h its nearly
black hair and eyes, and creamy skin--strange sensation, and very
comforting!

In the Casino gardens she walked more slowly, savouring the aromatic
trees, and stopping to bend and look at almost every flower; then, on
the seat, where she had sat with him yesterday, she rested. A few paces
away were the steps that led to the railway-station, trodden upwards
eagerly by so many, day after day, night after night, and lightly or
sorrowfully descended. Above her, two pines, a pepper-tree, and a palm
mingled their shade--so fantastic the jumbling of trees and souls in
this strange place! She furled her sunshade and leaned back. Her gaze,
free and friendly, passed from bough to bough. Against the bright sky,
unbesieged as yet by heat or dust, they had a spiritual look, lying
sharp and flat along the air. She plucked a cluster of pinkish berries
from the pepper-tree, crushing and rubbing them between her hands to
get their fragrance. All these beautiful and sweet things seemed to be a
part of her joy at being loved, part of this sudden summer in her heart.
The sky, the flowers, that jewel of green-blue sea, the bright acacias,
were nothing in the world but love.

And those few who passed, and saw her sitting there under the
pepper-tree, wondered no doubt at the stillness of this dame bien mise,
who had risen so early.

V

In the small hours, which so many wish were smaller, the Colonel had
awakened, with the affair of the handkerchief swelling visibly. His
niece's husband was not a man that he had much liking for--a taciturn
fellow, with possibly a bit of the brute in him, a man who rather rode
people down; but, since Dolly and he were in charge of Olive, the notion
that young Lennan was falling in love with her under their very noses
was alarming to one naturally punctilious. It was not until he fell
asleep again, and woke in full morning light, that the remedy occurred
to him. She must be taken out of herself! Dolly and he had been slack;
too interested in this queer place, this queer lot of people! They had
neglected her, left her to. . . Boys and girls!--One ought always to
remember. But it was not too late. She was old Lindsay's daughter;
would not forget herself. Poor old Lindsay--fine fellow; bit too much,
perhaps, of the--Huguenot in him! Queer, those throw-backs! Had noticed
in horses, time and again--white hairs about the tail, carriage of the
head--skip generations and then pop out. And Olive had