slightest motion, the turn of her wrist, the smile she gave Kow at
breakfast time, the motion she made when she stooped to tie her
shoe, or raised her arm to break an apple from the low, dusty
branches. The glory of being so loved enveloped her like a great
shining garment, and her cheeks glowed softly rosy, and there was
a new and liquid softness, a sort of shining glitter, in her blue
eyes.

Peter was quiet that evening, and was gone the next morning when
the sisters came out to breakfast. His absence was a real relief
to Cherry, who felt curiously tired and spent after a wakeful
night, and looked pale. Alix, busy with a new venture in duck
raising, noticed nothing, and Cherry could lie idly in the hammock
all morning, sometimes frowning, and shutting her eyes at some
sudden thought, otherwise smiling and dreaming vaguely, and always
hearing Peter's voice, in words so charged with new magic that the
mere recollection of them almost suffocated her with emotion.

He had left a message to the effect that he would not be at home
that night, and at four o'clock telephoned confirming the message.
Alix chanced to answer the telephone, and Cherry, who was in her
room, heard Peter's name, and stood still, listening with a shock
of disappointment. She did not want him to come home, she was
hardly conscious of any desire or dread; her only thought was that
he was there--now--at the telephone, and in a moment Alix would
have hung up the receiver, and she, Cherry, would not have spoken
to him, would not have heard his voice!

But at eight o'clock that evening, when she and Alix were sitting
on the porch, when the last ebbing pink of the sunset had faded,