Mrs. Gould, raising her eyes to her husband's thin, red and tan face,
could not detect the slightest quiver of a feature at what he must have
heard said of his patriotism. Perhaps he had just dismounted on his
return from the mine; he was English enough to disregard the hottest
hours of the day. Basilio, in a livery of white linen and a red sash,
had squatted for a moment behind his heels to unstrap the heavy, blunt
spurs in the patio; and then the Senor Administrator would go up the
staircase into the gallery. Rows of plants in pots, ranged on the
balustrade between the pilasters of the arches, screened the corredor
with their leaves and flowers from the quadrangle below, whose paved
space is the true hearthstone of a South American house, where the quiet
hours of domestic life are marked by the shifting of light and shadow on
the flagstones.
Senor Avellanos was in the habit of crossing the patio at five o'clock
almost every day. Don Jose chose to come over at tea-time because the
English rite at Dona Emilia's house reminded him of the time he lived in
London as Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of St.
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