Alix, mystified, duly went to glance at Cherry, reading now in a little funnel of yellow light, and then crossed to enter Peter's room. His porch was dark, but she could see the outline of the tall figure lying across the bed.
"Asleep?" she asked.
"Nope!" he answered.
"Well, don't go to sleep without pulling a rug over you!" she commanded. "Good-night, Pete!"
"Good-night, old girl!" Something in the tone touched her, with a vague hint of unhappiness, but she did not stop to analyze it. She went back through his room, and through the little passage, and rejoined Martin. The freedom of Peter's apartment Alix had always taken as naturally as she did the freedom of her father's.
"Can't hear us, eh?" Martin asked, when again she stood beside him.
"Positively not!" she answered.
"Look here," he said, abruptly. "What brought me up here is this. Who's making love to Cherry?"
Indignant, and with rising colour, she stared at him.
"Who--WHAT!"