ote a note asking him to come. He came--he came three times. But three
times isn't much?" And she glanced towards Margaret.

Margaret had kept her place on the sofa where she was sitting when Garda
entered; but she had drawn forward on its casters a tall screen to
shield herself from the fire, and this threw her face into shadow. "No,
not much," she answered from her dark nook.

"I love to tell you things," Garda resumed, gazing at the blaze.
"Well--he wouldn't like me--what would you say to that? I had thought
that perhaps he might; but no, he wouldn't."

This time there was no answer from the shadow.

"I used to think--long ago--that it was because he couldn't," Garda went
on; "I mean, couldn't care for any one very much; care as I care. But I
was mistaken. Completely. He _can_ care. But not for me."

She got up and went to the long mirror, in the bright light her face
and figure were clearly reflected; here she stood looking at herself for
some time in silence, as if touched by a new curiosity. She moved nearer
the glass, so that she could see her face; then back to get a view of
the image as a whole; she turned half round, with her head over her
shoulder, in order to see herself in profile. She adjusted the ribbon
round her supple waist, and gave a touch, musingly, to her hair; she
lifted her white hands and looked at them; dropping them, she clasped
them behind her, and indulged in another general survey. "Such as I am,
he cares nothing for me," she said at last, speaking not in surprise,
but simply, as one who states a fact.

She looked at herself again. "I don't say he's not a fool!" And she gave
a good-humored laugh.

She left the glass and came towards Margaret. "I've got to tell you
something," she said. "Do you know, I _tried_. Yes, I _tried_; for I
like him so much! You remember I thought everything of him once, when we
were first engaged, long ago? I appreciate him better now. And I like
him so much!" While she was saying these last words she came and knelt
down beside the sofa in her old caressing fashion, her clasped hands on
Margaret's knees. But her movement had pushed the screen, and it rolled
back, letting the fire-light shine suddenly across Margaret's face.

"Merciful Heaven!" cried Garda, springing to her feet as she saw the
expression there; "do _you_ care for him?--is that it? The cause of
all--the change in you, and in him too? Oh, how blind I have been!--how
blind! But I never once susp