Alix herself, laughed joyously.

In June came the blissful hour in which Anne, all blushes and
smiles, could come to her uncle with a dutiful message from the
respectfully adoring Justin. Their friendship, said Anne, had
ripened into something deeper.

"Justin wants to have a frank talk with you, Uncle," Anne said,
"and of course I'm not to go until you are sure you can spare me,
and unless you feel that you can trust him utterly!"

"And remember that you aren't losing a daughter, but gaining a
son--Oh, help!" Alix added. Anne gave her a reproachful glance,
but found it impossible to be angry with her. She was too
genuinely delighted with her cousin's happiness and too helpful
with all the new plans. Anne's engagement cups were ranged on the
table where Cherry's had stood, and where Cherry had talked of a
coffee-coloured rajah silk Anne discussed the merits of a "smart
but handsome blue tailormade."

The wedding was to be in September, not quite a year after
Cherry's wedding. Alix wrote her sister pages about it, always
ending with the emphatic declaration that Cherry must come down
for the wedding.

Cherry read of it with a strange pang. Somehow it robbed her own
marriage of flavour and charm to have Anne so quickly following in
her footsteps. She was homesick. She dreamed continually of the
cool, high valley, the scented aisles of the deep forest, the
mountain rearing its rough summit to the pale blue of summer