"I intended to go closer; but the walking is not very good, is it?" She glanced down at her dainty French shoes, then at Cherry's hunting-boots. "Do you live here?"
"Yes. In the log house yonder."
"Indeed! I tried to find some one there, but—you were out, of course. You have it arranged very cozily, I see." Mildred's manner was faintly patronizing. She was vexed at the beauty and evident refinement of this woman whom she had thought to find so different.
"If you will go back I will show it to you from the inside, Miss Wayland." Cherry enjoyed her start at the name and the look of cold hostility that followed.
"You have the advantage of me," said Mildred. "I did not think we had met. You are—?" She raised her brows, inquiringly.
"Cherry Malotte, of course."
"I remember. Mr. Marsh spoke of you."
"I am sorry."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I say I am sorry Mr. Marsh ever spoke of me."