"I know lots of men I'd like to go off with for a few months,"
Alix pursued. "But then I'd like to come home again! I don't see
why that isn't perfectly reasonable--"

"Well, it's not!" Cherry declared almost crossly. "That isn't
marriage. You belong where your husband is, and you--you are
always glad to be with him--"

"But suppose you get tired of him, like a job or a boarding-house,
or any of your other friends?" Alix persisted idly.

"Well, you aren't supposed to!" Cherry said, feebly. Alix let her
have the last word; it was only due to her superior experience,
she thought crossly. But half an hour later, lying wakeful, and
thinking that she would miss dear old Cherry to-morrow, she
fancied she heard something like a sob from Cherry's bed, and her
whole heart softened with sympathy for her sister.

They came downstairs together the next day in mid-afternoon, both
hatted and wrapped for the trip, for Peter was to take Cherry as
far as Sausalito in the car, and Martin by a fortunate chance was
to meet them there at the ferryboat for San Francisco. Mill Valley
was not more than an hour's ride from the ferry. Alix was to drive
down and return with Peter. Cherry said good-bye to her father in
the porch; she seemed more of a puzzled child than ever.

"I've had a wonderful visit, Dad--" she began bravely. Suddenly
the tears came. She buried her face against her father's shabby
old office coat and his arms went about her. Alix laughed