n. There was, indeed,
no occasion for hurry, there was to be no talk of marriage until Garda
should be at least eighteen. In the mean time Aunt Katrina lived, in one
way, in the most complete luxury; she had now but little pain, and
endless was the skill, endless the patience, with which the six persons
who were devoted to her--Margaret, Winthrop, Dr. Kirby, Betty Carew,
Celestine, and Looth--labored to maintain her serenity unbroken, to vary
her few pleasures. Betty, it is true, had to stop outside the door each
time, and press back almost literally, with her hand over her mouth,
the danger of betraying the happiness of "dear Evert" and "darling
Garda" through her own inadvertence; but her genuine affection for
Katrina accomplished the miracle of making her for the time being almost
advertent, though there was sure to be a vast verbal expansion
afterwards, when she had left the room, which was not unlike the
physical one that ensued when she released herself, after paying a
visit, from her own tightly fitting best gown.

To-day Aunt Katrina had felt suddenly tired, and the reading had been
postponed; Margaret had come out to the garden. She strolled down a path
which had recently been reopened to the garden's northern end; here
there was a high hedge, before which she paused for a moment to look at
a sensitive-plant which was growing against the green. Suddenly she
became conscious that she heard the sound of low voices outside; then
followed a laugh which she was sure she knew well. She stepped across
the boundary ditch, full of bloom, and looked through the foliage.
Beyond was an old field; then another high hedge. In the field, a little
to the right, there was a thicket, and here, protected by its
crescent-shaped bend, which enclosed them both in its half-circle, were
Garda and Lucian; Lucian was sketching his companion.

Only the sound of their voices reached Margaret, not their words. She
looked at them for a moment; then she stepped back over the ditch,
passed through the garden, and returned to the house, where she seated
herself on a stone bench which stood near the lower door. Here she
waited, she waited nearly an hour; then Garda appeared, alone.

Margaret rose, went to meet her, and putting her arm in hers, turned her
towards the orange walk. "Come and stroll a while," she said.

"You are tired, Margaret; I wish you didn't have so much care," said
Garda, affectionately, as she looked at her. "Mrs. Rutherf