"Is it ever considered malarial here?" she asked.
"The opposite extreme," said Diana.
"Well, you look pale. You stayed out of doors too long. The night air anywhere—"
"Oh, but it has such a pleasant way of growing warmer here at evening. I wasn't cold, indeed, Mamma."
"And I heard that divine voice going back through the field singing Rubinstein," said Mrs. Wilbur. She sighed. "I am glad you are so matter-of-fact, Diana. He made me feel like a matinée girl, that man." Mrs. Wilbur was already planning her autumn musicale, and in fancy saw the air dark with automobiles parked in rows about the Wilbur residence in Pittsfield.
She left Diana now to go upstairs to make her list, and the girl went out of doors to gather sweet peas for the living-room. Pausing when her hands were full of the color and fragrance, she turned about to view the fresh morning landscape. As she did so she heard a gay whistling that grew louder as it neared.
"The owl and the pussy cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat—"
The thrill of delicious terror, which had come over her on waking from her short sleep that morning, constricted her heart now.