filled his lungs through his nostrils with audible satisfaction.

"My, but this house smells good, Saxon! It ain't the coffee--I
can smell that, too. It's the whole house. It smells . . . well, it
just smells good to me, that's all."

He washed and dried himself at the sink, while she heated the
frying pan on the front hole of the stove with the lid off. As he
wiped his hands he watched her keenly, and cried out with
approbation as she dropped the steak in the fryin pan.

"Where'd you learn to cook steak on a dry, hot pan? It's the only
way, but darn few women seem to know about it."

As she took the cover off a second frying pan and stirred the
savory contents with a kitchen knife, he came behind her, passed
his arms under her arm-pits with down-drooping hands upon her
breasts, and bent his head over her shoulder till cheek touched
cheek.

"Um-um-um-m-m! Fried potatoes with onions like mother used to
make. Me for them. Don't they smell good, though! Um-um-m-m-m!"

The pressure of his hands relaxed, and his cheek slid caressingly
past hers as he started to release her. Then his hands closed
down again. She felt his lips on her hair and heard his
advertised inhalation of delight.

"Um-um-m-m-m! Don't you smell good--yourself, though! I never
understood what they meant when they said a girl was sweet. I