which he had imagined to be there.

'Yes, senorita, I think it must be the most beautiful garden in the
world.'

He turned as he spoke, and looked at Estella, who met his glance
quietly. Her repose of manner struck him afresh. Here was a woman
having that air of decision which exacts respect alike from men and
women. Seen thus, with the more vivacious Julia at her side,
Estella gained suddenly in moral strength and depth--suggesting a
steady fire in contrast with a flickering will-o'-the-wisp blown
hither and thither on every zephyr. Yet Julia Barenna would pass
anywhere as a woman of will and purpose.

Julia had risen, and was moving towards the exit of the little grove
in which they found themselves. Conyngham had never been seated.

'Are the violets in bloom, Estella? I must see them,' said the
visitor. 'We have none at home, where all is dry and parched.'

'So bad for the nerves--what suffering!--such a dry soil that one
cannot sleep at night,' murmured Madame Barenna, preparing to rise
from her seat.

Julia and Conyngham naturally led the way. The paths winding in and
out among the palms and pepper trees were of a width that allowed
two to walk abreast.

'Senorita, I have a letter for you.'