"Does he like to sing so soon after--after tea?" said Mrs. Rutherford. But the handsome youth could sing as well at one time as another. He looked about him, found a low ottoman and drew it towards the sofa where Mrs. Harold was sitting, thus placing himself as nearly as possible at her feet; then he struck a chord or two, and began. He had a tenor voice (as Winthrop would have said, "of course"); and the voice had much sweetness. He sang his little love song admirably. Garda was standing near one of the windows with Winthrop. When the song was ended, "How old is Mrs. Harold?" she asked, abruptly; that is, abruptly as regarded subject, her voice itself had no abrupt tones. "I don't know," Winthrop answered. "Isn't she your cousin?" "She is my aunt's niece by marriage; Mr. Rutherford was her uncle." "But if you have always known her, you must know how old she is." "I have not always known her, and I don't know; I suppose her to be about twenty-seven or twenty-eight." "She is over thirty," said Garda, with decision. "Do you think her handsome?" "She is considered handsome." "But do you think her so?" "That is rather a close question, isn't it?" "It doesn't seem so to me; people are handsome or not handsome, it's fact--not opinion. And what I wanted to see was whether you had any eye for beauty, that was all. Mrs. Rutherford, for instance, is handsome, Mrs. Carew is not. Manuel is handsome, Adolfo Torres is not." "And Miss Thorne?" "She hopes she is, but she isn't sure," replied the girl, laughing; "it isn't 'sure' to be thought so by the four persons about here. And she can't find out from the only stranger she knows, because he hasn't a particle of expression in his face; it's most unfortunate." "For him--yes. It's because he's so old, you know." "How old are you?" "I am thirty-five." "You look younger than that," said Garda, after scanning him for a moment. "It's my northern temperament, that keeps me young and handsome." "Oh, you're not handsome; but in a man it's of little consequence," she added. "Very little. Or in a woman either. Don't we all know that beauty fades as the leaf?" "The leaf fades when it has had all there was of its life, it doesn't fade before. That is what I mean to do, have all there is of _my_ life, I have told mamma so. I said to mamma more than a year ago, 'Mamma, what are our pleasures? Let us see if we can't get some more;' and mamma answered, 'Edgarda, pleasures are generally wrong.' But I don't agree with mamma, I don't think them wrong; and I intend to take mine wherever I can find them, in fact, I do so now." "And do you find many?"