Kathleen sprang to a sitting posture as Philip approached the hammock, and sitting on its edge, swung gently.
"Well," he said, smiling, "aren't we going to the rocks?"
"Oh, are we?"
"Certainly. I was afraid I shouldn't get back before you had gone. I was afraid you and Edgar might be making the most of the opportunity for a fraternal tête-à-tête."
"We were; but we found the piazza satisfactory for it."
"Blasé creatures!" returned Phil. "Hurry, Kathleen," he added eagerly. "Get your coat."
"I wonder if mother may not need me."
"No one needs you so much as I do to-night," was the impulsive response. "The Villa finished, a summer's work before me, a full moon, a rising tide. I feel as if I could hardly contain myself to-night, and I've been holding my wings folded, and listening to Miss Foster and Eliza deplore the high price of fruit, and sympathizing with Miss Manning's headache, and holding wool for Mrs. Wright, all the time in a prickly heat for fear you would be gone somewhere; and then to get over here and find you lying like a little white cloud in the hammock—it's just like everything else that happens to me—just the best thing in the world!"
Kathleen laughed at the boyish joy of his tone. "Well, I'll see if mother needs me," she said, and went into the house and to her mother's room.