opened the basket and took a coarse but big and clean napkin out and laid it between them on the seat, just as Meg and Robin had done their pieces of newspaper. And as she did this she was so near that Meg could not avoid glancing at her and seeing what she did. It was not a fortunate thing that the seat was so near. It is easier, when one is ravenously hungry, to force oneself to pretend one is satisfied with a little when there is nothing more within sight, than it is when someone else is making an agreeable and hearty meal within sight and scent. Meg was suddenly conscious of the odour of something savoury, and of wishing it was not so near her at the same time. In spite of their neighbours' cheap clothes and tanned, hardworked hands and faces, their basket evidently contained good home-made things to eat. Meg caught glimpses of ham and chicken, and something that looked like cake. Just at that moment they looked so desperately good that she turned away her eyes, because she did not want to stare at them rudely. And as she averted them she saw that Robin had seen too.
"Those people have plenty to eat," he said, with a short awkward laugh.
"Yes," she answered. "Don't let us look. We are here, Robin, anyway—and we knew we couldn't come as the other people do."
