dy in a hurry, and all in Sunday
clothes, bent on visiting or decorous pleasure-making. Everywhere was
sunny and everything looked as if it had had its face washed; week
days in the town always looked to Julia like Sundays, and Sundays,
this Sunday in particular, looked like Easter.

In time they came to the trees that bordered the canal; there were old
Spanish houses here, a beautiful purplish red in colour, and with
carving above the doors. Julia looked up at her favourite doorpiece--a
galleon in full sail, a veritable picture in relief, unspoiled by
three hundred years of wind and weather.

"I think this is the most beautiful town I was ever in," she said. Her
companion looked surprised.

"Do you like it?" he asked. "It must be quite unlike what you are used
to, all of it must be."

"It is," she answered, "all of it, as you say--the place, the ways,
the people."

"And you like it? You do not think it--you do not think us what you
call slow, stupid?"

She was a little surprised, it had never occurred to her that he, any
more than the others, would think about her point of view. "No," she
answered, "I admire it all very much, it is sincere, no one appears
other than he is, or aims at being or seeming more. Your house is the
same back and front, and you, none of you have a wrong side, the
whole life is solid right through."

Joost did not quite understand; had she not guessed that to be likely
she would hardly have spoken so frankly. "I fear I do not understand
you," he said; "it is difficult when we do not know each other's
language perfectly."

"We know it very well," Julia answered; "as well as possible. If we
were born in the same place, in the same house, we should not
understand it better."

He still looked puzzled; he was half afraid she was laughing at him.
"You think I am stupid?" he said, gravely.

She denied it, and they walked on a little in silence. They were in
the quieter part of the town now and could talk undisturbed; after a
little he spoke again, musingly.

"Often I wonder what you think of, you have such great, shining eyes,
they eat up everything; they see everything and through everything, I
think. They sweep round the room, or the persons or the place, and
gather all--may I say it?--like some fine net--to me it seems they
draw all things into your brain, and there you weave them and weave
them into thoughts."

Julia swallowed a little exclamation, and by an effort contrived not
t