"I don't believe you have been for two; I don't believe you have been for three," pursued the girl. "You are willing to go, probably you suppose you do go; but in reality it is Margaret, always Margaret. Do you know what I think?--you do not half appreciate Margaret." "I am glad at least that you do," Winthrop answered. "Do you prefer that step to a chair?" "Yes; for I ought to be going back to the Kirbys, and sitting here is more like it. Not that I mean to hurry, you know." "It's pleasant, staying with the Kirbys, isn't it?" said Winthrop. He was standing on a step below hers, leaning against the side of the house in the shade. "No," answered Garda, "it isn't; that is, it isn't so pleasant as staying at home. I like my own hammock best, and Carlos Mateo is funnier than any one I know. But by staying in town I can see more of Margaret, and that is what I care for most; I don't know how I can endure it when she goes away!" "You had better persuade her not to go." "But she must go, unless Mrs. Rutherford should take a fancy to stay, which is not at all probable; Mrs. Rutherford couldn't get on without Margaret one day." "I think you exaggerate somewhat my aunt's dependence upon Mrs. Harold," observed Winthrop, after a pause. "I was waiting to hear you say that. You are all curiously blind. Mrs. Rutherford is so handsome that I like to be in the same room with her; but that doesn't keep me from seeing how much has to be done for her constantly, and in her own particular way, too, from important things down to the smallest; and that the person who attends to it all, keeps it all going, is--" "Minerva Poindexter," suggested Winthrop. "Is Margaret Harold; I cannot imagine how it is that you do not see it! But you do not any of you comprehend her--comprehend how unselfish she is, how self-sacrificing."