roses, that grew as vines along the east front, the fuchsias, that
attained the dignity of trees, in the patio, or the four or five
monster passion-vines that bestarred the low western wall, and told
over and over again their mystic story--paled before the sensuous
glory of the south veranda.

As the sun arose, that part of the quiet house first touched by its
light seemed to waken. A few lounging peons and servants made
their appearance at the entrance of the patio, occasionally
reinforced by an earlier life from the gardens and stables. But
the south facade of the building had not apparently gone to bed at
all: lights were still burning dimly in the large ball-room; a tray
with glasses stood upon the veranda near one of the open French
windows, and further on, a half-shut yellow fan lay like a fallen
leaf. The sound of carriage-wheels on the gravel terrace brought
with it voices and laughter and the swiftly passing vision of a
char-a-bancs filled with muffled figures bending low to avoid the
direct advances of the sun.

As the carriage rolled away, four men lounged out of a window on
the veranda, shading their eyes against the level beams. One was
still in evening dress, and one in the uniform of a captain of
artillery; the others had already changed their gala attire, the
elder of the party having assumed those extravagant tweeds which
the tourist from Great Britain usually offers as a gentle
concession to inferior yet more florid civilization. Nevertheless,
he beamed back heartily on the sun, and remarked, in a pleasant
Scotch accent, that: Did they know it was very extraordinary how
clear the morning was, so free from clouds and mist and fog? The
young man in evening dress fluently agreed to the facts, and