He reddened. "I ain't seen you for a long time, you know. Give me
time, an' mebbe I'll get used to it."

"I hope so," she smiled. "I should feel lost if I could not kiss my
brother. You have washed, too!" she added, noting his glowing face and
his freshly combed hair.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Mary!" she corrected.

"Mary," grinned Sanderson.

Mary turned to the stove. "You go out and find a chair on the porch,"
she directed, over her shoulder. "I'll have supper ready in a jiffy.
It's too hot for you in here."

Sanderson obeyed. From the deeply crimson hue of his face it was
apparent that the heat of the kitchen had affected him. That, at
least, must have been the reason Mary had ordered him away. His face
_felt_ hot.

He found a chair on the porch, and he sank into it, feeling like a
criminal. There was a certain humor in the situation. Sanderson felt
it, but could not appreciate it, and he sat, hunched forward, staring
glumly into the dusk that had settled over the basin.

He had been sitting on the porch for some minutes when he became aware
of a figure near him, and he turned slowly to see the little, anemic
man standing not far away.