do so;
there was no necessity to shield Garda further. She had made the girl
promise not to tell him the real version of the events of that last
afternoon; didn't this mean that, if the circumstances should ever
change so that it was possible to give the real version, she wished to
give it to him herself? The circumstances had changed; and now, wouldn't
she take advantage of it? Wouldn't she be glad to explain, at last, the
reasons that took her to Madam Giron's that day? Of course she supposed
that still he did not know; it would not occur to her that Garda might
break her promise.

But still her hand came and went above the white seam. And still she
said nothing.

He waited a long time--as long as it was possible to sit there without
speaking. Then he went back to his last remark--which she had not
answered; annoyed by her silence, he went from bad to worse. "I shall be
surprised if you approve of it;--you have such a regard for
appearances."

She colored. "I am not very successful in preserving them then, even if
I have a regard."

"Oh, you don't mind _me_," answered Winthrop, in a tone which in spite
of himself was openly bitter.

She looked up, he could see that she was much moved. "We must do
everything we can for Garda now," she said, rather incoherently, her
eyes returning to her work.

"You have done altogether too much for her as it is; I don't think you
need trouble yourself so constantly about Garda, you might think for a
moment of your other friends."

He was absolutely pleading--he could scarcely believe it of himself. But
he wanted so to have her set him right! He wanted her to do it of her
own accord--show that she was glad to be able to do it at last. There
was no longer any question of saving Garda; Garda had, in her own eyes
at least, saved herself. He waited for his answer.

She had given him a frightened glance as he spoke, the expression of his
face seemed to take her by surprise, and break down her self-possession.
She rose, murmuring something about being obliged to go.

"You are sure you have nothing to say to me, Margaret?" he asked, as she
went towards the door.

"Say? What do you mean?"

"I am giving you a chance to explain, I long to have you explain. I find
myself unable to believe--" He stopped. Then he began again. "I am sure
there is some solution--If I have not always liked your course in other
matters, at least I have never thought _this_ of you. You know what I
witness