Then he fumbled in his pockets a little, and presently a small blue cloud of smoke went upwards like incense.

Gertie watched him for an instant, but he did not move again.
Then she went back to her frying-pan.
Twenty minutes later dinner was almost ready.
Gertie had spread upon the table, with great care, one of the Major's white pocket-handkerchiefs.

He insisted upon those being, not only retained, but washed occasionally, and Gertie understood something of his reasons, since in the corner of each was embroidered a monogram, of which the letters were not "G.T." But she never could make out what they were.
Upon this tablecloth she had placed on one side a black-handled fork with two prongs, and a knife of the same pattern (this was for Frank) and on the other a small pewter tea-spoon and a knife, of which the only handle was a small iron spike from which the wood had fallen away.

(This was for herself.) Then there was a tooth-glass for Frank, and a teacup--without a handle, but with a gold flower in the middle of it, to make up--for herself.

In the center of the pocket-handkerchief stood a crockery jug, with a mauve design of York Minster, with a thundercloud behind it and a lady and gentleman with a child bowling a hoop in front of it.