say she couldn't have told you whether they were
cypresses or myrtles, palmettoes or gums; such people never can. Tired?
Of course she's tired; her imagination travels miles a minute, her poor
little body can't begin to keep up with it."

"So foolish," commented Mrs. Rutherford, tranquilly--Mrs. Rutherford,
who had never imagined anything in her life. "And do you know she
admires Margaret beyond words--if she's ever beyond them! Isn't it odd?
She says Margaret _answers_ one so delightfully. And when I remarked,
'Why, we think Margaret rather silent,' she said, 'That is what I mean,
it is her silence that is so sympathetic; she answers you with it far
more effectually than most persons do with their talkativeness.'"

"I'm afraid you talked, Aunt Katrina," said Winthrop, laughing.

"I never do," replied Mrs. Rutherford, with dignity. "And she told me,
also," she went on, resuming her gossip in her calm, handsomely dressed
tone (for even Mrs. Rutherford's tone seemed clothed in rich attire),
"that that young Torres had asked her permission to 'address' Garda, as
she expressed it."

"To address Garda? Confound his impudence! what does he mean?" said
Winthrop, in a disgusted voice. "Garda's a child."

"Oh, well," replied Mrs. Rutherford, "she's half Spanish, and that
makes a difference; they're older. But I don't think the mother favors
the Cuban's suit, she prefers something 'more Saxon,' she said so. And,
by-the-way, she asked me if you were not 'more recently English' than
the rest of us. What do you suppose she could have meant?--I never quite
know what she is driving at."

Winthrop burst into a laugh. "More recently English! Poor little woman,
with her small New England throat, she has swallowed the British Isles!
You don't think the Cuban has a chance, then?"

"Oh, I don't know," replied Mrs. Rutherford, comfortably; "it doesn't
concern us, does it? It will depend upon what Garda thinks, and Garda
will think what she pleases; she isn't a girl to be guided."

"She hasn't been difficult to guide so far, I fancy," said Winthrop,
after a moment's silence.

"She will be, then," responded his aunt, nodding her head with an
assured air. "You'll see."

CHAPTER IX.

"I am not partial to it myself," said the Rev. Mr. Moore--"this
confection of oranges called marmalade. I am told, however, that the
English are accustomed to make their breakfast principally of similar
saccharine preparations; in time, therefor