wn on a bench under the
evergreen roof to wait. She had seldom felt more discomposed, and began
to reason with herself almost angrily. Even if the presence of the
priest was unpleasant to Androvsky, why should she mind? Antagonism to
the priesthood was certainly not a mental condition to be fostered, but
a prejudice to be broken down. But she had wished--she still wished with
ardour--that Androvsky's first visit to the garden should be a happy
one, should pass off delightfully. She had a dawning instinct to make
things smooth for him. Surely they had been rough in the past, rougher
even than for herself. And she wondered for an instant whether he had
come to Beni-Mora, as she had come, vaguely seeking for a happiness
scarcely embodied in a definite thought.

"There is a gentleman coming, Madame."

It was the soft voice of Smain from the gate. In a moment Androvsky
stood before it. Domini saw him framed in the white wood, with a
brilliant blue behind him and a narrow glimpse of the watercourse. He
was standing still and hesitating.

"Monsieur Androvsky!" she called.

He started, looked across the sand, and stepped into the garden with a
sort of reluctant caution that pained her, she scarcely knew why. She
got up and went towards him, and they met full in the sunshine.

"I came to be your cicerone."

"Thank you, Madame."

There was the click of wood striking against wood as Smain closed the
gate. Androvsky turned quickly and looked behind him. His demeanour was
that of a man whose nerves were tormenting him. Domini began to dread
telling him of the presence of the priest, and, characteristically, did
without hesitation what she feared to do.

"This is the way," she said.

Then, as they turned into the shadow of the trees and began to walk
between the rills of water, she added abruptly:

"Father Roubier is here already, so our party is complete."

Androvsky stood still.

"Father Roubier! You did not tell me he was coming."

"I did not know it till five minutes ago."

She stood still too, and looked at him. There was a flaming of distrust
in his eyes, his lips were compressed, and his whole body betokened
hostility.

"I did not understand. I thought Senor Anteoni would be alone here."

"Father Roubier is a pleasant companion, sincere and simple. Everyone
likes him."

"No doubt, Madame. But--the fact is I"--he hesitated, then added, almost
with violence--"I do not care for priests."

"I am sorry. Stil