stubby point
which a woman's pencil always possesses, a half-finished stocking and
ball of yarn, a spectacle-case, a paper of peppermint drops, and a
forgotten pair or two of gloves.

These little entertainments hospitably given for the northern ladies
succeeded each other rapidly--so rapidly that Margaret began to fear
lest, mild as they were in themselves, they should yet make inroads on
Mrs. Rutherford's strength.

"You needn't be scairt, Miss Margaret," was Celestine's reply to this
suggestion, a remote gleam of a smile lighting up for a moment her grim
face; "a little gentlemen-talk is _very_ strengthenin' to yer aunt at
times; nothin' more so."

During these weeks Garda Thorne had manifested a constantly increasing
devotion to Margaret Harold; that, at least, was what they called it in
the little circle of Gracias society, where it was considered an
interesting development of character. These good friends said to each
other that their little girl was coming on, that they should soon be
obliged to think of her as something more than a lovely child.

Mrs. Rutherford had another name for it; she called it curiosity. "That
little Thorne girl (who is quite pretty)," she remarked to Winthrop,
"seems to be never tired of looking at Margaret, and listening to what
she says. Yet Margaret certainly says little enough!" Mrs. Rutherford
never went beyond "quite pretty" where Garda was concerned. It was her
superlative for young girls, she really did not think they could be
more.

"You wish that I had never sent for that phaeton? Would you, then,
deprive my poor aunt of her drives?" Winthrop had said, in answer to
Garda's remark.

"Do you care much for your poor aunt?" she inquired.

"I care a great deal."

"Then why do you never drive out with her yourself?"

"I do; often."

"I have been here every afternoon for a week, and every afternoon
Margaret has had to leave me, because Mrs. Rutherford sends word that
the phaeton is ready."

"Well, perhaps for the past week--"

"I don't believe you have been for two; I don't believe you have been
for three," pursued the girl. "You are willing to go, probably you
suppose you do go; but in reality it is Margaret, always Margaret. Do
you know what I think?--you do not half appreciate Margaret."

"I am glad at least that you do," Winthrop answered. "Do you prefer that
step to a chair?"

"Yes; for I ought to be going back to the Kirbys, and sitting here is
more like it.