And he was not thinking about getting a good meal either , although his dinner had been such a one as only Zillah Hartley could get up . As he leaned back in his cushioned chair and watched Josephine bustling about the kitchen , he was glorying in the fact that he could spend another hour with her , and sit opposite to her at the table while she poured his tea for him and passed him the biscuits , just as if -- just as if -- Here Josephine looked straight at him with such intent and stern brown eyes that David felt she must have read his thoughts , and he colored guiltily . But Josephine did not even notice that he was blushing . She had only paused to wonder whether she would bring out cherry or strawberry preserve ; and , having decided on the cherry , took her piercing gaze from David without having seen him at all . But he allowed his thoughts no more vagaries . Josephine set the table with her mother 's wedding china . She used it because it was the anniversary of her mother 's wedding day , but David thought it was out of compliment to him . And , as he knew quite well that Josephine prized that china beyond all her other earthly possessions , he stroked his smooth-shaven , dimpled chin with the air of a man to whom is offered a very subtly sweet homage . Josephine whisked in and out of the pantry , and up and down cellar , and with every whisk a new dainty was added to the table . Josephine , as everybody in Meadowby admitted , was past mistress in the noble art of cookery . Once upon a time rash matrons and ambitious young wives had aspired to rival her , but they had long ago realised the vanity of such efforts and dropped comfortably back to second place . Josephine felt an artist 's pride in her table when she set the teapot on its stand and invited David to sit in . There were pink slices of cold tongue , and crisp green pickles and spiced gooseberry , the recipe for which Josephine had invented herself , and which had taken first prize at the Provincial Exhibition for six successive years ; there was a lemon pie which was a symphony in gold and silver , biscuits as light and white as snow , and moist , plummy cubes of fruit cake . There was the ruby-tinted cherry preserve , a mound of amber jelly , and , to crown all , steaming cups of tea , in flavour and fragrance unequalled . And Josephine , too , sitting at the head of the table , with her smooth , glossy crimps of black hair and cheeks as rosy clear as they had been twenty years ago , when she had been a slender slip of girlhood and bashful young David Hartley had looked at her over his hymn-book in prayer-meeting and tramped all the way home a few feet behind her , because he was too shy to go boldly up and ask if he might see her home . All taken together , what wonder if David lost his head over that tea-table and determined to ask Josephine the same old question once more ? It was eighteen years since he had asked it for the first time , and two years since the last . He would try his luck again ; Josephine was certainly more gracious than he remembered her to ever have been before . When the meal was over Josephine cleared the table and washed the dishes . When she had taken a dry towel and sat down by the window to polish her china David understood that his opportunity had come .
He moved over and sat down beside her on the sofa XXXXX the window .
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