ord isn't
worse, I hope?"

"No; she is sleeping," Margaret answered. After a pause: "You heard from
Evert this morning, I believe?"

"Yes; didn't I show you the letter? I meant to. I think it's in my
pocket now," and searching, she produced a crumpled missive.

Margaret took it. Mechanically her fingers smoothed out its creases, but
she did not open it. "You have been out for a walk?" she said at last,
with something of an effort.

But Garda did not notice the effort; she was enjoying her own life very
fully that afternoon. "No," she answered. Then she laughed. "You could
not possibly guess where I have been."

"I am afraid I couldn't make the effort to-day."

"And you shall not--I'll tell you; I've been in the green studio.
Fortunately you haven't the least idea where that is."

"Have you taken to painting, then?"

"No; painting has taken to me. Lucian has been here."

"When did he come?"

"About two hours ago, I should say. You didn't see him because he did
not come to the house; I met him in--in the green studio, of course; I
gave him another sitting."

"Then you expected him?" said Margaret, looking at her.

"Yes; we made the arrangement in the only instant you gave us
yesterday--when you went to hang your wreath on that old tomb."

"Why was it necessary to be so secret about it? Am I such an ogre?"

"No; you're a fairy godmother. But you would have objected to it, and
spoiled it all beforehand; you know you would," said Garda, with gay
accusation.

Margaret's eyes were following the little inequalities of the ground
before them as they advanced.

"Perhaps you could have brought me round," she answered. "At any rate,
you must admit me to the next sitting."

"No, that I cannot do, Margaret; so don't ask me. I love to be with you,
and I love to be with Lucian. But I don't love to be with you two
together--you watch him so."

"I--watch Mr. Spenser? Oh no!"

"Well, then--and it's the same thing--you watch me."

"Is that the word to use, Garda? You are under my charge--I have hoped
that it was not disagreeable to you; I have tried--"

Garda stopped and kissed her. "It isn't disagreeable; it's beautiful,"
she said, with impulsive warmth. "But there's no use in your trying to
keep me from seeing Lucian," she added, as they walked on; "I can't
imagine how you should even think of it, when you know so well how much
I have always liked him. Oh, what a comfort it is just to _see_ him here
again!"