Cherry had the advantage of him; she had seen the photograph, and was partly prepared for what she saw now—not quite. But to Magnus, with eyes full of the gleesome, outspoken girl of sixteen, this vision of a tall, slender maiden of eighteen summers, with something of a woman's shy reserve floating round her like the daintiest filmy veil, was altogether new. He had seen nothing like it. She was so lovely, so dainty, so sweet—if any epithets presented themselves, they died on his tongue.
And the girl, too, had caught her breath; the living presence is always so far beyond the picture. All her nicely prepared words of welcome took to their heels, and Cherry held out her hand and said simply:
"How do you do?"
Magnus got hold of the hand, and kept it; held it fast while he pushed and pulled chairs about to give her a place by himself. The hand was something tangible—especially as it was not quite ready to be held.
"How do I do?" he repeated, as she took her seat: "you don't care. Why didn't you come to meet me?"
"I think you had enough at the station."
"And you had enough at home, I suppose."
"Enough to do—yes."
"Well, how can you spare the time to be here now?" said Mr. Kindred, pursuing his inquiries. A girl who did not wear even the semblance of a heart upon her sleeve was something new of late, and exasperating. "It is very frivolous work to sit by and see me eat supper."
"It will be less so, when I get something to eat myself," Cherry answered demurely. "But I can wait still longer, if it is not certain the supply will hold out."