"Oh," breathed Diana, softly, as they moved on into the glory of the night, "I'm quite sure you should not have done that." "Do you want to be shut up in a tin Lizzie to-night?" "No, nor anywhere." Philip led her to the shore and found a corner among the rocks from which they could watch the beaten silver of the billows rushing tumultuously landward, breaking in foam about their eyrie, and slipping back in myriad bridal veils. "There is always one night in the summer, and this is the night," said Philip. "Think of viewing the moon in company with the goddess herself! If you only wouldn't mind leaning against my arm. I'm sorry to have that rock cutting into your dandy gown." "Thank you, but it doesn't. I have a very good place here." "Comfortable enough to tell me that you liked the music?" Diana looked around at him slowly, and he laughed softly. "Yes, I know you did. I know if I ever could sing, I sang to-night. There was something new in it. It taught me something, something I've been waiting for. They've always told me, my teachers, that the one thing I needed was to fall in love. It must have happened--happened, somehow, when I wasn't looking." Philip crossed his arms behind his head, leaned back and looked at the high sailing moon. "Thank you, great goddess Diana, I am at your feet. You have dropped upon me a spark of the divine fire. I build you an altar. The flame shall never go out." The girl beside him bit her lip and silence fell between them. The bright billows swept in and crashed apart. "I suppose that is what love means to an artist," she said at last. "The nourishing of his art. That is all." "That is all it can mean to me," he answered; "but isn't it enough? An object to worship with all a man's strength, receiving the return of inspiration?" She looked at him as he lay there reclining against the rock, his upturned face not seeking hers. This evening had shown her in miniature the truth of all she had felt and, because her heart was beating fast, she clung more strongly than ever to the spectacled gentleman with the scanty hair. "Say something, divine one," he said suddenly, turning to her. "Don't confuse me with the moon, Mr. Barrison," she warned him. "But at least can't you congratulate me?" "Yes, I can, on many things; but--don't fall in love with any ideal less impersonal than a planet." "I don't intend to, but why these words of wisdom?" "Because any--any mere mortal girl married to you would be miserable." "Oh, come, now!" Philip sat up, and frowned at her with a quizzical smile. "So you think I ought to try kindness first, do you? Why?" Diana turned her fair moonlit face directly to him. "Because you cannot ever belong to yourself, even. Much less to her." "I don't quite get that." "I can't speak for all girls, but for myself, if I ever have a husband, I want--I want to creep off into a corner with him." "A corner like this rock?" "This is big enough."