"Well, now, I ain't goin' to clean 'em," said Miss Burridge doggedly. "I've been rubbed the wrong way ever since I landed—"
Philip laughed. "And you won't do it to them, eh? Well, I guess I can rub 'em the wrong way for you—" His unabashed eyes were still regarding Diana as impersonally as though they had both been children of five.
"Excuse me, I am obstructing the passage," said the girl, rising.
"This is Miss Diana Wilbur, Phil. I suppose you're Mr. Barrison now that you have sung in New York."
The young fellow bowed to the girl who acknowledged the greeting.
"What is the name of those beautiful creatures?" she asked with her usual gentle simplicity of manner.
"These? Oh, these are mackerel."
"Jewels of the deep, surely," she said.
"They are rather dressy," returned Philip.
Diana bathed him in the light of her serene brown gaze.