She was in tears again and Peter put his hand out and covered hers
and held it. Their chairs were touching, and as he leaned forward,
their faces might almost have touched, too.

"He must have been going to call someone," said Alix, after a
while, "they said he never suffered at all. This was January, the
last day, and Cherry got here that same night. He knew us both
toward morning. And that--that was all. Cherry was here for two
weeks. Martin came and went--"

"Where is Cherry now?" Peter interrupted.

"Back at Red Creek." Alix wiped her eyes. "She hates it, but
Martin had a good position there. Poor Cherry, it made her ill."

"Anne came?"

"Anne and Justin, of course." Peter could not understand Alix's
expression. She fell silent, still holding his hand and looking at
the fire.

He had not seen her for nearly six months; he had been all around
the world; had found her gay, affectionate letters in London, in
Athens, in Yokohama. But for three months now he had been away
from the reach of mails, roughing it on a friend's hemp plantation
in Borneo, and if she had written, the letter was as yet
undelivered. He looked at her with a great rush of admiration and
affection. She was not only a pretty and a clever woman; but, in
her plain black, with this new aspect of gravity and dignity, and