rally true, the youthful population of Cuba must have
been sensibly diminished by Rita's departure. There were black-browed
youths, too, some gazing tenderly, some scowling fiercely, all wearing
the Cuban ribbon with all possible ostentation. One of these youths was
manifestly Carlos Montfort, Rita's brother, for they were like enough to
have been twins; another had been pointed out to Margaret, in a whisper
charged with dramatic meaning, as "Fernando," the cousin on her mother's
side, the handsomest man in Havana, and the most fascinating. Margaret
looked coolly enough at this devastator of hearts, and thought that her
own cousin Carlos was far handsomer. Peggy thought so, too; indeed, her
susceptible sixteen-year-old heart was deeply impressed by Cousin
Carlos's appearance, and she would often steal into the room during
Rita's absence, to peep and sigh at the delicate, high-bred face, with
its flashing dark eyes, and the hair that grew low on the forehead, with
just the same tendril curls that made Rita's hair so lovely. Oh! Peggy
would think, if her own hair were only dark, or even brown,--anything
but this disgusting, wishy-washy flaxen. She had longed for dark eyes
and hair ever since she could remember. Poor Peggy! But she kept her
little romance to herself, and indeed it was a very harmless one, and
helped her a good deal about keeping her hair neat and her shoe-strings
tied.

When the girls went in now, they found Rita curled up on her sofa, with
the robe and pillow of chinchilla fur that had come with her from Cuba.
It was a bad sign, Margaret had learned, when the furs came out in warm
weather. It meant a headache generally, and at any rate a chilly state
of body, which was apt to be accompanied by a peevish state of mind.
Still, she looked so pretty, peeping out of the soft gray nest! She was
such a child, after all, in spite of her seventeen years,--decidedly,
she must be amused.

"Well," said Rita, half dolefully, half crossly, "I cannot command
solitude, it appears. I am desolated; I desire to die, while this
frightful rain pours down, but I cannot die alone; that is not suffered
me."

"Certainly not," replied Margaret cheerfully. "Don't die yet, please,
dear, but when you feel that you must, we will be at hand to take your
last wishes, won't we, Peggy?"

But Peggy thought Margaret cruel, and could only look at Rita
remorsefully, feeling that she had sinned, she knew not how.

"And how are we to amus