delicate moulding of
her features, her oval cheeks, which had now a bright flush of color.
The expression of her own face, meanwhile, remained as soft as ever,
there was not a trace of either opposition or annoyance.

"Isn't there some one else, too, who would not like to have you do
such--such foolish thing?" Margaret went on. "Shouldn't you think a
little of Evert?"

"Evert's too far off to think of. He's a thousand miles away."

"What difference does that make?"

"You're right, it doesn't make any," said Garda. "I should do just the
same, I presume, if he were here." She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

Margaret looked at her, and seemed hardly to know what to say next.

In the position in which they were standing, Garda was facing the
entrance of the orange walk. Her eyes now began to gleam. "Isn't this
funny?" she said. "Here he is himself!"

Margaret turned, expecting to see Lucian. But it was Evert Winthrop who
was coming towards them.

"You didn't expect me?" he said as he took their hands, Garda's in his
right hand, Margaret's in his left, and held them for a moment. "But I
told you in the postscript of my last letter, Garda, that I might
perhaps follow it immediately."

"I haven't had time to get to the postscript yet," Garda answered. "The
letter only came this morning; and Margaret has it now."

"You know I haven't opened it, Garda," said Margaret, hastily returning
it.

"No; but I meant you to," said the girl. Something in this little scene
seemed to strike her as comical, for she covered her face with both
hands and began to laugh. "What a bad account you will give of me!" she
said.

"You will have to give it yourself," replied Margaret. "I must go; Aunt
Katrina must be awake by this time."

"Isn't she well?" said Winthrop, looking after her as she left them.

"She had color enough before you came," said Garda, smiling, then
laughing at recollections he could not share. "Have you come back as
blind as you went away?"

"How blind is that?"

"Blind to all my faults," she responded, swinging her hat by its
ribbons.

"Don't spoil your hat. No, I'm not blind to them, but we're going to
cure them, you know."

"I'm so glad!"

He had taken a case from his pocket, and was now opening it; it held a
delicate gold bracelet, exquisitely fashioned, which he clasped round
her arm.

"How pretty!" said Garda. Her pleasure was genuine, she turned her hand
so that she could see the ornament in eve