"It's real nice, Gregory," she said. "Supper's never quite the same when you've had to stand over the stove ever so long getting it ready." She sighed whimsically. "When I have to do that after working hard all day I don't want to eat it."
The man felt compassionate. Sally, as he was aware, had to work unusually hard at the little desolate homestead where she and her mother perforce undertook a good many duties that do not generally fall to a woman's share. Creighton, who was getting an old man, was of grasping nature, and only hired assistance when it was indispensibly necessary.
"Well," he said, "I'm not particularly fond of cooking either."
Sally glanced at him with a provocative smile, for he had given her a lead. "Then," she said, "why don't you get somebody else to do it for you?"
This was, as the man recognised, almost painfully direct, but there was no doubt that Sally looked very pretty with the faint flush of colour in her cheeks and the tantalising light in her eyes.
"As a matter of fact, that's a thing I've been thinking over rather often the last few months," he said, and laughed. "It's rather a pity you don't seem to like cooking, Sally."
Sally appeared to consider this. "Oh," she said, "it depends a good deal on who it's for."
Hawtrey became suddenly serious for a moment or two. There was no doubt that he would at one time have considered it impossible that he should marry a girl of Sally's description, and even now he had misgivings. He had, however, almost made up his mind, and he was not exactly pleased that the proprietor's wife came in with the meal just then, and stayed to talk awhile.
When she went out he watched Sally with close and what he fancied was unobtrusive attention while she ate, and though he was sensible of the indelicacy of this, he was once more relieved to find that she did nothing that was actually repugnant to him. After all, there was a certain daintiness about the girl, and her frank appreciation of the good things set before her only amused him. She was certainly much more amusing than Agatha had been since she came out to Canada, and her cheerful laughter had a pleasant ring. When at length the meal was over she bade him draw her chair up to the stove.
"Now," she said, and pointed to another chair across the room, "you can sit yonder and smoke. I know you want to."