"I thought you'd be in bed."
"Hilda has some oysters for us."
"Fine--I'm starved."
She looked at him, meditatively, "I don't see how you can be."
"Why not?"
"Oh, on such a night as this, Daddy? Food seems superfluous."
He sat down, smiling. "Don't ever expect to feed any man over forty on
star-dust. Hilda knows better, don't you, Hilda?"
Hilda was bringing in the tray. There was a copper chafing-dish and a
percolator. She wore her nurse's outfit of white linen. She looked
well in it, and she was apt to put it on after dinner, when she was in
charge of the office.
"You know better than to feed a man on stardust, don't you?" the Doctor
persisted.
Hilda lifted the cover of the chafing-dish and stirred the contents.
"Well, yes," she smiled at him, "you see, I have lived longer than
Jean. She'll learn."
"I don't want to learn," Jean told her hotly. "I want to believe
that--that--" Words failed her.
"That men can live on star-dust?" her father asked gently. "Well, so
be it. We won't quarrel with her, will we, Hilda?"
The oysters were very good. Jean ate several with healthy appetite.
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