"Right you are, Violet. No place like the island," he said heartily, while Eliza and Jane Foster regarded the newcomer with calm wonder. How could they know the glamour that was gilding all?
Phil was so preoccupied, he scarcely noticed the girl's antics. His eyes were fixed with the most lover-like eagerness on Jane Foster's serious countenance.
"Had you better ask her or I, Eliza?" he murmured, under cover of Violet's laughter.
"You'd better not trust me," replied Eliza darkly, upon which Phil interrupted Miss Foster as she was starting for the stairs.
"Might I speak to you one moment before you go up?" he asked.
Her calm eyes turned to him. "You want board?" she asked.
"No—not exactly. Would you mind coming outside a minute. I'd like to see you alone."
Jane Foster looked into the brilliant face, wondering; then she followed him outside the door. Perhaps he wanted to buy the farmhouse. She had made some calculation before she reached the rustic bench; but his first words dashed her expectations.
"Miss Foster, I'm an artist and like them all, at first, I haven't any money. I've been wondering if you'd let me camp down in your chicken-house and do some work. What rent would you want?"