The pink deepened in Marette's face, and the soft little note that was like laughter came into her throat.

Her hand caressed his cheek as she rose to her feet, and Kent laughed back.

And after that, as she arranged things on the shelf table, her hand now and then touched his shoulder, or his hair, and two or three times he heard that wonderful little throat-note that sent through him a wild pulse of happiness.

And then, he sitting in the low chair and she on the stool, they drew close together before the board that answered as a table, and ate their breakfast.

Marette poured his coffee and stirred sugar and condensed milk in it, and so happy was Kent that he did not tell her he used neither milk nor sugar in his coffee.