er
here, as the shore was sandy; the squatter's boys would be delighted to
bring the baskets. Torres, no longer required to make a Daphne of
himself, was detached from the bark and sent upon this errand, he was to
convoy back baskets and boys; obedient as ever, he departed. And then
Garda relapsed into silence; after a while she put her head down on
Margaret's lap, as if she were going to try the condition that was
better than being "just dull, you know." It was true that they were a
little dull. Mr. Moore had entirely disappeared; Rosalie was never very
scintillant; Garda was apparently asleep; Margaret, whatever her gifts
might have been, could not very well be brilliant all alone. After a
while Garda suddenly opened her eyes, took up her hat, and rose.

"I think I will go down, after all, and join Mr. Spenser," she said. "I
like to watch him sketch so much; I'll bring him back in an hour or so."

Rosalie's eyes flashed. But she controlled herself. "Aren't you afraid
of the heat?" she asked.

"Don't go, Garda," said Margaret. "It's very warm."

"You forget, you two, that I was born here, and like the heat," said
Garda, looking for her gloves.

"Surely it cannot be safe for you to go alone," pursued Rosalie. "We are
very far from--from everything here."

"It's safe all about Gracias," answered Garda. "And we're not very far
from Lucian at least; I shall find him at the end of the path, it goes
only there."

It was a simple slip of the tongue; she had talked so constantly of him,
and always as "Lucian," to Margaret and Winthrop the winter before, that
it was natural for her to use the name. She would never have dreamed of
using it merely to vex Mrs. Spenser; to begin with, she would not have
taken the trouble for Mrs. Spenser, not even the trouble to vex her.

"I fear Lucian, as you call him, will hardly appreciate your kindness,"
responded Rosalie, stiffly. "He is fond of sketching by himself; and
especially, when he has once begun, he cannot bear to be interrupted."

"I shall not interrupt him," said Garda. "I hardly think he calls _me_
an interruption."

She spoke carelessly; her carelessness about it increased Mrs. Spenser's
inward indignation.

"Do you sanction this wild-goose chase, Mrs. Harold?" she said, turning
to Margaret, with a stiff little laugh.

"No, no; Garda is not really going, I think," Margaret answered.

"Yes, Margaret, this time I am," said Garda's undisturbed voice.

Mrs. Spenser