endearing child, perhaps because she had been given him, a tiny crying thing in a blanket, to fill the great gap her mother’s going had left in his heart.  He had sympathized with her microscopic cut fingers, he had smiled into her glowing, damp little face when she stuttered to him long tales of bad doggies and big ’ticks; he had brought her “jacks” and paper-dolls and hair ribbons; he loved the diminutive femininity of the creature; she was all a woman, even at three.  Alix he proudly called his “boy”; Alix used hair ribbons to tie up her dogs, and demanded hip boots and an air rifle and got them, too, and used them, but when he took Alix in his arms she was apt to bump his nose violently with her hard young head, to break his glasses, or at best to wriggle herself free.  Little Cherry, however, was ’fraid of dogs, she told her father, and of guns, and she would curl up in his arms for happy half-hours, with her gold curls sprayed against his shoulder, and her soft little hand tucked into his own.

“Mr. Lloyd had to take the nine o’clock train,” Cherry answered her father dreamily, “and he and Peter walked home with me!” She did not add that Peter had left them at his own turning, a quarter of a mile away.

“I thought he wasn’t going to be at Mrs. North’s for dinner,” Anne observed quietly, in the silence.  She had been informally asked to the Norths’ for dinner that evening herself, and had declined for no other reason than that attractive Martin Lloyd was presumably not to be there.

“He wasn’t,” Cherry said.  “He thought he had to go to town at six.  I just stopped in to give them Dad’s message, and they teased me to stay.  You knew where I was, didn’t you—­Dad?” she murmured.

“Mrs. North telephoned about six, and said you were there, but she didn’t say that Mr. Lloyd was,” Anne said, with a faint hint of discontent in her tone.

Alix fixed her bright, mischievous eyes upon the two, and suspended her reading for a moment.  Alix’s attitude toward the opposite sex was one of calm contempt, outwardly.  But she had made rather an exception of Martin Lloyd, and had recently had a conversation with him on the subject of sensible, platonic friendships between men and women.  At the mention of his name she looked up, remembering this talk with a little thrill.

His name had thrilled Anne, too, although she betrayed no sign of it as she sat quietly matching silks.  In fact, all three of the girls were quite ready to fall in love with young Lloyd, if two of them had not actually done so.

He was a newcomer in the little town, a tall, presentable fellow, ready with laughter, ready with words, and always more than ready for flirtation.  He admitted that he liked to flirt; his gay daring had quite carried Anne’s citadel, and had even gained Alix’s grudging response.  Cherry had not been at home when Martin first appeared in Mill Valley, and the older girls had written her, visiting friends in Napa, that she must come and meet the new man.