“Nothing!” she said again, quickly.

And when they entered the house he was strangely disturbed to see a look of something like shame, something confused and embarrassed on her usually frank little face, and to realize that she was conscientiously avoiding his eyes.  After she and Alix had gone to bed he got down the little red volume that was marked “Romeo and Juliet,” and found the score of lines that she had quoted, and marvelled that the same words could seem on the printed page so bare, and sound so rich and full in Cherry’s voice out under the stars.

The next day she talked in a troubled, uncertain way of going back to Red Creek and he knew why.  But Alix was so aghast at the idea, and Peter, who was closing Doctor Strickland’s estate, was so careful to depart early in the mornings, and return only late at night, that the little alarm, if it was that, died away.  Martin’s plans were uncertain, and Cherry might be needed as a witness in the Will Case, if Anne’s claims were proved unjustified, so that neither Peter nor Cherry could find a logical argument with which to combat Alix’s protests against any change.

The next time that Cherry went into town, Alix did not go, and Peter, sitting on the deck of the early boat with her, asked her again to have luncheon with him.  Immediately a cloud fell on her face, and he saw her breast rise quickly.

“Peter,” she asked him, childishly, looking straight into his eyes, “why didn’t we tell Alix about that?”

Peter tried to laugh and felt himself begin to tremble again.

“About what?” he stammered.

“About our having been three hours at lunch last week?”

“Why—­I don’t know!” Peter said, smiling nervously.

She was silent, and they parted without any further reference to meeting for lunch.  But every time he was summoned to the telephone Peter felt a thrill of expectation, and at noon his office swam suddenly before his eyes when the lovely voice was really addressing him.  She was at the ferry, Cherry said; she had finished shopping, and was going home.

“That’s fine!” Peter said, quite as he would have said it a month ago.  But he was shaking as he went back to his work.

That night, when Alix had gone to bed, he entered the sitting room suddenly to find Cherry hunting for a book.  She had dropped on one knee, the better to reach a low shelf, and was wholly absorbed in the volume she had chanced to open.

When she heard the door open she turned, and immediately became very pale.  She did not speak as Peter came to stand beside her.

“Cherry—­” he said in a whisper, his face close to hers.  Neither spoke again for awhile.  Cherry was breathing hard, Peter was conscious only of a wild whirling of brain and senses.

They remained so, their eyes fixed, their breath coming as if they had been running, for endless seconds.

“You remember the question you asked me this morning?” Peter said.  “Do you remember?  Do you remember?”