Peter, as ashamed as she of the moment's weakness, laughed, too.

"You could hardly call it that!" he objected, mildly.

"You could hardly call it anything!" she agreed, in relief. "Does
Alix know?" she asked, quickly.

"There wasn't much to tell," he reminded her, as they went back to
the house through the ranks of wet wallflowers and roses.

"Nothing!" she said again, quickly.

And when they entered the house he was strangely disturbed to see
a look of something like shame, something confused and embarrassed
on her usually frank little face, and to realize that she was
conscientiously avoiding his eyes. After she and Alix had gone to
bed he got down the little red volume that was marked "Romeo and
Juliet," and found the score of lines that she had quoted, and
marvelled that the same words could seem on the printed page so
bare, and sound so rich and full in Cherry's voice out under the
stars.

The next day she talked in a troubled, uncertain way of going back
to Red Creek and he knew why. But Alix was so aghast at the idea,
and Peter, who was closing Doctor Strickland's estate, was so
careful to depart early in the mornings, and return only late at
night, that the little alarm, if it was that, died away. Martin's
plans were uncertain, and Cherry might be needed as a witness in
the Will Case, if Anne's claims were proved unjustified, so that