every opportunity to hold
private and no doubt sacred communication in the double seat just
across the aisle.
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