be quite superseded," remarked Mrs. Rutherford, in
a pleasant voice, smoothing her handkerchief, however, with a sort of
manner which seemed to indicate that she might yet be driven to a
use--lachrymose--of that delicate fabric.

"My dear aunt, what can you be thinking of?" said Winthrop. "Nobody is
going to supersede you."

"But how _can_ I like the idea of sharing you with a stranger, Evert?"
Her tone continued affectionate; she seldom came as far as ill temper
with her nephew; she seldom, indeed, came as far as ill temper with any
man, a coat seemed to have a soothing effect upon her.

"There's no sharing, as far as I am concerned," Winthrop answered. "_I_
have nothing to do with Garda; it's Margaret."

"Yes, it _is_ Margaret. And very obstinate, too, has she been about it.
Now, if the girl had been left to me," pursued the lady, in a reasonable
way, "there would have been some sense in it. I have had experience, and
_I_ should know what to do. I should pick out an excellent governess,
and send her down here with all the books necessary--perhaps even a
piano," she added, largely; "in that way I should keep watch of the
child's education. But I should never have planned to take her away from
her home and all her friends; that would seem to me cruelty. My idea
would have been, and still is, that she should live here, say with the
Kirbys; then she would have the climate and life which she always has
had, to which she is accustomed; and in time probably she would marry
either that young Torres, or Manuel Ruiz, both quite suitable matches
for her. But what could she do in _our_ society, if Margaret should
persist, later, in taking her into it? It would be quite pitiable, she
would be so completely out of her element, poor little thing!"

"So beautiful a girl is apt to be in her element wherever she is, isn't
she?" remarked Winthrop.

"Is it possible, Evert, that you really admire her?"

"I admire her greatly."

The tears rose in Mrs. Rutherford's eyes at this statement. They were
only tears of vexation, but the nephew did not know that; he came and
stood beside her.

She had hidden her face in her handkerchief. "If you should ever marry
that girl, Evert, my heart would be broken!" she lamented from behind
it. "She isn't at all the person for you to marry."

Winthrop burst into a laugh. "I'm not at all the person for _her_ to
marry. Have you forgotten, Aunt Katrina, that I am thirty-five, and
she--barely sixte