Sisters | Page 3

"Mrs. North telephoned about six, and said you were there, but she
didn't say that Mr. Lloyd was," Anne said, with a faint hint of
discontent in her tone.
Alix fixed her bright, mischievous eyes upon the two, and suspended
her reading for a moment. Alix's attitude toward the opposite sex was
one of calm contempt, outwardly. But she had made rather an exception
of Martin Lloyd, and had recently had a conversation with him on the
subject of sensible, platonic friendships between men and women. At
the mention of his name she looked up, remembering this talk with a
little thrill.
His name had thrilled Anne, too, although she betrayed no sign of it as
she sat quietly matching silks. In fact, all three of the girls were quite
ready to fall in love with young Lloyd, if two of them had not actually
done so.
He was a newcomer in the little town, a tall, presentable fellow, ready
with laughter, ready with words, and always more than ready for
flirtation. He admitted that he liked to flirt; his gay daring had quite
carried Anne's citadel, and had even gained Alix's grudging response.
Cherry had not been at home when Martin first appeared in Mill Valley,
and the older girls had written her, visiting friends in Napa, that she
must come and meet the new man.
Martin was a mining engineer: he had been employed in a Nevada mine,
but was visiting his cousin in the valley now before going to a new
position in June. In its informal fashion, Mill Valley had entertained
him; he had tramped to the big forest five miles away with the
Stricklands, and there had been a picnic to the mountain-top, everybody
making the hard climb except Peter Joyce, who was a trifle lame, and
perhaps a little lazy as well, and who usually rode an old horse, with
the lunch in saddle-bags at each side. Alix formulated her theories of
platonic friendships on these walks; Anne dreamed a foolish, happy

dream. Girls did marry, men did take wives to themselves, dreamed
Anne; it would be unspeakably sweet, but it would be no miracle!
And Anne, always busy and happy and helpful, was more so than ever,
unpacking the delicious lunch, capably arranging for everybody's
comfort and pleasure, looking up with innocent surprise when Martin
bent over her as she fussed and rearranged baskets.
"I thought YOU were gathering wood!"
"Did you, indeed? Let the other fellows do that. I shan't be here forever,
and I'm privileged."
"Would you like me to give you something else to do?"
"No, ma'am, I'm quite happy, thank you!"
Not much in the words to remember, truly, but the tone and the look
went straight to Anne's close-guarded heart. Every time she looked up
at the mountain, rearing its dark crest above the little valley, they had
come back to her.
That was all several weeks ago, now. It was just after that mountain
picnic that Cherry had come home; on a Sunday, as it chanced, that was
her eighteenth birthday, and on which Martin and his aunt were coming
to dinner. Alix had marked the occasion by wearing a loose velvet
gown in which she fancied herself; Anne had conscientiously decorated
the table, had seen to it that there was ice-cream, and chicken, and all
the accessories that make a Sunday dinner in the country a national
institution. Cherry had done nothing helpful.
On the contrary, she had disgraced herself and infuriated Hong by
deciding to make fudge the last minute. Hong had finally relegated her
to the laundry, and it was from this limbo that Martin, laughing
joyously, extricated her, when, sticky and repentant, she had called for
help. It was Martin who untied the checked brown apron, disentangling
from the strings the silky gold tendrils that were blowing over Cherry's
white neck, and Martin who opened the door for her sugary fingers, and

Martin who watched the flying little figure out of sight with a
prolonged "Whew-w-w!" of utter astonishment. The child was a
beauty.
But if she was beautiful when flushed and cross and sticky, there was
no word for her when she presently came demurely downstairs, her
exquisite little red mouth still pouting, her bright head still drooping
sulkily, but her wonderful eyes glinting mischief, and the dark, tumbled
apron replaced by thin white ruffles that began at Cherry's shoulders
and ended above her ankles. Soft, firm round chin, straight little nose,
blue eyes ringed with babyish shadows; Martin found them all adorable,
as was every inch of the slender, beautifully made little body, the
brown warm hand, the clear, childish forehead, the square little foot in
a shining slipper.
Her eighteenth birthday! He learned that she had just put up her hair,
indeed,