"For him—yes. It's because he's so old, you know."
"How old are you?"
"I am thirty-five."
"You look younger than that," said Garda, after scanning him for a moment.
"It's my northern temperament, that keeps me young and handsome."
"Oh, you're not handsome; but in a man it's of little consequence," she added.
"Very little. Or in a woman either. Don't we all know that beauty fades as the leaf?"
"The leaf fades when it has had all there was of its life, it doesn't fade before. That is what I mean to do, have all there is of my life, I have told mamma so. I said to mamma more than a year ago, 'Mamma, what are our pleasures? Let us see if we can't get some more;' and mamma answered, 'Edgarda, pleasures are generally wrong.' But I don't agree with mamma, I don't think them wrong; and I intend to take mine wherever I can find them, in fact, I do so now."
"And do you find many?"
"Oh yes," replied Garda, confidently. "There are our oranges, which are excellent; and Carlos Mateo, who is so amusing; and the lovely breeze we have sometimes; and the hammock where I lie and plan out all the things I should like to have—the softest silks, laces, nothing coarse or common to touch me; plenty of roses in all the rooms and the garden full of sweet-bay, so that all the air should be perfumed."