"Let's go home," he said, unsympathetically. "I'm not hungry."

"Oh, VERY well!" Alix agreed, airily, jumping into the seat beside
him. "Though what has given you a grouch I really am at a loss to
imagine!" she added under her breath.

"I don't hear you!" shouted Peter, who was suddenly rushing the
engine.

"You weren't intended to!" she shouted back. And until they were
halfway home, and Alix laughed out in sudden shame and good-nature
not another word was spoken. The bright weather had changed
suddenly, and a wet spring cloud was spreading over the sky.

"Love me, Peter?" Alix asked, suddenly.

"Not always!" he answered, briefly and sincerely. Fog was creeping
over the marshes, the air was full of damp chill. A memory of the
coat-enveloped figure and the blue eyes that smiled wistfully
under a daisied hat was wringing his heart.

"Listen," began Alix again. "Let's stop for Dad, it's going to
pour. And let's go up to your house to eat?"

Silence.

"We can play duets all evening!" Alix added, temptingly.

"Little and Anne coming back?" Peter asked, unwillingly.