that she continued not to say
them.

Her dress, as seen in the mirror, had much simplicity of aspect; but
this was owing to the way she wore it, and the way in which it was made,
rather than to the materials, which were ample and rich. The soft silk,
Quakerish in hue, lay in folds over the carpet which Garda's scanty
skirt barely touched; it followed the lines of the slender figure
closely, while Garda's muslin, which had been many times washed, was
clumsy and ill-fitting. The gray robe came up smoothly round the throat,
where it was finished by a little ruff of precious old lace, while the
poor Florida gown, its fashion a reminiscence of Mrs. Thorne's youth,
ended at that awkward angle which is neither high nor low.

But all this made no difference as regarded the beauty of Garda. Of most
young girls it can be said that richness of attire spoils them, takes
from their youthfulness its chief charm; but of Garda Thorne it could
easily be believed that no matter in what she might be clad, poor garb
as at present, or the most sumptuous, she herself would so far outshine
whichever it happened to be, that it would scarcely be noticed.

"You are the taller," said Garda. "I knew it!" The outline of the head
with the smooth dark hair was clearly above that crowned by the curling
locks.

"You are deceptive," said Margaret, "you look tall, yet I see now that
you are not. Are there many more such surprises about you?"

"I hope so," answered Garda, "I love surprises. That is, short ones; I
don't like surprises when one has to be astonished ever so long, and
keep on saying 'oh!' and 'dear me!' long after it's all over. But
everything long is tiresome, I have found _that_ out."

Winthrop had watched them pass into the second room. He now left his
place, and joined them.

"We came to see which was the taller," said Garda, as his face appeared
in the mirror behind them. Margaret moved aside; but as Garda still held
her hand, she could not move far. Winthrop, however, was not looking at
her, his eyes were upon the reflection of the younger face; perceiving
this, her own came back to it also.

"You two are always so solemn," said Garda, breaking into one of her
sweet laughs; "standing between you, as I do, I look like Folly itself.
There was an old song of Miss Pamela's:

"'Reason and Folly and Beauty, they say,
Went on a party of pleasure one day--'

Here they are in the glass, all three of them. Mrs. Harold is Bea