essed in
black velvet, with hat and ruff. His face was sad, but the bright, dark
eyes looked intelligently at the girls, and the whole face had a
familiar look.

"He has a look of Papa," said Margaret softly; "it is a weaker face, but
there is a strong resemblance."

"_I_ think he looks like John Strong," said Peggy decidedly.

"My dear Peggy," said Rita, "I must pray that you will take less notice
of our uncle's gardener. What does it matter to you how he looks? I ask
you. Now that you are my sister I must teach you to forget this habit of
speaking to servants as if they were your equals. I overheard you the
other day conversing--absolutely conversing--with this man. Dear child,
it is wholly unsuitable. I tell you, and I know."

Margaret, who loved peace almost too well, was tempted to let this pass,
but her conscience shouted at her, and she spoke.

"I am sorry to have you regard John Strong as an ignorant or inferior
person, Rita," she said gently, knowing that she seemed priggish, but
encouraged by Peggy's confused and abashed look.

"I think that if you were to talk with him a little yourself, you would
feel differently. He is a very superior man, and Uncle John has the
highest opinion of him; Aunt Faith has told me so."

Rita shrugged her shoulders. "Really, _tres chere_," she said, "this is
a case in which it is not necessary, believe me, to go back a hundred
years. We hear about the manners of the _vieille ecole_; my faith, the
school may become too old!"

"Rita!" cried Margaret indignantly. "How can you?"

Rita only shrugged her shoulders; her eyes shone with the very spirit of
wilfulness.

"_Ma cousine_," she said, "it is a thousand pities that you cannot come
to Havana with me. The quality of being always virtuous--it is
abhorrent, _tres chere_; correct it, if possible. And the garret cries
out for us!" she said, turning away, with the straight line between her
eyes that meant mischief, as Margaret had already learned. She turned to
Peggy, who stood in some alarm, not knowing whether the old friend or
the new should claim her allegiance.

"_Allons!_" she cried. "The door, Peggy! which door will take us to this
place of joy? this one? _Hein!_ it is locked; it will not open."

"That must be Uncle John's room," said Peggy. "It is always locked. I--I
have tried it two or three times." And she stole a guilty glance, which
made the two older girls laugh outright.

"Fatima!" said Margaret, trying to