"I am thinking about October and Pittsfield," said Mrs. Wilbur ruefully.
Philip turned toward her. "I think there is little doubt that I shall be with you," he answered.
"Mamma doesn't mean that," declared Diana of the steadily burning cheeks. "She wants you to succeed, of course."
"Yes, Barrison," added her father, "but when your voice fails, we know what you can do: skip around a vessel at sea for the movies."
"You rather liked that fracas, didn't you, Mr. Wilbur?" returned Philip.
"Indeed, I did. When you come here to recuperate from the atrocities of singer allies, I'll join you and we will repeat the dose."
"Dose is the word," put in Kelly in an undertone.
When finally the party adjourned to the deck, they fell into groups: Mrs. Lowell and Diana, Veronica and Barney, Mr. and Mrs. Wilbur and Philip. The sun had gone down, and the western sky was still crimson.
Diana put her hand over in Mrs. Lowell's lap. "We know how violet the sea looks this minute from the Inn piazza," she said. "You will go on seeing it."
"And you will carry it away," returned Mrs. Lowell. "That, and many another picture which you will stop to look at sometimes on a winter day."