"Really—the more I think of it, the more sorry I feel for her, she is deeply to be pitied; I can imagine how crushed I should have felt if Peter had deserted me! But if he had done so, I should have gone immediately, of course, to stay with some older relative—it is the only proper way. You might represent to Margaret how much better it would look if she should continue, as before, to reside with me."
"Perhaps she won't take so much pains about the 'look' of anything, this time; perhaps she will let people know the real facts; she has always concealed them before."
"They would only be her own condemnation, in any case; everybody would perfectly understand that it was some lack in her," answered Aunt Katrina, with decision. "But I think you had better speak to her, and immediately; it is so much more desirable, on her own account, that she should remain with me. I don't fancy she cares much for you, or she would never have tried to engage you to that odious Garda Thorne; still, you are a relative—- after a fashion, and she ought to listen to you; you might tell her," she added, her voice falling into a pathetic key, "that probably I shall not be left to her long."
"My dear aunt, you will outlive us all," said Winthrop, rising. "I will see her, and do what I can," he added, as he left the room.
At first he could not find Margaret, she was not in any of the usual places; he began to fear that she was in her own room, and that he should not find her at all. At last he met Celestine. "Do you know where Mrs. Harold is?" he said.
"Well, Mr. Evert, she's in the garden," Celestine answered, with some reluctance. "I've fixed her up nicely in an easy-chair on a rug, and I've told everybody to keep away, so that she can just rest—that's what she needs. I've let her have one book—an easy-looking story that didn't seem exciting. And I'm going out after her in about an hour, to bring her in."
"I won't be any more exciting than the easy-looking story, Minerva; I promise you that."
Celestine watched him go, she was not pleased, but she could not help herself. She shook her head forebodingly, with her lips pursed up; then she went about her business—as she would herself have said.
Margaret was sitting under the rose-tree, in the easy-chair Celestine had mentioned, a rug spread under her feet. She had a parasol beside her, but the tree gave a sufficient shade; over her head Celestine had folded a Spanish veil.
"I thought perhaps we should see you to-day," she said.