When he laid his finished cigarette in the tray, it was to finger the letters himself, in turn, and Cherry realized with a great thrill of relief that he was answering her.  Carelessly, and obliterating one word before he began another, he formed the question:  “My office to-morrow?”

“Martin always with me,” Cherry spelled back.  She did not glance at Peter, but at Martin, who was watching the fire, and at Alix, whose back was toward the room.

“Come on, have another game!” Peter asked, generally, while he spelled quickly:  “Will arrange sailing first possible day.”

Alix, humming along with her song, said:  “Wait a few minutes!” and Martin glanced up to say, “No, I’m no good at that thing!”

Then Cherry and Peter were unobserved again, and she spelled “Mart goes Monday.  Plans to take me.”

Peter had reached for a magazine; he whirled through the pages, and yawned.  Then he began to play with the anagrams again.

“Can you get away without him?” he spelled.

“How?” Cherry instantly asked.  And as Peter’s hands went on building a little bridge of wooden letters, she went on:  “Alix to train, Martin with me to city, impossible.”

“Give him the slip,” Peter spelled.  And after a pause he added, “Life or death.”

“Difficult to evade,” Cherry spelled, wiping the words away one by one.

“Must wait—­” Peter began.  Alix, ending her song on a crash of chords, came to the table, interrupting him.  Cherry was now lazily reading a magazine; Peter had built a little pen of tiny blocks.

“I’ll go you!” Alix said, with spirit.  But the game was rather a languid one, nevertheless, and when it was over they gathered yawning about the mantel, ready to disperse for the night.

“And to-morrow night we dine in town and go to the Orpheum?” Alix asked, for the plan had been suggested at dinner-time.

“I’ll blow you girls to any show you like,” Martin offered.  He took out his big watch—­Cherry remembered just how smoothly this watch always seemed to slip in and out of his pocket—­and smiled at them.  “Ten o’clock,” he grinned.  “I’ll set up awhile longer, and have a look at the evening papers.”

“Well—­” Peter conceded.  Cherry was shocked by the sudden chill and sternness of his face.  Immediately, remarking that he was tired, he went to his room.  Cherry, with only a general good-night, also disappeared, to find Alix arranging beds and pillows on their sleeping porch.

“Oh, Alix—­I’m so worried—­I’m so sick with worry!” Cherry whispered.  Alix, sitting still in the circle of light thrown from the reading lamp light, over her bed, nodded, with a stricken face.  “He won’t listen to me,” said Cherry.  “He won’t hear of a divorce!”

“I know!” Alix said, distressedly.

“But what shall I do—­I can’t go with him!” Cherry protested.

Alix was silent.

“What shall I do?” Cherry pleaded again.