He breakfasted in his own apartment, but he always dined with the Kestons.
A solitary chop eaten in solitude was not to his taste, and he much preferred sharing his friends' homely meals.

"Plain living and high thinking suit me down to the ground," he would say--"a laugh helps digestion;" but in spite of his philosophic theories, many secret dainties found their way into the Keston larder, and were regarded doubtfully and with awe by an anxious young housekeeper.
Anna felt a little quickening of excitement as they walked up the flagged path--she could not look indifferently at the house where Malcolm lived.

It seemed an age to both of them before the door was opened.

Malcolm had knocked twice, and was meditating a third assault, when they heard footsteps, and the next moment a little brown girl appeared on the threshold with a child in her arms.
"I am so sorry, Mr.Herrick, but Hepsy has just gone for the milk," she whispered to Malcolm, who did not seem a bit surprised by the intelligence.
He had grown used to these domestic episodes.

The milkman was generally late, and Hepsy, otherwise Hephzibah, was for ever on his track with a yellow jug in her hand; they called it the "Hunting of the Snark," for they were wont to treat the minor accidents of life in a playful fashion.
"Anna, this is Mrs.Keston," observed Malcolm--"my friend Verity, and Babs." Then Anna, in some confusion and much astonishment, shook hands with this very singular young person.
Verity! could this be the Verity that Malcolm had eulogised with such enthusiasm--this little brown girl who was regarding her so gravely and fixedly?
Anna was obliged to own afterwards that her appearance had given her a shock.