then brushed his nose with it firmly left and right; she hated the
little performance that was never altered. He had a certain mental
slowness, would blink at her politely and patiently when she
flashed plans or hopes at him: "I don't follow you, my dear!" This
made her frantic.

She was twenty, undisciplined and exacting. She had no reserves
within herself to which she could turn. Bad things were hopelessly
bad with Cherry, her despairs were the dark and tearful despairs
of girlhood, prematurely transferred to graver matters.

Martin was quite right in some of his contentions; girl-like, she
was spasmodic and unsystematic in her housekeeping; she had times
of being discontented and selfish. She hated economy and the need
for careful managing.

In October Alix chanced to write her a long and unusually gossipy
letter. Alix had a new gown of black grenadine, and she had sung
at an afternoon tea, and had evidently succeeded in her first
venture. Also they had had a mountain climb and enclosed were
snapshots Peter had taken on the trip.

Cherry picked up the little kodak prints; there were four or five
of them. She studied them with a pang at her heart. Alix in a
loose rough coat, with her hair blowing in the wind, and the
peaked crest of Tamalpais behind her--Alix busy with lunch boxes--
Alix standing on the old bridge down by the mill, A wave of
homesickness swept over the younger sister; life tasted bitter.
She hated Alix, hated Peter, above all she hated herself. She
wanted to be there, in Mill Valley, free to play and to dream