her sit up for dinner. For some reason she could not, or would
not, define, Anne liked the idea of Cherry and Peter falling in
love--

"Somehow one doesn't think of Peter as marrying any one--" she
said slowly, still trying to grasp the thought. "He's so--self-
sufficient," she added, shaking her head. "You--you WOULDN'T like
that, Uncle?"

"Peter is a dear fellow," the doctor mused. "But Cherry--why,
she's barely eighteen! He--" The old man hesitated, began again:
"I suppose there's no reason why Peter shouldn't kiss her, in a--
brotherly sort of way?" he submitted doubtfully.

"Did he kiss her?" Anne exclaimed.

"I don't know that he did," Cherry's father said hastily.

"But what made you think he did?" the girl persisted.

"Just a fancy," he assured her. "Just an old father's fear that
she is growing up too fast!"

"Because we all, and you especially, spoil her," Anne reminded
him, smiling. "Peter," she added thoughtfully, "has kissed us all,
now and then!" She stooped for a dutiful good-night kiss, and was
gone. And as she went, lightly and swiftly across the hall, up the
stairway with her shoulders erect, and methodically and prettily
moved about her brushing and folding and disrobing, she saw
herself engaged to be married, saw herself veiled and mystical in