"I hope I shall not be homesick for it," thought the girl; but she only smiled.
"Kathleen is certainly touchy about Phil," mused Mrs. Fabian. "She glared up at me just the way she did last fall when I wanted to get Aunt Mary's silver. She is the queerest girl!"
The moon or something else did hold the weather and the artist could have had no better day on which to give his proof that where there's a will there's a way.
The company swarmed through the little house, laughing, admiring, questioning. At last they stood on the terrace.
"My dear boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Wright. "You could have no better view if you were a millionaire!"
"The only thing lacking," cried Violet, "is a white peacock. Where is the white peacock?"
"How about it, Edgar?" asked Phil. "Couldn't you stand out there for the lady?"
"The nightingale could never deceive us," said Mrs. Wright, bending her universally loving gaze on Edgar, whose chin was held rather higher than usual.
"That's so," cried Phil. "Sing us something, Edgar, right here and now."