were still so plainly visible
the childish outlines of the little girl he had been used to lead about
by the hand--even of the dimpled baby he remembered so well--he could
not bring himself to realize that it had gained older expressions,
expressions he did not know.

"I'm very sorry, dear," Garda answered, generally. And then she knelt
down to peer through a bush which might perhaps be holding its best buds
hidden.

The Doctor, completely routed by the word which she had without the
least effort used--the maturity of that "dear," addressed her at last,
though unconscious that he was doing so, in the tone of equality. "It
isn't as though you had anything to bear, like the prospect of a long
engagement, as though there were any difficulties in the way; your
marriage is to come so soon," he pleaded.

"Soon?" said Garda. "Six long months! Do you call that 'soon?'" She
stopped gathering roses, and sat down on a garden bench. "Six months! I
must see him every day, and for a long while every day; that will be the
_only_ way to bear it." Then her words ceased; but her splendid eyes,
meeting the Doctor's (she had forgotten that he was there), grew fuller
and fuller of the loveliest dreaming expression, until the poor
guardian--he realized that she would not perceive his departure--could
not stand there and watch it any longer. He turned abruptly and went
away.

"DEAR MARGARET,--The Doctor has gone" (Garda wrote the next day).
"And I am afraid he is displeased. Apparently we please no one but
ourselves and Sally Lowndes! Margaret, when my wedding-day really
comes at last, nobody must touch me but you; you must dress me, and
you must put on my veil, and the orange-blossoms (from the old East
Angels grove--I won't have any others). And then, just before we go
down-stairs, you must say you are _pleased_. And you must forgive
me all I have done--and been too--because I _couldn't_ help it. I
shall come over from Gracias, and go down on my knees to Mr. Harold
to beg him to let me be with you, or rather to let _you_; he must,
he shall say yes."

But Lanse was not called upon to go through this ordeal.

He had already said, "_You_ go!" in rather a high-noted tone of
surprised remonstrance when Margaret suggested, some time before, that
she should go herself to Charleston and bring Garda back. "And leave me
shut up alone here!" he added, as if to bring home to her the barbari