"I must write to Amparo, dear Amparo," said Anita. "You will help me with the letter, won't you, mother? I can do pretty well in conversation, after Barcelona, but writing a letter is something of a task. I wonder if Mr. Garriguez knows."
"I shall write and tell him. I will do it at once."
Leaving her mother to this duty Anita returned to the garden to find Tommy going through his daily drill and Harry deep in the columns of a newspaper. Anita established herself in a garden chair to watch the training of Tommy. Haddie came up pantingly with red tongue hanging, but seeing that Hotspur had already taken possession of Anita's lap he went off to curl himself up at Harry's feet. The afternoon sun shot long rays across the garden and laid golden lights upon Harry's sleek head, upon the white of Anita's frock, upon Lillian's tall figure standing above where Bertie was kneeling to put Tommy through his drill. The garden was bright with hollyhocks and midsummer's scarlets and yellows of flower kind. Rooks were cawing in the tall tree-tops. A peaceful English garden beloved and well tended. Anita's thoughts flew back to another garden across the seas. Did Ira still tend it? Who cared now for its roses? She sat thoughtfully stroking Hotspur's soft fur, and dreaming of those lost hours.
Presently Tibbie came out. "If you please, miss," she said, "Mrs. Teaness is within."
"And is Miss Teaness there, too?" asked Anita.
"Both the young ladies are with their mother, miss, thank you."
Anita put down Hotspur, who stretched himself lazily and sat blinking in an offended manner as if much put upon by this sudden awakening. "The Teanesses are here, Lillian," Anita called.
"Oh, bother!" cried Lillian, "I'll come in a minute, Nita; you go in and say I'm coming."
Harry threw down his paper. "Did I hear that Elly Fantine is here? I must go in, too. I adore her."
"She is a dear, really she is," responded Anita, somewhat severely.