"I go in to have luncheon with Mary" Cherry said. "I wish we could
all lunch together!"

"I'll blow you girls to a meal at Frank's--" Peter began, and
interrupted himself, "Oh, but you can't, Cherry!"

"And our meeting is at twelve; we'll have lunch at the hospital,"
Alix added. "Wouldn't you think we'd have enough of each other, we
three?" she said, amusedly, beginning, in the reprehensible manner
of girlhood, to roll the black scarf that had been knotted about
her rolled bluejacket's collar, and to remove the pins from her
hair. "But I hate to be in town and not see you both! Good-night,
beloveds. I'm dead. Don't sit out here mooning with Pete all
night, Cerise!"

Peter said to himself that now Cherry would go, too, but as the
screen door banged lightly after Alix, and the dull glimmer of
Cherry's striped gown did not move in the soft shadow, a sudden
reluctance and distaste seized him. He had been subconsciously
aware of her all afternoon; he had known a delicious warmth and
stir at his heart that he had not analyzed, if indeed it could be
analyzed. Now suddenly he did not want the beauty and bloom and
charm of that feeling touched. His heart began to beat heavily
again, and he knew that he must stop the unavailing game now.

But he had not reckoned on Cherry. She twisted in her chair, and
he heard a child's long, happy sigh.

"Oh, so am I tired, too!" she breathed, reluctantly. "I hate to
leave it--but I've been almost asleep for half an hour! You can