Margaret threw down her vines, and began to help him collect his scattered possessions. "Don't go yet; it's so lovely here," said Garda. "Make a second sketch for me." "I will copy you one from this," he answered. "No, I want one made especially for me, even if it's only a beginning; and I want it made here." "But we really ought to be going back, Garda," said Margaret. "I _never_ want to go back," Garda declared. She laughed as she said it. But she looked at Lucian with the same serene content; it was very infectious, he sank down on his camp-stool, and began again. Margaret stood a moment as if uncertain. Then she sat down beside Garda, and went on with her wreath. "How perfectly still it is here!" said Lucian. "Florida's a very still land, there are no hot sounds any more than cold ones; what's your idea of the hottest sound you know, Mrs. Harold?" Margaret considered. "The sound--coming in through your closed green blinds on a warm summer afternoon when you want to sleep--of a stone-mason chipping away on a large block of stone somewhere, out in the hot sun." "Good! Do you know the peculiar odor made by summer rain on those same green blinds you speak of? Dusty ones?" "They needn't be dusty. Yes, I know it well." "I'm afraid you're an observer; I hope you don't turn the talent towards nature?" "Why not?" "Because people who observe nature don't observe their fellow-man; the more devoted you are to rocks and trees, and zoophytes and moths, the less you care for human beings; bless you! didn't you know that? You get to thinking of them in general, lumping them as 'humanity.' But you always think of the zoophytes in minutest particulars." "Never mind sketching the tomb; sketch me," said Garda. Margaret and Lucian looked up; she appeared to have heard nothing that they had been saying, she was sitting with her hands clasped round one knee, her head thrown back. "Sketch you?" Lucian repeated. "Yes," she answered. "Please begin at once." "In that attitude?" "You may choose your attitude." "Oh, if I may choose!" he said, springing up. He stood for a moment looking at her as she sat there. Unrepressed admiration of her beauty shone in his eyes. "I didn't know you could paint portraits, Mr. Spenser," remarked Margaret. "I can now; at least I shall try," he answered, with enthusiasm. "Will you give me all the sittings I want, Miss Thorne?" "Yes. This is the first." "To-morrow--" began Margaret. "Do you want me to keep this position?" said Garda. "Yes--no. It shall be an American Poussin--'I too have been in' Florida! Come over to the tomb, please." In his eagerness he put out his hands, took hers, and assisted her to rise; they went to the tomb. Here he placed her in two or three different positions; but was satisfied with none of them. Margaret had made no further objections. She followed them slowly. Then her manner changed, she gave her assistance and advice. "She should be carrying flowers, I think," she suggested.