But before the dinner party came off, Philip Barrison did take the steel man deep-sea fishing. Barney Kelly was so overwhelmed by the luxury of the yacht that he refrained from saying a word against the nocturnal expedition. He happened to meet Veronica down at the post-office and gave her his reasons.

"I say it's only fair that Mr. Wilbur should be racked and tortured," he said. "Any man so deep in the lap of luxury should learn a little of how the other half lives. That yacht is the slickest thing I ever saw. The deep-cushioned armchairs on the deck are upholstered in a light-green leather that you would think a drop of water would deface, and the salt spray doesn't faze it in the least. Then the master's room with its twin beds is divided from the bathroom by a sliding door which is a huge mirror, and the dining-saloon is in mahogany with the exquisite china and glass all enameled with the yacht's flag."

Veronica's mouth always grew very small when she was deeply interested and her eyes very wide, and they looked so now as she listened.

"Just think," she said, "I am going to see it."

"Good work. I wanted you to."

"I'm going to eat off those dishes and sit in the easy-chairs."

"What's happening?"

"A dinner party, and you are in it. Miss Diana told me."

"I shall be careful to eat nothing between now and then," declared Barney, "for I suspect that chef of being an artist. Let us not count on it too much, though, Veronica. Barrison takes Mr. Wilbur on that unspeakable expedition to-morrow morning. We all may be thrown out of that dinner party by the violence of his feelings."

As it turned out, however, Kelly's apprehensions were not realized. Mr. Wilbur's wife and daughter were on the yacht to greet him when he returned from his novel experience at nearly noon of the next day. He had changed his clothing at "Grammy's" and was full of praise of that old gentlewoman.

"Nice people as ever lived, those folks," he said as he stretched himself out in a chaise longue on the deck under the awning, and was served with iced drinks.

"Mamma hasn't met Mr. Barrison's grandmother," said Diana as she placed the cigars beside her father.

"Oh, he comes of superior people, you can see that," said Mrs. Wilbur. "Charlie, I'm going to invite Mrs. Coolidge."

"All right. I guess she can stand it."

"Stand it!" echoed Mrs. Wilbur. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"He is still thinking about the fishing, Mamma," put in Diana.

"Yes, and young Barrison," said Mr. Wilbur. "He's a tonic, that chap. The way he went over that boat, regular Douglas Fairbanks stunts he did. He's a hundred-per-cent man, whether he can sing or not." The speaker regarded his daughter out of the tail of his eye as he talked, and he saw the slight compression of her lips and the glow in her eyes.

"I offered him a cigar, but he shook his head: 'My voice is my fortune, sir,' he said."

"Sensible," said Mrs. Wilbur, not looking up from the silk she was knitting.

"When are you giving your dinner party?"

"To-morrow night."

"That is good, for we must be on our way," said Mr. Wilbur. He yawned. "I'm dead to the world. I must go to sleep."

"Daddy," said Diana, "are we really going away at once?"

He took her hand, and it was cold. "Yes, I think we shall have to be off." He regarded her with affectionate thoughtfulness. "I want to go somewhere and find some roses for you."

The roses suddenly bloomed in the girl's face under his searching eyes.

"You want to go with your old dad, don't you?" he added affectionately.

"Of course I do, dearest," she answered, and he forgave her the lie because she looked so pretty in her embarrassment. "But I have packing to do, you know. I can't go without any warning."

He continued to gaze at her and to hold her cold hand.

"That young Caruso of yours is quite a boy," he said irrelevantly. "No lugs, honest, substantial."

"He is more than that, Daddy. He is a self-made man."

"Did a good job, too; physically at least."

"No; more than that; he has been a hero to get where he is in his art."

"Told you so, eh?"

"No, indeed." The roses bloomed brighter. The hand twitched in his. "He gratified my curiosity one day by telling me his experiences. He thinks they were entirely commonplace. He was very poor and with no influence, but his persistence and determination won."

"That's the stuff," returned Charles Wilbur quietly. "I like the way he treats his grandmother, too."

"And, Charlie," said his wife, looking up from her work, "I believe I'll invite some people from Lenox. I'll have a house party."

"Very well, my dear." Her husband smiled toward her preoccupied face, and released his daughter's hand.

"Now, you run along up to the Inn, Diana," said Mrs. Wilbur, "and pack. Then have Mr. Blake bring the trunk and our bags aboard this afternoon."

"Not go back to the Inn at all, afterward, then?" asked Diana.

"No. There won't be any necessity. I told that perfectly crazy LÉonie to have my things and hers ready and bring them aboard before dinner. She looked at me as if I had struck her down."

"Poor LÉonie," breathed Diana.

Mrs. Wilbur shrugged her shoulders. "I shall be lucky if she doesn't tell me she has decided to marry Bill Lindsay and stay here." The lady laughed and looked at her husband. "I should have to invite them to take their wedding trip on the yacht, for I can't let her go until she has shown some one else how to do my hair."

"Let her teach me, immediately, to-day," said Diana quickly.

Her mother stared at her. "You don't want her to marry Bill Lindsay, I hope!"

"I do not care whom she marries," returned Diana with amazing spirit. "The important, colossally important thing is that she should marry whom she pleases, when she pleases."

Mrs. Wilbur continued to stare while her husband's closed eyes opened and he also regarded Diana as she stood up, her hands clenched.

"That was Helen Loring's creed," said Mrs. Wilbur dryly. "There is a better one. Don't forget that."

The girl's head drooped and the roses faded.

Ten minutes later she went down the awning-guarded steps at the yacht's side, and entered the waiting boat with its shining brasses and natty, white-uniformed sailors, to go ashore.

Miss Burridge was quite touched by the feeling displayed by her star boarder at their parting.

"I do not remember any period of my life which has been so happy as the last six weeks," said the girl, her lip quivering. "Would you take care of me if I should take the Inn for next summer and come here with friends a part of the season?"

"Take the Inn, Miss Wilbur?"

"Yes. My father said that might be more sensible than for me to build here. I would make satisfactory arrangements with you. Perhaps Veronica would come with you, then you wouldn't mind if you had the place to yourselves much of the season."

"Of course, I should like an easy berth like that, Miss Wilbur." Miss Burridge laughed with a suspicion of moisture around her lashes at the pressure of Diana's hands, and the seriousness of her plaintive eyes.

"I must say good-bye to Bertie. I wonder where he is."

"Up in his room, I think. He came in a few minutes ago."

There Diana found him. He looked up from the stretcher over which he was working and was surprised to see his friend in her street clothes.

"Are you going to Boston again?" he asked.

"I am leaving permanently," she answered, and she took his hand and drew him down to a seat beside her. He looked at her as she bit her lip while she smiled on him, and he thought she was going to cry. "We shall be here a couple more nights, but I shall be on the yacht. Have you seen it, Bertie? Would you like to come down with me now and go over it?"

"I'd like to make a sketch of it." The boy looked interested.

"Very well, you shall. Bill is coming for us in a few minutes. You drive down with us; but I want to tell you, before we go, how happy I am for you."

"You don't look happy at all, Miss Diana. You look sad. Are you sad?"

"I am a little bit—leaving here, and all the friends. Do you know that we are related in some far-off way, Bertie? You might call me Cousin Diana. You mustn't forget me."

"No, I won't forget you," replied the boy, noticing that her lip quivered. "Mrs. Lowell will write to you."

"Yes, I'm sure she will," said Diana, touching her eyes quickly with her handkerchief, "and Mrs. Lowell is a wonderful friend. She has told me of her arrangements for you, told me about the fine, strapping young fellow, Mr. Lawrence, who is going to be your companion and tutor. I expect when I see you next that you will stand up, straight as a young soldier—"

"Straight as—as Mr. Barrison," said Bert, pulling his slender shoulders back hopefully.

"Yes, as—as he is, and I know you will like this young Mr. Lawrence, and do every thing just as Mrs. Lowell desires to have you. I am glad you can stay on longer here, for it is—it is a place to be happy, isn't it, Bertie?"

Diana's lips quivered again dangerously. "There, I hear the motor. Bring your sketch-book, and come."

They descended to where LÉonie was standing beside the bags in her trim street clothes. Matt Blake's wagon was waiting, too, and he carried Diana's trunk, and the various and sundry suitcases and bags which represented the Wilbur party, out to his wagon.

Miss Burridge and Veronica saw them off. Mrs. Lowell was away in the woods with her bird-glasses, and the other boarders were fortunately absent. Diana left her good-byes for them, and then with a lump in her throat got into the car. LÉonie sat in front with her cavalier, and all the way down the road, her head was popping out and a stream of "adieux" pouring forth upon animate and inanimate objects alike.

Herbert Loring sat beside his friend and, feeling wonderingly her need for comfort, slipped his hand into hers, and she held it tightly.

Diana had many good-byes to say at the float, while her baggage was being lifted into the yacht's boat, waiting with its picturesque crew. At last they were off, and Bertie's eyes were greedily fixed on the lines of the handsome white yacht.

After the trunks were placed on the yacht, she let Bert look about, but he was eager to get his sketch. So she allowed him to descend again into the small boat and put him in command of it. So he was taken to the point he indicated and remained there until he was satisfied with his sketch. Then the flashing oars fell into position and he was rowed back to the shore. Diana waved him a last good-bye. Her father was taking his much-needed forty winks, her mother was downstairs somewhere, and LÉonie stood near her, straining her eyes toward the float and waving to a waiting figure thereon.

"Adieu, charmante, belle Île," she murmured, sniffing audibly. "Mademoiselle, c'est comme si je quittais chez moi."

"Oui, LÉonie. Nous reviendrons quelque jour."

There was a difference in their situations. LÉonie had no hope of entertaining Bill Lindsay at dinner.

That function came off the next evening. Mr. Wilbur had spent much of the afternoon with Philip Barrison. The latter had taken him out to the pound and he had watched the drawing of the nets, and had had long confabs with the fishermen, listening to their stories, scattering cigars like hail, and enjoying himself thoroughly.

He returned to the yacht in high good humor and made ready for the farewell festivity.

"That's a regular fellow, Barrison," he said to his wife, as he was making his toilet.

"Oh, you wait," she replied.

"I don't care a darn how he sings," remarked Mr. Wilbur, "but in his case a man's a man for a' that. I don't wonder—" he stopped.

"What don't you wonder, dear?"

"Oh—at his popularity. My dear, dear Laura," he added after a pause, smiling at his reflection in the glass as he used his military brushes, "you're a wonderful woman."

"Why, thank you, Charlie. What have I done now?" As he did not reply, but continued to smile into his own eyes, she gave his arm a little squeeze as she passed him. "I won you, anyway," she said triumphantly, "and I need a compliment or two, for I never knew Diana to be so strange and changeable as she has been to-day. The dear girl can't be well, and I don't think I have realized quite the awfulness of her experience with Herbert Loring. She was actually in danger for a time of being accused of hastening his death. Why, it was dreadful."

"Poor Diana, poor little girl," returned Charles Wilbur ruminatively.