"The Count de No-Account or some other titles, should be here to-night, my dear. The moon-goddess is too lovely to beam upon no one more thrilling than her humdrum old daddy." "As if any one could come up to him," rejoined Diana affectionately. "You remind me of the way Mamma was talking this afternoon, of all the possibilities money opens to a girl, abroad and at home. She did not stop to think what a standard she had set up by marrying you." Her father nodded slowly, regarding her with a curious smile. "Indeed. So little Mamma was able to sit up with a comforter around her and show you the kingdoms of the earth and the glory of them, was she? Well, well. Foxy little Mamma." Diana blushed violently and busied herself with her salad. "I am sorry we have to sleep in Portland harbor to-night. It won't be quiet for Mamma." There were no more personalities during the meal. The girl and her father went on deck and watched the sunset together, after which Mr. Wilbur said he would go down and see his wife, and Diana was left alone. She had a deeply cushioned seat moved near the yacht's rail in the stern, and leaned back to watch the cove darken and the lights flash out on the other boats. Her thoughts ran over a résumé of the summer. How long the weeks stretched out in retrospect! How they had fled in passing! Presently, the moon arose over the hill-road. She thought of last evening when their group had welcomed it. Philip had said that night on the rocks that he should not forget that she was as distant from him as that planet, and he had kept his word. Not to see his merry eyes again. Not to see the sensitiveness of his smile when he looked at her. Not to hear him call her a goddess, not to hear him sing except as others heard him. "Only we'll sit upon the daisied grass, And hear the larks, and see the swallows pass. Only we'll live awhile as children play, Without to-morrow, without yesterday." She had heard the song all day, and her heart now felt sick and empty as she sat there, that golden moon beaming down upon her alone, and striking to silver the ripples across the cove. She leaned among her cushions and turned her face aside. Her eyes began to smart, and she closed them. The wind as usual had gone down with the sun, and the awning fringes were but faintly stirred. Suddenly she felt that the boat was moving. So smooth and silent its motion, that, when she looked up, the yacht was halfway out of the cove. She leaned forward. "Oh, good-bye," she murmured, and she held out her hands toward the wooded bank. "Good-bye. Oh, good-bye, Isola Bella. I shall always love you, and every blade of grass, and every daisy, and every swallow."