"So he has been," replied Diana seriously: "out of the goodness of his heart and the cleverness of his hands; but he is a great artist, Miss Veronica, or at least he will be." "Do you mean he paints?" "No, he sings: and it is singing--such as must have sounded when the stars sang together." "Dear me," said Veronica, "I wish I'd asked him to pipe up when we were on the boat." Diana let her gaze rest for a moment of silence on the sacrilegious speaker, then she excused herself, saying she would go up to her room. As soon as the door had closed behind her, Veronica looked up and bestowed upon her aunt a meaning wink. "She's got it bad, hasn't she?" she said. Miss Burridge put her finger to her lips warningly. "Sh!" she breathed. "Sometimes I think she has: but, law, Phil's nothing but a boy." "And she's nothing but a girl," said Veronica practically. "That's the way it usually begins." Miss Burridge laughed. "What do you know about it, you child?" "Not so much as I'd like to. Puppa would never let anybody stay after ten o'clock, and you don't really get warmed up before ten o'clock." "Why, Veronica Trueman, how you talk!" "Don't speak of how I talk!" said Veronica. "Hasn't that Miss Wilbur got language! I guess Mr. Barrison likes her, too. He told me she was a goddess." "Oh, Phil's just full of fun. He always will be a rapscallion at heart, no matter how great he ever gets to be." "Well, he doesn't want anybody else to stop saying prunes and prisms. He didn't even want me to chew gum. Anybody that's as unnatural as that had better marry a goddess. Now, let's go for those dishes, Aunt Priscilla." "You good child!" said Miss Burridge appreciatively. "I can't really ask Genevieve to stay in the evenin'. She's the little girl who comes every day and prepares vegetables and washes dishes. Now, one minute, Veronica, while I get the names o' these new people straight. I've got their letters here." Miss Priscilla took them down from the chimney-piece. "There's Mrs. Lowell, _she_'s alone, and Miss Emerson, _she_'s alone, and Mr. Nicholas Gayne and his nephew, Herbert Gayne. I wonder how long I'll remember that." "I know them all," said Veronica sententiously. "The whole bunch came on in the same car with me from Boston. It's my plan to poison Mr. Gayne." "Don't talk that way, child." "You'll agree to it when you see how mean he is to his nephew. The boy isn't all there." "What do you mean?" "Has rooms to let in the upper story, you know." Veronica touched her round forehead. "Mrs. Lowell is a queen and Miss Emerson isn't; or else Miss Emerson is a queen and Mrs. Lowell isn't. I'll know which is t'other to-morrow." "You seem to have made up your mind about them all."