"I hear the motor," said Veronica suddenly. Miss Burridge had been in a flutter ever since Diana's telegram, saying that her mother and maid would return with her. Miss Priscilla's outlook on life was placidly democratic, but somehow the prospect of having to care for the wife of the steel magnate loomed as something overwhelming. She and Veronica hurried downstairs to meet the guests. Mrs. Lowell and Diana were in high spirits. Léonie had fortunately discovered some resemblance in the island to a fishing village of her childhood and had sat with Bill Lindsay on the front seat coming up. He understood her trim appearance, even if half of what she said so volubly was lost to him. The springs of the machine were not reminiscent of Mrs. Wilbur's Rolls-Royce, and her lorgnette had not yet been able to discover what charm this corner of the world had exercised upon her daughter. She had been predisposed, from her first view of Philip Barrison, to give him the credit, or discredit; and during the trip from Boston, she had kept one eye upon every move he or Diana had made toward the other. But the examination had revealed nothing. Philip had not even been assiduous toward herself. She would have suspected that instantly. As a matter of fact, almost all the way to Portland, he had concentrated his attention on a book of Brahms' songs, which were welcomed effusively by a curly-headed Irishman in white sweater and trousers who met them when they landed from the island steamer. "Is it the mother of the goddess, then?" he said when he was presented. "You lost your heart, I'm sure, to that ride down the bay, Mrs. Wilbur." "It was very lovely. I should like to come around here in the yacht sometime. The rudder chain, or whatever it was on that little boat, nearly banged a hole in my head." Diana smiled on Kelly. "Mamma has begun roughing it, that's all," she said. "I warned her." Philip had telephoned down to bespeak the motor in order that the august Mrs. Wilbur might not be obliged to linger on the wharf where, on account of the adjacent fish-house, the odors were not always of Araby, and the only seat was a weather-worn board a little wider than a knife-blade. Diana leaned out of the car just before they drove away and offered him her hand. "Have I thanked you nearly enough, Mr. Barrison?" she asked, and Barney Kelly observed her melting eyes. "You have filled in every need and been an untold help to us all in this affair. Even Mr. Wrenn said the nicest things about you." "And about you," returned Philip pressing her willing hand. "I think Mr. Wrenn has had the time of his life the last few days." "It has been very exciting, very happy--" "Had we not better start, Diana?" put in Mrs. Wilbur. "I just caught a glimpse of a dreadful fish over there by a post. Do they catch whales here?" "They stop at nothing, Mrs. Wilbur," Barney assured her. "Good-bye, good-bye." The motor sped off with a grinding noise.