the cliff--the Emu Point side--overlooking the broad Leichardt River.
The veranda, quite twelve feet wide, ran--Australian fashion--along
the front of the cottage, except for the two closed-in ends forming,
one a bathroom and the other a kind of store closet. Being raised a few
feet above the ground, the veranda was enclosed by a wooden railing,
and this and the supporting posts were twined with creepers that must
have been planted at least thirty years. One of these, a stephanotis,
showed masses of white bloom, which Joan Gildea casually reflected
would have fetched a pretty sum in Covent Garden, and, joining in with
a fine-growing asparagus fern, formed an arch over the entrance steps.
The end of the veranda, where Mrs Gildea had established herself with
her type-writer and paraphernalia of literary work, was screened by a
thick-stemmed grape-vine, which made a dapple of shadow and sunshine
upon the boarded floor. Some bunches of late grapes--it was the very
beginning of March--hung upon the vine, and, at the other end of the
veranda, grew a passion creeper, its great purple fruit looking like
huge plums amidst its vivid green leaves.

The roof of the veranda was low, with projecting eaves, below which a
bunch of yellowing bananas hung to ripen. In fact, the veranda and
garden beyond would have been paradise to a fruitarian. Against the
wall of the store-room, stood a large tin dish piled with melons,
pine-apples and miscellaneous garden produce, while, between the
veranda posts, could be seen a guava-tree, an elderly fig and a loquat
all in full bearing. The garden seemed a tangle of all manner of
vegetation--an oleander in bloom, a poinsettia, a yucca, lifting its
spike of waxen white blossoms, a narrow flower-border in which the
gardenias had become tall shrubs and the scented verbena shrubs almost
trees. As for the blend of perfume, it was dreamily intoxicating. Two
bamboos, guarding the side entrance gate, made a soft whispering that