"I do not mind it," he said, blushing, and Julia decided that his
father's description of him as a retiring youth was really short of
the mark. They walked along together down the quiet, bright streets;
there were many people about, but nobody in a hurry, and all in Sunday
clothes, bent on visiting or decorous pleasure-making. Everywhere was
sunny and everything looked as if it had had its face washed; week
days in the town always looked to Julia like Sundays, and Sundays,
this Sunday in particular, looked like Easter.

In time they came to the trees that bordered the canal; there were old
Spanish houses here, a beautiful purplish red in colour, and with
carving above the doors. Julia looked up at her favourite doorpiece--a
galleon in full sail, a veritable picture in relief, unspoiled by
three hundred years of wind and weather.

"I think this is the most beautiful town I was ever in," she said. Her
companion looked surprised.

"Do you like it?" he asked. "It must be quite unlike what you are used
to, all of it must be."

"It is," she answered, "all of it, as you say--the place, the ways,
the people."

"And you like it? You do not think it--you do not think us what you
call slow, stupid?"

She was a little surprised, it had never occurred to her that he, any
more than the others, would think about her point of view. "No," she