"Oh yes," replied Garda, confidently. "There are our oranges, which are excellent; and Carlos Mateo, who is so amusing; and the lovely breeze we have sometimes; and the hammock where I lie and plan out all the things I should like to have--the softest silks, laces, nothing coarse or common to touch me; plenty of roses in all the rooms and the garden full of sweet-bay, so that all the air should be perfumed." "And not books? Conversation?" "I don't care much about books, they all appear to have been written by old people; I suppose when I am old myself, I shall like them better. As to conversation--yes, I like a little of it; but I like actions more--great deeds, you know. Don't you like great deeds?" "When I see them; unfortunately, there are very few of them left nowadays, walking about, waiting to be done." "I don't know; let me tell you one. The other day a young girl here--not of our society, of course--was out sailing with a party of friends in a fishing-boat. This girl had a branch of wild-orange blossoms in her hand; suddenly she threw it overboard, and challenged a young man who was with her to get it again. He instantly jumped into the water; there was a good deal of sea, they were at the mouth of the harbor and the tide was going out; they were running before a fresh breeze, and, having no oars with them, they could not get back to him except by several long tacks. He could not swim very well, and the tide was strong, they thought he certainly would be carried out; but he kept up, and at last they saw him land, ever so far down Patricio--he was only a black dot. He walked back, came across to Gracias in a negro's dug-out, and just as he was, without waiting to change his clothes, he brought her the wet flowers." "It is the old story of the Glove. Did he throw them in her face?" "Throw them in her face!--is that what you would have done?" said Garda, astonished. "Oh, I should never have jumped overboard," answered Winthrop, laughing.