constantly
about Spenser," suggested Winthrop.

"Not talk about him? It's all I care for." She drew her arm from his,
and moved away. Stopping at a little distance, she gazed back at him
with a frown.

"I know it is," answered Winthrop, admiring the beauty of her face in
anger. "My suggestion is that you talk about him only to me."

"Then I shall have to see you _very_ often," she answered, breaking into
smiles, and coming to take his arm again of her own accord. They went
back through the avenue towards the house.

They found Mrs. Thorne in the drawing-room. She appeared to have dressed
herself afresh from head to foot, her little black gown was exquisitely
neat, her hair under her widow's cap was very smooth; she had a volume
of Emerson in her hand. She looked guardedly at Winthrop and her
daughter as they came into the room; her face was steady and composed,
she was ready for anything.

Garda kissed her, and sat down on the edge of her chair, with one arm
round her small waist, giving her a little hug to emphasize her words.

"Oh, mamma, think of it! Mr. Winthrop wants to buy the place."

Mrs. Thorne turned her eyes towards Winthrop. They still had a guarded
expression, her face remained carefully grave.

"I have long admired the place, Mrs. Thorne," he began, in answer to her
glance. "I have thought for some time that if you should ever feel
willing to sell it--"

"Willing? Delighted!" interpolated Garda.

"--I should be very glad to become the purchaser," he concluded; while
Garda laughed from pure gladness at hearing the statement repeated in
clear, business-like phrase.

Mrs. Thorne gave her little cough, and sat looking at the floor. "It
would be a great sacrifice," she answered at last. "There would be so
many old associations broken, so many precious traditions given up--"

"Traditions?" repeated Garda, in her sweet, astonished voice. "But,
mamma, we cannot live forever upon traditions."

"We have done so, or nearly so, for some time, and not without
happiness, I think," replied Mrs. Thorne, with dignity. "Take one thing
alone, Edgarda, one thing that we should have to relinquish--the family
burying-ground; it has been maintained here unbroken for over two
hundred years."

"Mamma, Mr. Winthrop would leave us that."

"Even if he should, there's not room for a house there that I am aware
of," replied Mrs. Thorne, funereally.

Winthrop with difficulty refrained from a laugh. But he did refrai