"Evert's too far off to think of. He's a thousand miles away."
"What difference does that make?"
"You're right, it doesn't make any," said Garda. "I should do just the same, I presume, if he were here." She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.
Margaret looked at her, and seemed hardly to know what to say next.
In the position in which they were standing, Garda was facing the entrance of the orange walk. Her eyes now began to gleam. "Isn't this funny?" she said. "Here he is himself!"
Margaret turned, expecting to see Lucian. But it was Evert Winthrop who was coming towards them.
"You didn't expect me?" he said as he took their hands, Garda's in his right hand, Margaret's in his left, and held them for a moment. "But I told you in the postscript of my last letter, Garda, that I might perhaps follow it immediately."
"I haven't had time to get to the postscript yet," Garda answered. "The letter only came this morning; and Margaret has it now."
"You know I haven't opened it, Garda," said Margaret, hastily returning it.
"No; but I meant you to," said the girl. Something in this little scene seemed to strike her as comical, for she covered her face with both hands and began to laugh. "What a bad account you will give of me!" she said.