he finished, with an approving glance at the
pretty little picture of domesticity before him.

A peculiar expression came to Marie's eyes.

Why, Cyril, you mean you _like_ to have me
mend them just for--for the sake of seeing me
do it, when you _know_ you won't ever wear
them?''

``Sure!'' nodded the man, imperturbably.
Then, with a sudden laugh, he asked: ``I wonder
now, does Billy love to mend socks?''

Marie smiled, but she sighed, too, and shook
her head.

``I'm afraid not, Cyril.''

``Nor cook?''

Marie laughed outright this time. The vaguely
troubled look had fled from her eyes

``Oh, Billy's helped me beat eggs and butter
sometimes, but I never knew her to cook a thing
or want to cook a thing, but once; then she
spent nearly two weeks trying to learn to make
puddings--for you.''