As the motor flew breezily through the hot city streets, Philip gave himself up to the pleasure of his outing. Mrs. Fabian regarded him with supreme satisfaction, and Kathleen, though a little heartsore from parting with her father, dared not indulge in a pensive moment, knowing that her mother would pounce upon it alertly and later reproach her.
They passed the evening in the stateroom of the flying train, and Mrs. Fabian narrated with much dignity the tale of Edgar's retirement from commercial life in favor of the arts. Philip pricked up his ears when he learned that the heir of the house was expected at the island at once.
Kathleen was not obliged to talk much, and at last they all ceased fanning themselves and shouting remarks against the clatter of the open windows, and retired.
After breakfast the following morning, as they entered a carriage to cross Portland, Kathleen nodded at Philip.
"Say good-bye to heat," she remarked.
"Hard to believe," returned the Westerner, who had tried to refrain from talking of his native mountains. His thoughts often travelled back even to the stable studio where certain work begun stood awaiting his return; but soon after they entered the boat for the island, he began to see Kathleen's words fulfilled. The ladies wrapped themselves in heavy coats and Mrs. Fabian begged Phil to put on his sweater; but he held his hat in his hand and declared his desire to be chilled to the bone.
As they pulled out past the near islands into wide spaces of sea, interest slowly grew in Phil's eyes. His comments grew less frequent, and finally stopped. The islands rose tree-crowned from the water, casting deep green reflections at their feet. Phil took a notebook from his pocket, and occasionally asking the name of an island, he wrote it in the book. Kathleen, understanding his intent, and knowing that he would not fulfil it because of greater satisfaction further on, smiled at her mother.
"What did I tell you?" she asked.
"Well, what did you?"