and from far across the ridge the droning warning of the fog horn
penetrated, at regular, brief intervals.

"Cherry," Peter said, suddenly, when the silent meal was almost
over, "will you talk about it?"

"Talk--?" she faltered. Her voice thickened and stopped. "Oh, I
would rather not!" she whispered, with a frightened glance about.

"Listen, Cherry!" he said, following her to the wide porch rail,
and standing behind her as she sat down upon it. "I'm sorry! I'm
just as sorry as I can be. But I can't help it, Cherry. And I
would like--I do think it would be wiser, just to--to look the
matter squarely in the face, and--and perhaps discuss it for a few
minutes, and then END it."

She gave him a fleeting glance over her shoulder, but she did not
go away. Peter sat down behind her on the rail, and she turned to
face him, although her troubled eyes were still averted.

"Cherry," he said then, "I'm as surprised as you are--I can't tell
you when it--it all happened! But it--" Peter folded his arms
across his chest, and with a grimly squared jaw looked off into
the misty distance--"it is there," he finished.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Cherry whispered, on a breath of utter
distress. "I'm so sorry! Oh, Peter, we never should have let it
happen--our caring for each other!--we never should have allowed
ourselves to think--to dream--of such a thing! Oh, Peter, I'm so
sick about it," Cherry added, incoherently, with filling eyes.