But Winthrop stood his ground; Mr. Moore's cousin or not Mr. Moore's
cousin, he did not intend to leave Garda Thorne alone again with this
chance, this particularly chance acquaintance. True, this was a very
remote place, to which city rules did not apply; but the very seclusion
had been like a wall, probably the girl had never made a chance
acquaintance in all her life before.

"I will go myself, then," said Garda, seeing that he did not move. She
did not seem annoyed, she was, in truth, very seldom ill-tempered. On
the present occasion Winthrop might have been better pleased if she had
showed some little signs of irritation; for she was simply not thinking
of him at all, she was thinking only of Mr. Moore's cousin.

She crossed the flower-decked space quickly, and entered the myrtle
grove; Winthrop followed her. When they reached the verge, "There they
are," she said, looking southward.

"I don't know how I am to get you down," said Winthrop. "You could jump
across from the drift-wood, but you cannot jump back upon it; it's not
steady."

"I don't want to go down," said Garda. "They must come up." And she
called, in a long note, "Mar--garet!" "Mar--garet!"

Mrs. Harold heard her and turned.

"There! I've called her Margaret to her face!" exclaimed the girl.

"To her back, you mean."

"I never did it before. But I was sure to do it some time; we always
call her Margaret when we talk about her, mamma and I; and we talk about
her by the hour."

"Mr. Moore and I together can perhaps get you down," said Winthrop,
trying the edge of the sand-cliff to see if a niche could be trodden
out.

"How odd you are--when I tell you I'm not going down! The others are to
come up. Mr. Moore will be enchanted to see his cousin; I am sure _I_
was--though he isn't mine."

Winthrop asked himself whether he should take this opportunity to give
this beautiful Florida girl a first lesson in worldly wisdom. Then he
reflected that what he had admired the most in her had been her frank
naturalness, the freedom with which she had followed her impulses,
without pausing to think whither they might lead her. So far, her
impulses had all been child-like, charming. As regarded this present
one, though it was child-like also, he would have liked, with it, a
little more discrimination; but discrimination is eminently a trait
developed by time, and time, of course, had not yet had a chance to do
much for Edgarda Thorne.

He decided to le