It was soon after this that the cottage people with one accord begged Philip to give a recital in the hall. The summer colony was an appreciative and cultured one. Many of them had known Philip from his boyhood, and were watching his career with interest. So it was an occasion of intimacy and delight. When the evening arrived, the hall was decked with flowers, and the singer and his accompanist appeared in white flannels. Philip was his own programme, announcing his songs and receiving at times stentorian requests for special encores. Mrs. Wilbur, as she looked and listened, felt that she gained an understanding of Diana's arguments: not that, in any case, she desired this young man for a son-in-law, but she was greatly surprised at the beauty of his voice and his art. It was a feast he gave them that night in the uncalculating opulence of his youth and strength: Arias from "Bohème" and "La Tosca"; the "Dream Song" from "Manon"; ballads; a group of modern French songs; another of old English. Barney Kelly's accompanying was perfect. He was among strangers, and he was as serious throughout as if they were performing in Carnegie Hall. Despite the fact that the piano was an upright, he played a group of Chopin, Palmgren, and Debussy with great charm, and the contingent from the Inn led the strong applause. As he bowed, Kelly recognized Veronica's rosy, serious face and wildly active hands. At the close of the recital, Mrs. Wilbur was more excited than she had been for years. "He's _wonderful_, Diana," she said, standing up while she was still in the throes of hand-clapping. "_Wonderful!_ We must try to get him for an October date in Pittsfield. Our room is quite large enough. He will make a sensation." "Yes," said Diana, rather faintly. "That is the easiest thing he does." Her face was pale. The possible charmer with the bald head and spectacles had had a hard fight to-night. Barney Kelly disappeared through some back door while Philip's enthusiastic friends gathered around him, and Veronica dashed out on the front piazza, cleared the steps in two bounds, and the July moon aided her progress between the bushes to the back of the hall where a figure in white was straying. "Mr. Kelly," she called breathlessly, "you were perfectly splendid. Why didn't you stay and let the people tell you so?" "Oh, I don't know them," said Barney carelessly. "And they want to eat up Barrison." "But they want to eat up you, too. Didn't you see how crazy they were about that last funny out-of-tune thing you played?" Kelly laughed. "And don't you go away; they're going to dance." "Oh, do they want me to play?" "Don't you dare to play! Don't you dare to let them know you can." Barney laughed again. "Well, of course, they know now you can, but not dance music." "You're a very nice child, Veronica." Barney looked at her little dimpled rose face, and the pale green dress she wore.