little
town--built on the site of a Roman colonial city, originally named in
honour of the pagan Emperor rather than the Christian Confessor and
ascetic. Mediaeval piety bestowed on it the saintly prefix, along with a
round-arched cathedral church, of no great size, but massive proportions
and somewhat gloomy aspect.

From the terrace garden and carriage drive, immediately in front of the
hotel, the ground drops sharply, beneath scattered pines with undergrowth
of heather, wild lavender, gum-cistus, juniper, mastic and myrtle, to the
narrow white beach a hundred feet below. Little paths traverse the rough
descent. And up one of these, halting to rest now and then on a
conveniently placed bench in the shade of some spreading umbrella pine,
to discourse to the company of gentlemen following in her wake, or
contemplate the view, came a notably graceful and telling figure.

As the lady advanced with leisurely composure, Damaris, gazing down from
her point of vantage in the first floor window, received the impression
of a person almost extravagantly finished and feminine, in which all
irregularities and originalities of Nature had suffered obliteration by
the action of art. Not art of the grosser sort, dependent on dyes, paint
and cosmetics. The obliteration was not superficial merely, and must have
been achieved by processes at once subtle and profound. The result
obtained, however, showed unquestionably charming--if in a line slightly
finical and exotic--as she picked her way through the fragrant
undergrowth of the pine wood, slanting sunshine playing on her dark blue
raiment, wide-brimmed white hat, and floating veil.

Coming completely into view at last, when stepping from the path on to
the level carriage drive, a gold chain she wore, from which dangled a
little bunch of trinkets and a long-handled lorgnette, glinted, catching
the light. Damaris gave an exclamation of sudden and rapturous
recognition. So far she had had eyes for the lady only; but now she took
a rapid scrutiny of the latter's attendants. With two of them she was
unacquainted. The other two were her father and Carteret.

Whereupon rapture gave place to a pang of jealous alarm and resentment.
For they belonged to her, those dear two; and to see them even thus
temporarily appropriated by someone else caused her surprising agitation.
They had been so good, so apparently content, alone with her upon this
journey. It would be too trying, too really intole