lk in wet feet, am
I not, Peggy? I used to think I should die if my feet were wet. It is
really delightful to feel the water go 'plop!' in and out of one's
boots. Now, my dear," she added, "I really cannot let you be cross,
because Peggy and I are in the most delightful good humour, and we came
in on purpose, because we thought you would be awake, and would want to
be amused. If you frown, Rita, I shall kiss you, all dripping wet, and
you know you could not bear that."

She advanced, holding up her rosy, shining face, down which the drops
were still streaming. Rita uttered a shriek and vanished.

"I don't see how you can talk to her that way," said Peggy admiringly.
"When she opens her eyes at me, and pulls her eyebrows together, I feel
about two inches high and three years old. You are brave in your own
way, Margaret, if you can't pull people out of bogs."

Margaret laughed again. "My dear, I found it was the only way," she
said. "If I let her ride over me--" Here she stopped suddenly, and with
a change of tone bade Peggy hasten to change her wet clothes. "It is all
very fine to get wet," she said, "and I am grateful for the lesson,
Peggy; but I know that one _must_ change when she comes in."

Peggy made a grimace, and said that at home she was often wet through
from morning till night, and nobody cared; but Margaret resolutely
pushed her into her room and shut the door, before going on to her own.

In a few minutes both girls, dry and freshly clad, knocked at Rita's
door; and though her "Come in" still sounded rather sullen, it was yet a
distinct invitation, and they entered. Rita had made this room over in
her own way, much to Elizabeth's inconvenience. The chintz curtains were
almost covered with little flags, emblems, feathery grasses, and the
like, pinned here and there in picturesque confusion. A large Cuban flag
draped the mantelpiece, and portraits of the Cuban leaders adorned the
walls. Over the dressing-table was the great scarlet fan which had
played such a conspicuous part in the drama of "_Cuba Libre_," and it
was pinned to the wall with a dagger of splendid and alarming
appearance. The mirror was completely framed in photographs, mostly of
dark-eyed senoritas in somewhat exaggerated toilets. Inscriptions in
every variety of sprawling hand testified to the undying love of
Conchita, Dolores, Manuela, and a dozen others, for their all-beautiful
Margarita, to part from whom was death.

If this were lite