t towards
nature?"

"Why not?"

"Because people who observe nature don't observe their fellow-man; the
more devoted you are to rocks and trees, and zoophytes and moths, the
less you care for human beings; bless you! didn't you know that? You get
to thinking of them in general, lumping them as 'humanity.' But you
always think of the zoophytes in minutest particulars."

"Never mind sketching the tomb; sketch me," said Garda.

Margaret and Lucian looked up; she appeared to have heard nothing that
they had been saying, she was sitting with her hands clasped round one
knee, her head thrown back.

"Sketch you?" Lucian repeated.

"Yes," she answered. "Please begin at once."

"In that attitude?"

"You may choose your attitude."

"Oh, if I may choose!" he said, springing up. He stood for a moment
looking at her as she sat there. Unrepressed admiration of her beauty
shone in his eyes.

"I didn't know you could paint portraits, Mr. Spenser," remarked
Margaret.

"I can now; at least I shall try," he answered, with enthusiasm. "Will
you give me all the sittings I want, Miss Thorne?"

"Yes. This is the first."

"To-morrow--" began Margaret.

"Do you want me to keep this position?" said Garda.

"Yes--no. It shall be an American Poussin--'I too have been in' Florida!
Come over to the tomb, please." In his eagerness he put out his hands,
took hers, and assisted her to rise; they went to the tomb. Here he
placed her in two or three different positions; but was satisfied with
none of them.

Margaret had made no further objections. She followed them slowly. Then
her manner changed, she gave her assistance and advice. "She should be
carrying flowers, I think," she suggested.

"Yes; branches of blossoms--I see them," said Lucian.

"But as for the attitude--perhaps we had better leave it to her. Suppose
yourself, Garda, to be particularly happy--"

"I'm happy now," said the girl. She had seated herself on the old tomb's
edge, and folded her hands.

"Well, more joyous, then."

"I'm joyous."

"I shall never finish my legend if you interrupt me so," said Margaret,
putting her hand on Garda's shoulder. "Listen; you are on your way home
from an Arcadian revel, with some shepherds who are playing on their
pipes, when you come suddenly upon an old tomb in the forest. No one
knows who lies there; you stop a moment to make out the inscription,
which is barely legible, and it tells you, 'I too lived in--'"

"Florida!" s