ssed the barren rapidly; the same hushed silence
continued, the pine-trees which Betty had seen in a vision, prostrate,
did not stir so much as one of their green needles. Margaret and
Winthrop spoke occasionally, but they did not talk; anything they should
say would necessarily be shared by the man who was driving. But
conversation between them was not much more free when the steamer was
taking them up the river. They sat on the deck together at some distance
from the other passengers, but their words were few; what they said had
even a perfunctory sound. They exchanged some remarks about Garda which
contained rather more of animation.

Garda's last letter to Margaret had borne at the head of the page the
magic word "Venice." Garda had appeared to think life there magical
indeed. "She admires everything; she is delightfully happy," was
Margaret's comment.

"How does she say it?"

"You have heard her talk."

"Not as Mrs. Lucian Spenser. And from Venice!"

"I shall tell her to write her next letter to you."

"I have no doubt she would. I see you are afraid to quote."

"Afraid?" said Margaret, in a tone of cold inquiry. And then, with the
same cold intonation, she repeated two or three of Garda's joyous
phrases.

"Yes, she is happy! Of course it's magnanimous in me to say so, but I
owe her no grudge; on the contrary, it has been refreshing to see, in
this nineteenth century, a girl so frankly in love. She would have
married Lucian Spenser just the same if they neither of them had had a
cent; she would have made any sacrifice for him--don't you think so?"

"Yes; but it wouldn't have been a sacrifice to her."

"Bravo! I gave you such a chance to say insidious things."

Margaret smiled a little at this suggestion. Then, in the silence that
followed, the old look came back to her face--a look of guarded reserve,
which, however, evidently covered apprehension.

She had, indeed, been in great dread. The dread was lest the agitation
which had overpowered her during that last conversation she had had with
Winthrop before she went back to her husband, should reappear. This
brief journey of theirs together was the first perfect opportunity he
had had since then to call it forth again; up to to-day there had been
no opportunity, she had prevented opportunity. But now she was at his
mercy; any one of a hundred sentences which he could so easily say,
would suffice to bring back that emotion which suffocated her, and made