Condy had not had so much as a bite.

At one o'clock they rowed ashore and had lunch under a huge live-oak in a little amphitheatre of manzanita.
Never had a lunch tasted so delicious.

What if the wine was warm and the stuffed olives oily?
What if the pepper for the hard-boiled eggs had sifted all over the "devilish" ham sandwiches?
What if the eggs themselves had not been sufficiently cooked, and the corkscrew forgotten?
They COULD not be anything else but inordinately happy, sublimely gay.

Nothing short of actual tragedy could have marred the joy of that day.
But after they were done eating, and Blix had put away the forks and spoons, and while Condy was stretched upon his back smoking a cigar, she said to him: "Now, Condy, what do you say to a little game of cards with me ?" The cigar dropped from Condy's lips, and he sat suddenly upright, brushing the fallen leaves from his hair.

Blix had taken a deck of cards from the lunch-basket, and four rolls of chips wrapped in tissue paper.