about its back, dropped her face on them, and yawned luxuriously.
"Dad and Peter," she went on, suddenly sitting erect, "will get
all this nice clean hair full of cigar smoke to-night, so what's
the use, anyway?"

"To-night's the night we go to Peter?" Cherry stated rather than
asked. "Do you remember," she glanced at her father, who was
reading his paper, "do you remember when Dad always used to scold
us for being rude to Peter?"

"Well, I'd rather go to Peter's for dinner than anywhere else I
ever go!" Alix remarked, dreamily. "Seriously, I mean it!" she
repeated as Cherry looked at her in amused surprise. "In the first
place, I love his bungalow--tiny as it is, it has the whole of a
little canyon to itself, and the prettiest view in the valley, I
think. And then I love the messy sitting room, with all the books
and music, and I love the way Peter entertains. I wish," she
added, simply, "that I liked Peter half as well as I do his
house!"

"Peter's a dear!" Cherry contended.

"Oh, I know he is!" Alix said, quickly. "Peter's always been a
dear, of course. But I mean in a special sense--" finished Alix
with an entirely unembarrassed grin.

Cherry, through a glittering cloud of hair, looked at her
steadily. Suddenly she gave an odd laugh.

"Do you know I never thought of Peter like that?" she said.