"Oh, very well, if you take _that_ tone! And after I have said, too,
that I knew he wasn't as--that he wasn't like you. It seems to me that I
have been very honest."

"Very," replied Winthrop. Then his voice changed, it grew at once more
serious and more gentle. "I hardly know, Garda, how to take what you
say, I don't think you know what you are saying. You stand there and
tell me that you care so much for Lucian Spenser--a married man--"

"He isn't married now," said Garda.

Winthrop gave her a look which made her rush towards him. "I didn't mean
it--that is, I didn't mean that I was thinking about Rosalie's death; I
wasn't thinking about that at all, I have never thought about Rosalie.
Very likely I shall not see Lucian for ever and ever so long, and very
likely he won't care for me when I do. He has never given the least sign
that he cared--don't think that." And, clasping her hands round his
wrist, she looked up in his face in earnest appeal. "Nothing has ever
been said between us--not one word; it is only how _I_ have felt."

"Whom are you defending now?" asked Winthrop, as coldly as a man may
when a girl so beautiful is clinging to him pleadingly.

"Lucian," responded Garda, promptly.

The mention of his name seemed to give her thoughts a new direction;
disengaging herself, she came round to stand in front of her companion
in order to have a good position while she told her story. "Don't you
remember that I began caring for Lucian first of all? you must remember
that? Then I got over it. Next I cared for you. Then, when he came back,
I began to care for him again--you have no idea how delightful he is!"
she said, breaking off for a moment, and giving him a frank smile.
"Well, I should have told you all about it long ago, only Margaret
wouldn't let me; she has made me promise her twice, and faithfully, not
to tell you. You see, Margaret thinks you care for me; therefore it
would hurt you to know it. I have told her over and over again that you
don't care at all, and that I don't care any longer for you. But it
doesn't make any difference, she can't understand it; she thinks that if
I cared once, it must last still; because that is the kind that Margaret
is herself; if _she_ cared, it _would_ last. So she can't believe that I
have really changed, she thinks (isn't it funny?) that I am mistaken
about myself, that I don't know my own mind. And then, too, to change
from you to Lucian--_that_ she could never unde