Margaret did not know that they did, but it was perfectly possible that Mr. Montfort might have given some of his old clothes, a cast-off smoking-jacket, for example, to his gardener and confidential servant. There would be nothing remarkable in that, surely. Besides, were they absolutely certain that the mysterious individual was dressed in black velvet? Poor, dear Peggy was in such a state of excitement, she might well have fancied--and so on, and so on. The two cousins went over the ground again and again, but could come to no decision. "Say what you will, _tres chere_!" said Rita, finally; "glorify your gardener, give him the family wardrobe, the family papers; I keep watch on him, that is all! Let Master Strong beware! Not for nothing was I brought up on a plantation. Have I not known overseers, to say nothing of hosts of servants, white, black, yellow? Your books, _chere Marguerite_, do they teach you the knowledge of persons? Let him beware! he knows not a Cuban!" and she nodded, and bent her brows so tragically that Margaret could hardly keep her countenance. "Have you ever acted, Rita?" she asked, following the train of her thoughts. "I am sure you must do it so well." "_Mi alma!_" cried Rita, "it was my joy! Conchita and I--_ahi_! what plays we have acted in the myrtle-bower in the garden! Will you see me act? You shall." John Strong and his iniquities were forgotten in a moment. Bidding Margaret call Peggy, and make themselves into an audience in the lower hall, Rita whirled away to her own room, where they could hear her singing to herself, and pulling open drawers with reckless ardour. The two other girls ensconced themselves in a window-seat of the hall and waited. "Do you know what she is going to do?" asked Peggy. Margaret shook her head. "Something pretty and graceful, no doubt. She is a born actress, you know." "I never saw an actress," said Peggy. "She--she is awfully fascinating, Margaret, isn't she?" Margaret assented warmly. There was no tinge of jealousy in her composition, or she might have felt a slight pang at the tone of admiring awe in which Peggy now spoke of her Cuban cousin. Things were changed indeed since the night of their arrival. "It isn't only that she is so awfully pretty," Peggy went on, "but she moves so--and her voice is so soft, and--oh, Margaret, do you suppose I can ever be the least like her, just the least bit in the world?" She looked anxiously at Margaret, who gazed back affectionately at her, at the round, rosy childish face, the little tilted nose, the fluffy, fair hair. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to stroke and pat Peggy as if she were a kitten, but no one would think of patting Rita.