They had been talking doubtfully of the recent developments of what Justin and Anne Little called with relish the Strickland Will Case.  Peter, who had for several weeks been investigating the matter, with a deepening conviction that it was a deuced awkward affair, had smiled a most pleasant smile as Alix enlarged upon the delight of giving the whole fortune, should they get it, to Cherry.

“For Cherry,” she said, still hanging on her bank, “isn’t like most married women.  She hates self-denial and economy—­Dad always made life too easy for us, you know.  It wasn’t even as if she had had my mother’s example before her; she really knew nothing of domestic responsibility!”

“But what about you,” Peter asked, smiling, “you seem to take kindly enough to matrimony!”

“My case is different,” Alix said, unembarrassed, getting down to come stand beside him at the fire.  “I married an old man for his money!”

“Do you know,” he said, putting his arm about her, “I like you!  You’ll no sooner get hold of your money, if you do—­than you’ll want to turn it all over to Cherry!  You’re a devoted sister, do you know it?”

“I’m a devoted wife!” she answered, with an upward glance.  But a second later her mood changed; she was off to try the experiment of crossing the stream upon the treacherous surface of a fallen tree.  He watched her; her cautiously advancing foot, her hand tightly grasping an upright branch, her eyes flitting from the water below to the rough bridge before her.  She was completely absorbed.

“You can’t do it!” Peter called, annoyed at the senseless risk she took when she placed her foot tentatively upon the curved side of a log.  “There’s no foothold there!”

“Come save me!” she shrieked in the old way, with the old laugh of terror and delight.  He jumped to her rescue, clearing the creek in a shallow place with two splashing bounds, and catching her before her laughing cry had fully died away in the silent arches of the forest.

“You maniac!” he scolded, as warm, tumbled, and penitent she half slipped and half yielded herself to his hold.  “Come over here now, and sit down, and unpack the eats!  I can’t have my wife drowned before my eyes—­”

The title brought a sudden flood of colour to her face; she meekly seated herself beside him on a great log, and he locked his arm about her.

They sat so long in the wet, sweet, sun-warmed forest, hands clasped, that nesting birds flew boldly about them, unafraid, and two wildcats, trotting softly in single file, green eyes blinking, passed within a few inches of them unseeing.

“This,” said Peter, after awhile, “is pleasant.”

He thought she did not answer, except by a faint tightening of her fingers.  But deep down in her heart she said: 

“This—­is marriage.”

CHAPTER XI