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Updated: June 4, 2025
The doctor at first persisted that the event must wait until April, but Martin's reasonable impatience, and Cherry's plaintive "But why, Daddy?" were too much for him. Why, indeed? Cherry's mother had been married at eighteen, when that mother's husband was more than ten years older than Martin Lloyd was now.
"To-morrow, then!" was Cherry's only answer. "I'm glad it's so soon." "Good-bye!" said Cherry, leaning over the side of the car to kiss her sister. Alix received the kiss, smiled, and stretched in the sun. "Heavenly day to waste in the city!" said Alix. "I know!" Cherry said, nervously.
Cuthbert smiled. Cherry's petulance and vehemence amused him. Her little spoiled-child tempers and exactions were beginning to have a great charm. He scarcely knew how much of the deeper fears of dawning womanhood were beginning to intermingle with the "child's" eager love of her own way.
'Whose? asked Jonas, drily. 'My eldest girl's, Mr Jonas, replied Pecksniff, with moistening eyes. 'My dear Cherry's; my staff, my scrip, my treasure, Mr Jonas. A hard struggle, but it is in the nature of things! I must one day part with her to a husband. I know it, my dear friend. I am prepared for it. 'Ecod! you've been prepared for that a pretty long time, I should think, said Jonas.
Here's the milk, Peter. See if the poor little beast will suck your fingers!" Peter took the brimming blue bowl from Cherry's fingers. She had come like a shadow into the barn, her eyes were on the tipped surface of the milk. She lowered it carefully into his hold, and he felt the cool softness of her yielding fingers; he did not meet her eyes, partly because he gave her face only one glance.
Cherry's Chinese boy brought in a tray, and both the other men ate and drank. Peter nodded a negative without a change of expression, but presently he roused himself to replenish the fire. The clock ticked and ticked in the stillness. Cherry came to the door to say "Doctor!" on a burst of tears.
Port came into fashion port sapped our brains and, instead of Wycherly's Country Wife, and Vanbrugh's Relapse, we had Mr Morton's Wild Oats, and Mr Cherry's Soldier's Daughter. It is really much to the credit of Scotland, that she stood stanchly by her old ally, France, and would have nothing to do with that dirty little slice of the worst part of Spain Portugal, or her brandified potations.
Knowing Alda's resolute monopoly of her Cacique, Cherry at first held back, and restrained her keen enjoyment of real conversation; but she found Wilmet thankful to have the talk done for her, and content to sit at work, listening almost in silence, but proud that her Captain should be interested in her sister, and pleased to see Cherry's expressive face flash and sparkle all over for him.
It was Joe Cherry's notion that Santa Fé should be took along to Hart's funeral, and not hung till everybody got back to town again. Joe was a serious-minded man, and he said the moral effect of running things that way would pan out a lot richer than if they just had a plain hanging before the funeral got under way.
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.
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