The surprise of it kept them laughing, hands clasped, for a
minute; then Cherry said:

"I was to lunch here with Mary Cameron. But she's full twenty
minutes late!"

"Lunch with me," Peter substituted, promptly.

"She'll probably be along--" Cherry said, vaguely, looking at a
clock. "You hate her, don't you?" she added, looking up from under
the poppies at Peter.

"I don't like her," he admitted, with a boy's grimace.

"Then suppose we don't lunch here?" Cherry suggested, innocently.
Peter laughed joyously, and tucking her little gloved hand under
his arm, led her away. They went to Solari's, and had a window
table, and nodded, as they discussed their lunch, at half a dozen
friends who chanced to be lunching there, too. But it was a
thrilling adventure, none the less, and after the other tables
were empty, and when the long room was still, they talked on,
trifling with cheese and crackers, Peter watching her as he
smoked, Cherry's head bent over her plate.

She had said that she wanted to tell him "all about it," and
Peter, with quick knowledge that she meant the unhappiness of her
marriage, nodded a grave permission.

"I've made a failure of it!" Cherry said, sadly. "I know I ought