"I never eat with the boarders," she stated.
"Oh, hang it!" said Sam like a lord, "you give yourself too many airs! Go and do what you're told."
He found a delicious, subtle pleasure in ordering her about. As for Bela, she gasped a little and stared, then her eyes fell—perhaps she liked it too. Anyhow, she shrugged indifferently, cast a look out of the window to see if anyone was coming up the road, and disappeared in the kitchen. Presently she returned with a steaming cup, and, sitting opposite Sam, stirred it slowly without looking up.
Sam's eyes twinkled wickedly. "That's better. You know with all these fellows coming around and praising up your grub and everything, you're beginning to think you're the regular queen of Beaver Bay. You need to be taken down a peg!"
"What do you care?" she asked.
"Bless you, I don't care," replied Sam. "I'm only telling you for your own good. I don't like to see a nice girl get her head turned."
"What's the matter wit' you so quick?" retorted Bela. "You're talkin' pretty big since yesterday."
Sam laughed delightedly. His soul was not deceived by her scornful airs, nor was hers by his pretended hectoring. While they abused each other, each was thrilled by the sense of the other's nearness. Moreover, each knew how it was with the other.
Sam, having eaten his fill, planted his elbows, and leaned nearer to her across the narrow board. She did not draw back. Under the table their moccasined feet touched by accident, and each breast was shaken. Bela slowly drew her foot away. Their heads involuntarily came closer. The sweetness that emanated from her almost overpowered him.
His breath came quicker; his eyes were languorous and teasing. Bela gave him her eyes and he saw into them a thousand fathoms deep. It was that exquisite moment when the heart sees what the tongue will not yet acknowledge, when nearness is sweeter than touch. Yet he said with curling lip: