ing scarcely less rigid, stood beside
her--Adolfo Torres.

His Cuban slips had served their destiny after all, Garda's lap was full
of roses. Crimson and pink, they lay on her black dress a mass of color,
contrasting with the creamy hue of the paler roses above her head.

There was always the same interest in Margaret; as soon as Garda saw her
friend, she left the bench and came to meet her. The roses tumbled to
the ground; Adolfo did not glance at his fallen blossoms, but Carlos,
stalking forward, pecked at the finest ones.

"Oh, have you got through at last--that everlasting reading aloud and
fish-nets?" Garda inquired. "To think that I should have to give way to
fish-nets?"

"I was to tell you--Lanse hopes that you will come in before long,"
Margaret answered.

"Hopes are good. But I shall not come in." And Garda linked her arm in
her friend's. "Or rather, if I do, I shall go and sit in your room with
you--may I? Good-by, Adolfo; you are not vexed with me for going?" she
added. And, leaving Margaret, she went back to him, extending her hand.

He bowed over it. "Whatever pleases you--"

"_You_ please me," answered Garda, promptly. "After they have carried
off Mr. Harold to bed, those terrible men of his--about ten o'clock
generally--then I never have very much to do for an hour. From ten to
eleven, that is the time when I am in want of society."

"But you don't expect poor Mr. Torres to go stumbling home through the
woods at midnight, just for the sake of giving you that?" Margaret
suggested.

"Yes, I do. Mr. Torres never stumbled in his life. And I don't think he
is at all poor," Garda answered, smiling.

He had kept her hand, he bowed over it; he did not appear to think he
was, himself.

"Yes--from ten to eleven, that is much the best time. Couldn't you come
then, and only then?" Garda went on. "Margaret doesn't mind, she's
always late."

"Yes, I've a wretched habit of sitting up," that lady acknowledged.

"It is impossible that any habit of Mrs. Harold's should be wretched,"
announced the Cuban, with gravity. "She may not always explain her
reasons. They are sure to be excellent."

"Come, Margaret, we can go after that," said Garda. "If you should tell
him that you had a little habit of scalping--small negroes, for
instance--he would be sure that your reasons were perfect. And gather up
the scalps." Smiling a good-by to Torres, she drew her friend away with
her, going down the myrtle avenue. "What