"You could hardly call it that!" he objected, mildly.
"You could hardly call it anything!" she agreed, in relief. "Does Alix know?" she asked, quickly.
"There wasn't much to tell," he reminded her, as they went back to the house through the ranks of wet wallflowers and roses.
"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.