"Stand back," cried Kathleen, "it's coming!" Her cheeks reddened. "You do such true things, Phil!"
"Upon my word!" said Mr. Tremaine, "Miss Fabian is right. That's really great, Mr. Sidney. One gets the weight of the water. I think the breadth and perception of the mountains helped you in that. How long have you been so intimate with the physiognomy of old Ocean?"
"I have been at this off and on for some days in time stolen from house decoration."
"There is time before dinner," said Kathleen, "and Mr. Tremaine is going to stay such a little while, take him over to the Villa. I want him to be sure to see it though I begrudge his seeing it without me, too!"
"Sure you can't go?" asked Mr. Tremaine.
Kathleen looked ruefully at her right foot, wearing a loose slipper of her mother's.
"That field is so rough," she said.
"We'll make an armchair," said Phil.
The girl shook her head. "No, I'll gather up my book. Mr. Tremaine likes it, so I'm happy though lame, and you must talk over the illustrations together."
In truth she was glad that these two should have the opportunity for a tête-à-tête and she smiled happily to herself as she picked up the flying sheets. There was color in her cheeks, the rose-color that seemed this morning to tinge the universe. It was such a beautiful world, and for Mr. Tremaine suddenly to appear and to approve her work and to meet Phil—Phil whose eyes had seemed this morning always to see her and regard her reflectively, instead of looking over or through her—all this made a wonderful combination, a strange, sweet expectancy, as of harmonious progressions which could but resolve into one triumphant chord.