Alcalde has news of a letter which is at present passing from hand
to hand in Andalusia. It is a letter of some importance. Our good
Mayor, who was at the window a minute ago, saw Mr. Conyngham hand
you a letter. Between persons who only met in this garden five
minutes ago such a transaction had a strange air. Our good friend,
who is all zeal for Spain and the people of Ronda, merely asks you
if his eyes deceived him. It is a matter at which we shall all
laugh presently over a lemonade--is it not so? A trifle, eh?' He
passed his handkerchief across his moustache, and looked
affectionately at his niece.

'A letter!' exclaimed Julia. 'Surely the Alcalde presumes. He
takes too much upon himself.' The official stepped forward.

'Senorita,' he said, 'I must be allowed to take that risk. Did this
gentleman give you a letter three minutes ago?'

Julia laughed and shrugged her shoulders.

'Yes.'

'May I ask the nature of the letter?'

'It was a love letter.'

Conyngham bit his lip and looked at Estella.

The Alcalde looked doubtful, with the cunning lips of a cheap
country lawyer.