She looked furtively at him to see how deeply she had hurt him, but was surprised to see him grinning widely.
"Women ain't so wise as they pretend to be," he said. "There's grub, an' grub. An' what kind of grub is it that a man in love wants most?"
She caught his meaning, now, and blushed rosy red, drooping her eyes from his.
"That wasn't fair, Sanderson," she said lowly. "Besides, a man can't live on kisses."
"I know a man who can," he smiled, his eyes eager and glowing, now that he saw she was not going to repel him; "that is," he added lowly, "if he could find a cook that would give them to him whenever he wanted them. But it would take a lot of them, an' they'd have to be given with the cook's consent. Do you think you could——"
He paused and looked at her, for her eyes were shining and her lips were pursed in a way that left no doubt of the invitation.
"Why, Mary!" he said, as he caught her in his arms.
For a time the money lay on the table unnoticed and forgotten, and there was an eloquent silence in the kitchen.
A little later, Barney Owen, passing close to the kitchen window—having seen the men caring for Sanderson's horse, and learning from them that Sanderson had come in early after having apparently been out all night—heard Sanderson's voice issuing from the kitchen:
"There's a difference in kisses; them that you gave me when you thought I was your brother wasn't half so thrillin' as——"