know; he hasn't the least
realization of the faults of his profile, and that must be such a
comfort."

"Profiles," responded Mr. Moore, with a little wave of his hand, "are
quite unimportant; what is a profile, in most cases, but the chance
outline of a nose? Handsome is as handsome does, Garda; that is the best
view to take."

Winthrop listened to this little dialogue with entertainment, evidently
the good rector had no more realization of Garda's beauty than he had of
the new short length for sermons; his standard in profiles was probably
the long thin nose and small straight mouth of his excellent Penelope.

"The Bermudoes lie off in that direction," continued the clergyman,
looking over the blue water. Garda had now left him and gone back to
Winthrop. "I mean the Barbagoes," he added, correcting himself. He was
silent for a moment. "No, no, not Barbagoes; I am thinking, of course,
of the Bahamoes." Again he paused, his face began to wear a bewildered
expression; slackening his pace a little, he repeated over to himself
softly, as if trying them, "Bahamoes--Bergudas; then there is Tor--no,
_Tobaga_, isn't it? Certainly I cannot be wrong in thinking one of the
groups to be the Dry Tortugoes?" And yet it did not seem quite certain,
after all.

"A butterfly, a splendid one," called Garda.

And then the reverend gentleman, forgetting the tangled islands,
brandished his net and leaped forward in pursuit.

Garda was now with Margaret; Winthrop walked on beside them, and they
went southward at a leisurely pace, down the broad beach. To the
ordinary observer Winthrop and Margaret appeared to be on the usual
friendly terms; the only lack which could have been detected was the
absence between them of little discussions, and references to past
discussions, brief allusions where one word is made to do the work of
twenty, which are natural when people have formed part of the same
family for some time. Margaret and Winthrop talked to each other, and
talked familiarly; but this was always when other persons were present.
Garda, though she seldom troubled herself to observe closely, had
remarked these little signs. "I think you are horrid to Margaret," she
had once said to Winthrop with warmth. "And Margaret is far too good and
too gentle to you."

"Yes, Mrs. Harold has always a very gentle manner," he had answered,
assentingly.

"That is more horrid still! Of course she has. But I wish she hadn't--at
least with you; I w