"Only one so far, but then she's a goddess. You've read your mythology, haven't you? This is the goddess Diana." "Say, you're awfully fresh, do you know that?" remarked Veronica. "You treat me all the time as if I was a baby. I've graduated from high school and very likely I know just as much as you do." "I shouldn't doubt that," returned Philip. "On the level, you'll see when you get to the Inn that I'm telling the truth. Diana is passing for the present under the title of Miss Wilbur." "One boarder!" exclaimed Veronica with troubled brow. "Why, Aunt Priscilla doesn't need two helpers like you and me." "Oh, there are plenty more boarders coming," said Philip. "This boat may be full of them for all we know. She is expecting people to-night. Let's look around and decide who we'll take up there with us." "I'll tell you one person I'd choose first of all. See that woman with her back to us with a blue motor veil around her shoulders? I noticed her just when I was pointing out that devil and the boy to you." "You use strong language, Miss Trueman. Couldn't you spare my feelings and call our dark friend Mephisto?" "Sounds too good for him. I'd like to use me-fist-o on him, I know that." Veronica giggled, and went on: "Do you see her?" "I do. My vision is excellent." "Well, she was on the train, too, and once I saw her smile at that poor shy boy and show him how to get a drink of water. We were all in a day car. Chair car crowded. You can't see her face, but she's the sweetest thing." Then with a change of voice: "Oh, wouldn't it jar you! There's fuss-tail. See that dame with the white flower in her hat, looking over the rail? I suppose she's watching to see if the fishes behave themselves. She was on the train, too, and nothing suited her from Boston to Portland. She was too hot, or she felt a draught, or she didn't like the fruit the train-boy brought, or something else was wrong, every minute." "We won't take her, then," said Philip. "I should say not. She'd sour the milk. What's the island like?" "Diana says it resembles Arcadia strikingly, and she ought to know." "But I never was in Arcadia," objected Veronica. "Well, it is just a green hill popping right up out of the Atlantic, with plenty of New England rocks in the fields, and drifts of daisies and wild roses for decoration, and huge rocky teeth around the shore that grind the waves into spray and spit it up flying toward the sky." "What kind of folks? Just folks that come in summer?" "Not at all. Old families. New England's aristocracy. These islands are the only place where there are no aliens, just the simon-pure descendants of Plymouth Rock. As I say aristocrats. I was born there." "You were?" returned Veronica curiously. "I were." "Well, I was born in Maine, in Bangor. I guess that's just about as good." "No, it's not as good," said Philip gravely. "Nevertheless, I forgive you." "Tell me more about the island." "Well, it has one road." "Only one street?"