She had a perception of a something being taken for granted which she did not understand.

Once or twice she moistened her lips to speak, but he appeared so oblivious of her presence that she withheld.
After opening a can of corned beef with the axe, he fried half a dozen thick slices of bacon, set the frying-pan back, and boiled the coffee.
From the grub-box he resurrected the half of a cold heavy flapjack.

He looked at it dubiously, and shot a quick glance at her.

Then he threw the sodden thing out of doors and dumped the contents of a sea-biscuit bag upon a camp cloth.

The sea-biscuit had been crumbled into chips and fragments and generously soaked by the rain till it had become a mushy, pulpy mass of dirty white.
"It's all I have in the way of bread," he muttered; "but sit down and we will make the best of it." "One moment--" And before he could protest, Frona had poured the sea-biscuit into the frying-pan on top of the grease and bacon.