it," replied Margaret to these
low-breathed sentences. "I think I ought to tell you," she went on, in
the same reserved tone, "that both Mrs. Rutherford and Mr. Winthrop
think I have been much to blame; it may make a difference in your
estimation of me."

"Not the least. For Mrs. Rutherford's opinions I care nothing. As to Mr.
Winthrop, Mr. Winthrop--"

"Agrees with Mrs. Rutherford."

"He will live to change his opinion; I think very highly of Mr.
Winthrop, but on this subject he is in the wrong. Do you know why I
think so highly of him?"

But Margaret's face remained unresponsive.

"I think highly of him because he has had such a perfect, such a
delicate comprehension of Garda--I mean lately, through all this fancy
of hers--such a strange one--for that painter." Mrs. Thorne always
called Lucian a "painter," very much as though he had been a decorator
of the exterior of houses. His profession of civil engineer she steadily
ignored; perhaps, however, she did not ignore it more than Lucian
himself did.

"Mr. Winthrop likes Garda so much that it is easy for him to be
considerate," Margaret answered.

"On the contrary," murmured Mrs. Thorne; "on the contrary. While I am
most grateful to him for his consideration, I have feared that it was in
itself a proof that he did not really care for her. If he had cared,
would he have been so patient with her--her whim? Would he have let her
talk on by the hour, as I know she has done, about Lucian Spenser? Men
are jealous, extremely so; far more so than women ever are. They don't
call it jealousy, of course; they have half a dozen names for
it--weariness, superiority, disgust--whatever you please. You don't
agree with me?"

"It's a general view, and I've given up general views. But of one thing
I am certain, Mrs. Thorne--Evert admires Garda greatly."

The mother raised herself so that she could look at Margaret more
closely. "Do you think so?--do you really think so?" she said, almost
panting.

"Yes, I think so."

"Then, Margaret, I will have no concealments from you, not one. If Mr.
Winthrop should ever care enough for my poor child--some time in the
future--to wish to make her his wife, I should be _so_ happy, I am sure
I should know it wherever I was! I could trust her to him, he is a man
to trust. He is much older. But if she should once begin to care for
him, that would make no difference to her, nothing would make any
difference; she will never be influenced by