"You must remember that he has other things to think of now."

"Only his wife; he needn't take long to think of her."

"He took long enough to leave Gracias last winter and go north and marry
her."

"Yes; and wasn't it good of him? I couldn't bear to have him go at the
time; but I've forgotten all about that, now that he's back again."

"But not alone this time."

"Lucian's always alone for me," responded Garda. "But why do you keep
talking about Mrs. Rosalie, Margaret? Isn't it enough that we have to
talk _to_ her? She isn't an object of pity in the least; she's got
everything she wants, and six times more than she deserves; I detest
people who, when they're cross, are all upper lip."

A vision of Rosalie's face rose in Margaret's mind. But she did not at
present discuss its outlines with Garda, she simply said, "I must come
to the next sitting. And don't choose for it the exact hour when I'm
reading to Aunt Katrina."

"I chose that hour on purpose, so that you shouldn't know."

"Yes, because you thought I should object. But if I don't object--"

"You do," said Garda, laughing; "you're only pretending you don't. Very
well, then. Only--you mustn't keep stopping me."

"Stopping you? What do you mean?"

"Oh, stopping, stopping--I mean just that; there's no other word. I want
to look at Lucian and talk to him exactly as I please."

"I'm not aware that I've blinded or gagged you," said Margaret, smiling.

"No, but you have a way of saying something that makes a change; you
make him either get up, or turn his head away, or else you stop what
he's saying. You see, _he_ follows your lead."

"Though you do not."

"He does it from politeness--politeness to you," Garda went on.

"Yes, he has very good manners," said Margaret, dryly.

"Haven't I good manners too?" demanded the girl, in a caressing tone,
crossing her hands upon her friend's arm.

"Very bad ones, sometimes. Now, Garda, don't you really think--"

"I never really think, I never even think without the really. What is
the use of getting all white with thinking?--you can't set anything
straight by it. _You_ are sometimes so white that you frighten me."

"Never mind my whiteness; I never have any color," said Margaret, a
nervous impatience showing itself suddenly. Then she controlled herself.
"Are you thinking of having another sitting to-morrow?"

"Perhaps; it isn't quite certain yet. I don't know whether you know that
Lucian is trying to persuad