Cherry--he made no progress with her. She seemed to like him, and she held him off. She avoided being left alone with him. In company there were times when she treated him with intimacy--times when she ignored him. While all his actions told her plainly that in his life she was the supreme interest, she seemed to go out of her way to inform him, without words, that in hers he was secondary. Then, when he had grown tired and had almost determined to cure himself, she would do something unexpected and considerate which kept him hoping. Only at parting did she allow herself to appear glad of him. She had the power of chilling him with her graciousness, while with her gray eyes she allured him. Cherry! Cherry! Her name set all his world to music. One day he found her alone at Tree-Tops. She had fallen asleep in the bay-window, which looked out over the plain where the meadows flowed smoothly and the wheat-fields ripened. The others had left her--had gone over the shoulder of the hill to play golf. He had cycled out from Oxford without warning. Climbing through the steep garden, busy with the stir of birds and insects, he espied her curled up like a kitten among the cushions, her eyes fast shut and her breath coming softly. He stooped over her, tempted by the redness of her mouth. Her eyes opened. She showed no embarrassment--made no attempt to brush away her sleepiness. She did not move, but lay there meeting his gaze quietly. He broke the silence. “Cherry, why do you always avoid touching me? We're farther apart now than we were--were when we first met. I can't surprise you any longer by telling you that I love you. And yet--and yet to me it's still wonderful. Why do you always treat me as though I were nothing?” “Do I? I don't mean to.” He sat down beside her and took her hand. “Shall I go away? If I went away you might learn to miss me.” She turned toward him gently. “Please, please, Peter, don't do that.” “Then you do want me--you would miss me? I never know what you think of me. You never tell me--never betray yourself.” She let her fingers nestle in his hand. “There's only one Peter. Of course I'd miss you. I don't need to tell you that. I like you very much, Peter.” He looked away across the unheeding country. “Like! Yes, but liking isn't loving.” Voices were heard and footsteps approaching. She sat up hurriedly, smoothing out her dress. “I'd so much rather be friends. I'd be such a good little friend to you, Peter, if you'd only be content with that.” Content with that! He shook his head. “Cherry, I couldn't.” The Faun Man and the golden woman entered. They were laughing. “You always treat me in public as if we were alone together. Really, Lorie, I wish you----.” Then she saw Peter seated close to Cherry. Her eyes saddened. CHAPTER XLII--THE COACH-RIDE TO LONDON I wonder why he doesn't come!” Peter stepped out of the college-lodge, gazing up and down the cobbled street.