"You didn't expect me?" he said as he took their hands, Garda's in his right hand, Margaret's in his left, and held them for a moment. "But I told you in the postscript of my last letter, Garda, that I might perhaps follow it immediately." "I haven't had time to get to the postscript yet," Garda answered. "The letter only came this morning; and Margaret has it now." "You know I haven't opened it, Garda," said Margaret, hastily returning it. "No; but I meant you to," said the girl. Something in this little scene seemed to strike her as comical, for she covered her face with both hands and began to laugh. "What a bad account you will give of me!" she said. "You will have to give it yourself," replied Margaret. "I must go; Aunt Katrina must be awake by this time." "Isn't she well?" said Winthrop, looking after her as she left them. "She had color enough before you came," said Garda, smiling, then laughing at recollections he could not share. "Have you come back as blind as you went away?" "How blind is that?" "Blind to all my faults," she responded, swinging her hat by its ribbons. "Don't spoil your hat. No, I'm not blind to them, but we're going to cure them, you know." "I'm so glad!" He had taken a case from his pocket, and was now opening it; it held a delicate gold bracelet, exquisitely fashioned, which he clasped round her arm. "How pretty!" said Garda. Her pleasure was genuine, she turned her hand so that she could see the ornament in every position. "You prefer diamonds, I know," said Winthrop, smiling. "But you're not old enough to wear diamonds yet." She continued to look at her bracelet until she had satisfied herself fully. Then she let her hand drop. "Will you give me some very beautiful diamonds by-and-by?" she asked, turning her eyes towards him. "To be quite frank, I don't like them much." "But if _I_ like them?" She seemed to be curious as to what he would reply. "You may not like them yourself, then." She regarded him a moment longer. Then her eyes left him; she looked off down the long aisle. "I shall not change; no, not as you seem to think," she said, musingly. And she stood there for a moment very still. Then her face changed, her light-heartedness came back; she took his arm, and, as they strolled slowly towards the house, talked her gayest nonsense. He listened indulgently. "Why don't you ask me what I have been doing all these weeks while you have been away?" she said at last, suddenly. "I suppose I know, don't I? You have written." "You haven't the least idea. I have been _amused_--really amused all the time." "Is that such a novelty? I've always thought you had a capital talent for amusing yourself." "That's just what I mean; this time I've _been_ amused, I didn't have to do it myself. Oh, promise me you won't stop anything now you've come. We've had some lovely excursions, and I want ever so many more." "When did I ever stop an excursion in Florida?" said Winthrop.