“Am I Alix’s young man?” he asked, amused.

“Well, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve never been any one’s young man,” said Peter.

“Whoever the woman who treated you meanly is—­I hate her!” Cherry began again.  “Unless,” she added, “unless she was very young, and you never told her!”

This time he did not answer at all, and they spun along in utter silence.  But when they were nearing Sausalito, Cherry said almost timidly: 

“I think perhaps it would make her happy—­and proud, to know that you admired her, Peter.  I don’t know who she is, of course, but almost any woman would feel that.  This visit, somehow, has made me feel as if you and I had really begun a new friendship on our own account, not just the old friendship.  And I shall often think of that talk we had a week ago, and-think of you, too.  N-n-next time you fall in love I hope you will be luckier!”

Silence.  But he gave her his quick, friendly smile.  Cherry dared not speak again.

“Last stop—­all out!” Alix exclaimed.  “You get tickets, Peter.  Hurray, there’s Martin!”

Unexpectedly Martin’s big figure came toward them from the ferry gate.  Some ore from the mine had to be assayed in San Francisco, and he had volunteered to make the trip so that he might meet his wife and bring her back with him to Red Creek.  Time hanging on his hands in the city, he had crossed the bay for the pleasure of the return trip with Cherry.  He met them beamingly.  There was a little confusion of greeting and good-byes.  Alix and Peter watched the others at the railing until the ferryboat turned.  Martin smiled over Anne’s head; Cherry, both little white-gloved hands on the rail, blue eyes and a glint of bright hair showing under the daisies on her hat, her small figure enveloped in a big loose coat, looked as if she would like to cry again.

“It must be fun to be married, and go off to strange places with your beau!” Alix decided.  “I’m hungry, Peter; let’s go over there and treat ourselves to fried oysters!”

“Let’s go home,” he said, unsympathetically.  “I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, very well!” Alix agreed, airily, jumping into the seat beside him.  “Though what has given you a grouch I really am at a loss to imagine!” she added under her breath.

“I don’t hear you!” shouted Peter, who was suddenly rushing the engine.

“You weren’t intended to!” she shouted back.  And until they were halfway home, and Alix laughed out in sudden shame and good-nature not another word was spoken.  The bright weather had changed suddenly, and a wet spring cloud was spreading over the sky.

“Love me, Peter?” Alix asked, suddenly.

“Not always!” he answered, briefly and sincerely.  Fog was creeping over the marshes, the air was full of damp chill.  A memory of the coat-enveloped figure and the blue eyes that smiled wistfully under a daisied hat was wringing his heart.