the last guests had loitered away, and the last caterer had
gathered up his possessions and had gone. Hong was prosaically
making mutton broth for dinner; pyramids of sandwiches and little
cakes stood on the sideboard.

Up in Cherry's room there was a litter of tissue papers, and pins
and powder were strewn on the bureau. The bed was mashed and
disordered by the weight of guests' hats and wraps that had lain
there. A heap of cards, still attached to ribbons and wires, were
gathered on the book-shelf, to be sent after Cherry and remind her
of the donours of gifts and flowers.

Across the lower bed that had been Cherry's a pale blue Japanese
wrapper had been flung. The girls had seen her wear it a hundred
times; she had slipped into it to change her gown a few hours ago.
Anne, excited and tired, picked it up, stared vaguely at it for a
few minutes, and then knelt down beside the bed, and began to cry.
Alix, the muscles about her mouth twitching, stood watching her.

"Funerals are gay compared to the way a wedding feels!" Alix said
finally. "I've eaten so much candy and wedding-cake and olives and
marrons, and whipped cream and crab salad that my skin feels like
the barrel of a musical box! I'm going to take a walk! Come on,
Nancy."

"No, I don't want to!" Anne said, wiping her eyes, and sitting
back on her heels, with a long sigh and sniff. "I've got too much
to do!"

Alix descended to find her father and Peter discussing fly-