"Oh, dear!" burst forth Veronica. It was almost her first utterance of the evening. "Isn't it a shame that the pleasantest things in life are always the shortest!" She did wish Mrs. Lowell would not be so considerate of the men's time. "Miss Diana, don't you really feel just a little bit sorry to go and leave us?" "I do, indeed," returned Diana, receiving the girl's offered hand in her cold one. "The best way probably is to remember Mr. Barrison's song and live as children play--'without to-morrow, without yesterday.' It has been a--a wonderful playtime." "But there will be a to-morrow," said Philip, approaching her. "Will you come to the opera next winter and hear me peep a few lines like 'Madam, the carriage waits'?" He smiled radiantly. "That is, if I get in at all." "Certainly, all your friends will be there," she returned, with palpitating dignity. How could he speak so gayly? Probably the dazzling possibilities of the future had effaced for him the memories that glowed in her. That is what life with him would be: a constant craving, and a constant disappointment. "I want a word with you, Barrison, before we break up," said Mr. Wilbur. "You have been some star in this island visit of mine." He took Philip's arm and walked apart with him. "Oh, Mr. Kelly, see the phosphorescence," cried Veronica from where she had moved near the rail. Barney followed her. "What do you suppose Mr. Wilbur wants with Barrison?" said Kelly softly, as they leaned over the rail. "Going to write him a check for a million, maybe. He'd never miss it." "I don't believe Mr. Barrison will need anybody else's millions. He made a lump come right up in my throat when he sang that last song about forgetting and sitting on the daisies. I just wished I was in love with somebody so I could be miserable all night like girls in books. But"--Veronica sighed--"I am the most unsentimental girl in the world." "I wonder if that is what makes you so nice," said Barney, regarding her mignonne face instead of the phosphorescence. "You're a little brick. Do you know it? Are you coming back here again next summer?" "Perhaps," returned Veronica demurely. "But meanwhile I live in Newark; quite near New York." "I know, my dear, but when I get submerged, even little bricks can't make me come to the surface to breathe. Do you think your father would let you come over to lunch with me sometimes?" "You can ask him," replied Veronica. "Oh, dear, is that the way you feel about it?" "Just the way." "All ashore that's going ashore." It was Philip's voice. "Come on, Kelly, and Little V."