"I do--when you give me an opportunity," Winthrop answered. "I'll give you one now," responded Garda; "we'll go back to the house, we'll go through the orange-walk as we came, and the others can follow as _they_ came." Without waiting for reply, she went towards the garden gate. Winthrop followed her; and then Carlos Mateo, stalking across the open space, followed Winthrop. He followed him so closely that Winthrop declared he could feel his beak on his back. When they reached the house they paused; Carlos then took up his station a little apart, and stood on one leg to rest himself, watching Winthrop meanwhile with a suspicious eye. Mrs. Thorne was crossing the level with the Rev. Mr. Moore. Following them, at a little distance, came Dr. Kirby, with his hands behind him. Manuel and Torres, forced to be companions a second time, formed the rear-guard of the returning procession. But as it approached the house, Manuel, raising his hat to Mrs. Thorne, turned away; he went down the live-oak avenue to the river landing, where his skiff was waiting. Manuel had his ideas, he did not care to be one of five. Torres, who also had his ideas, and many more of them than Manuel had, was not troubled by considerations of this sort; in his mind a Torres was never one of five, or one of anything, but always a Torres, and alone. Left to himself, he now took longer steps, passed the others, and came first to the doorway where Garda was standing. "Why do you always look so serious, Mr. Torres?" she said, in Spanish, as he came up. "It is of small consequence how I look, while the senorita herself remains so beautiful," answered the young man, bowing ceremoniously. "Isn't that pretty?" said Garda to Winthrop. "Immensely so," replied that decorated personage. "But he does not look half so serious as you look comical--with all those brilliant flowers by the side of your immovable face," she went on, breaking into a laugh. "It is of small consequence how I look, seeing that the senorita herself placed them where they are," answered Winthrop, in tolerable if rather labored Spanish, turning with a half-smile to Torres as he borrowed his phrase. "You did not like it? You thought it childish?" said Garda. She drew the stalk quickly from its place. She was now speaking English, and Torres watched to see the fate of his gift; she had taken the flowers with the intention of throwing them away, but noticing that the Cuban's eyes were fixed upon them, she slipped the end of the stem under her belt, letting the long brilliant spray hang down over her dark skirt. "I am now more honored than ever," said Winthrop. "But it is Mr. Torres whom I am honoring this time," answered the girl. Torres, hearing his name in her English sentence, drew the heels of his polished boots together with a little click, and made another low bow.