uty."

"I suppose that means that I am that unfortunate wretch, Reason," said
Winthrop. "Didn't he get a good many cuffs in the song? He generally
does in real life, I know--poor fellow!"

Garda had now released Mrs. Harold's hand, and that lady turned away.
She found herself near an interesting collection of Florida paroquets,
enclosed in a glass case, and she devoted her attention to ornithology
for a while; the birds returned her gaze with the extremely candid eyes
contributed by the taxidermist. Presently Dr. Kirby came to conduct her
to the whist-table. Pompey had arranged these tables with careful
precision upon the exact figures of the old carpet which his mistress
had pointed out beforehand; but though Pompey had thus arranged the
tables, the players were not arranged as Garda had predicted. Mrs.
Rutherford, Dr. Kirby, Mrs. Thorne, and the Rev. Mr. Moore formed one
group. At the other table were Mrs. Harold, Manuel Ruiz, and Mrs. Carew,
with a dummy. Evert Winthrop did not play.

This left him with Garda. But Torres was also left; the three walked up
and down in the broad hall for a while, and then went out on the piazza.
Here there was a hammock, towards which Garda declared herself
irresistibly attracted; she arranged it as a swing, and seated herself.
Winthrop found a camp-chair, and placed himself near her as she slowly
swayed in her hanging seat to and fro. But Torres remained standing,
according to his method; he stood with folded arms in the shadow, close
to the side of the house, but without touching it. As he stood there for
an hour and a half, it is possible that he found the occupation
tedious--unless indeed the picture of Garda in the moonlight was a
sufficient entertainment; certainly there was very little else to
entertain him; Garda and Winthrop, talking English without intermission,
seemed to have forgotten his existence entirely.

"Adolfo," said Manuel, on their way home, giving a rapier-like thrust in
the air with his slender cane, "that northerner, that Wintup, is
unendurable!"

"He is a matter of indifference to me," replied Torres.

"What--when he keeps you out there on the piazza for two hours in
perfect silence? I listened, you never spoke one word; he talked all the
time to Garda himself."

"_That_--I suffered," said Torres, with dignity.

"Suffered? I should think so! Are you going to 'suffer' him to buy East
Angels, too?"

"He may buy what he pleases. He cannot make himself a