conduct indicated very clearly that she and Justin realized that
their case was lost.

"Then you're fixed for life, Cherry," was Alix's first remark.
"Oh, say!" she added, in a burst. "Let's go down to the old house
to-morrow, will you? Let's see what it needs, and how much would
have to be done to make it fit to live in!"

Cherry flushed, staring steadily at her sister, and Peter, too,
was confused, but Alix saw nothing. The next day she carried her
point, and took them with her down to the old house. It had stood
empty since her marriage, for winter storms had gone hard with it,
and the small rent it would have brought them through the summer
months was not enough to warrant the expense of putting it in
order. It looked neglected and shabby; it was almost buried in the
dry over-growth of the untended garden. There was a drift of
colourless leaves on the porch, the steps were deep in the dropped
needles of the redwoods, the paths were quite lost to sight under
a fine wash of winter mud, and the roses and lilacs were grown
woody and wild.

Alix was suddenly silent, and Cherry was pale and fighting tears,
as they crossed the porch, and fitted the key in the door. Inside
the house the air was close and stale, odorous of dry pine walls
and of unaired rooms. Peter flung up a window, the girls walked
aimlessly about, through the familiar yet shockingly strange
chairs and table that were all coated thickly with dust. Somehow
this dust gave Cherry a desolate sensation, it covered everything
alike: the spectacle case and the newspaper that still lay on her
father's desk; the cups and glasses that remained, face downward